Part two or three

My cat is an idiot. "So seriously, what do you think?"
I am a very annoyed person, perpetually. Every favor that is asked of me is always the last straw. Somehow, even on a Saturday morning like this one, with cold sun sharply slipping in the cracks in the curtains much like I imagine a scalpel slips into and underneath skin, somehow even now, his innocent demand for some mental response in me was the fucking last straw. "Cat," I said like it was a confession, "I didn't listen to your poem. I heard a part of it and I liked that part, but I'm a little overwhelmed right now. Can we do this later?" My cat, who always looks sarcastic, somehow looked at me sarcastically, bitterly. I felt bad; but I was still annoyed, overwhelmed. For some reason on Saturday mornings, it always feels like the world is rushing across my brain like for some reason all the morning foot traffic in New York City was re-routed to cross the rickety rope bridge that starred in at least 2 Indiana Jones movies. I fell back asleep a little sad, hoping I would feel better when I woke up for the third time today. It was 3:00 PM.