Kevin and Jasmine

Have I mentioned Kevin? Kevin is a massage chair my folks very kindly passed on to me when they traded up for an zero-gravity model. (And, dudes, if you're going to name your computer, you damn well ought to name your massage chair.)

This evening, Jasmine (the feline) was wanting attention. Doing that "meow meow meow meow meow meow" thing where the only thing that will make her stop (not calling her over or offering her a lap) is to get up and chase her around the house. Only, this time, she wanted to get caught. (Yes, calling her over to sit on my lap wouldn't do. I had to chase her, pick her up, and THEN put her on my lap. She's an odd one, my cat.) So (after I lost my Minesweeper game -- and I was on a new record pace, dammit), I chased her, caught her, and sat her on my lap.

Except we were in the other room, so the only place to sit down was Kevin.

I pet Jasmine for a bit, and think, "If I could just reach around to the power switch in back, without upsetting the cat, I could actually turn Kevin on." And I could.

Ever sit on a massage chair with a cat?

Ever sit on a massage chair with a cat wearing a collar?

Basically, Kevin was massaging me and I was massaging Jasmine. But once Kevin got into a more intense "percussion" cycle, I was being moved around, and Jasmine was vibrating right along with me. It got so intense the little bell on her collar was ringing.

(Do you have any idea how difficult it is to write this post without it sounding like soft porn?)