You know when you potter around in your room, or house, or whatever, picking things up and putting them down, thinking that there's something you could be - should be - doing, but this isn't it and you can't think what it might be.

Reminds me of my cat, picking her way across a table filled with junk. Trying to find a place to put her paws, let alone her big, furry bum.

Yeah, well I'm doing that on the internet right now.

Eventually my cat just sits on top of all the junk, looks at me with her big, yellow eyes, washes a little, and goes to sleep. But I don't have that sort of willful disregard for my surroundings. More's the pity.

I want to be a cat in my next life. I think I've been good enough, haven't I?