I spent a lot of time with Roby today. 
We drove to get milk together, and I wrote next to her on a blanket in the yard, or at least I tried. Every time she stopped playing to see my typing, she’d crawl furiously over and claw at the keyboard until I snapped the laptop shut. Then she’d try her damndest to get the thing open, she saw me do it, and she could almost figure it out, but not quite. 

So she’d crawl dejectedly off to play with a book or piece of silk or a silicon wrench until the next time she saw me tapping away. Generally I do alright with a few minor distractions; changing my music, playing a little simple game, texting a friend. I can pop from the work back into the writing pretty seamlessly, I think. But when it’s Roby I had a hell of a time getting back into the swing of things, and she’d come barreling in every five minutes. 

In the end we got there, but it was a battle. She likes the clackiness of the keys, their feel and their noise, and she also hates when I’m not paying attention to her. She’s right on both accounts.