The glare of my office supervisor, standing in the doorway of my office as I came down the hall this morning, let me know it was 10:30, and I was way late for work.
She's not understanding, particularly about weekends. Being a cat, Sheba expects me to be in front of the computer promptly at 9:30 every morning, typing away and occasionally smiling at her as she hangs out in her faux-leopard bed between the PowerBook and the flat-screen Cinema Display. (Her clue that it's a weekend should be that the PowerBook is closed and I'm working on the iMac.)
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