We have acquired a kitten. He was presented with a dual attack: first by a friend dumping the purring kitten in my lap. Second, by the inescapable logic of "You need to take this one home. He's too pretty for the 'yotes to eat."
I'm not complaining, mind you. Well, not much. Sleep deprivation is a torturous thing, even when it's due to four pounds of black and silver fur attacking my toes through the blankets, and the purring loudly while shoving a little wet nose in my face and trying to nibble on my earlobe.
Yoga now requires excess cat toys, to throw and distract someone long enough to get a pose or two done.
Folding laundry... the only way that's actually getting accomplished is to lock myself and the older cat in the guest bedroom. Kili flops on the bed, and declines to even do her prior playful interference. In every line of her sacked-out body is "Oh, Bast, I'm too old for kitten antics. At last, a respite!"
Sadly, that only works until Kili's enjoyment of a kitten-free space is overriden by her awareness of a closed door (an abomination unto felinity.)
No matter how cute, this picture represents laundry that didn't get folded. Because someone thinks a towel held up to fold in half is an exciting new climbing wall. Every. Time.