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Times are trying, but my cats are on the job.

Sweetie, who now looks like a furry tabby bowling ball with legs, comes downstairs to support my efforts when I'm on the weight bench. She has learned not to walk under the moving parts (the weights) when they're moving, which means I don't get a cramp letting them back down sloooooowly to avoid her. And she tells me she loves me and would I skritch ... there? Ohhh thanks. And asks to be let into the storage room to check for mice. Why would I say no to that?

Zoomy doesn't do that, but he has taken to shoving his favorite toy mouse under the bedroom door for me at night, so that I will have it to play with if I want or to sleep with. (I don't, but he doesn't understand a lot about humans yet. He's only about 18 months old.) I give it back to him in the morning, and then find it again later. He also curls up (during the day) next to me and sighs and sleeps with only a little whuffling snore. (I'd let him sleep here at night but it would screw up my breathing; he sheds a lot. A lint roller is a must with him, for use on anywhere he's been lying.)