The me me me syndrom

Harou seems to think that the world is hers. That the blinds are her swings, the couch is her scratching post (and not the actual one we bought), the trash can is merely a step to the counter, a vacant lap is her bed and so on. I find I can't do much without her involvement. As I type she is sitting in my lap trying to paw at my fingers as they type. When I read she rests on my chest. When I write she jumps on my paper and attacks the pen. I can't enter the kitchen without her whinning.

No one said having a cat could be so annoying, but she is cute