Angelia gasped, fiddling with the synth-upload jack. It should have been connected to the wall, yet there it was, loose in her hand. Miser, her twenty-pound bundle of feline apathy, feigned innocent indifference at her horror.
“Eh, cats will be cats.”
“Enough out of you! Get out of my head!”
“Our head. It was mine first.”
“I can’t think with you rattling in my skull!”
She thought about flicking her forehead, but that would be the ultimate expression in auto-masochism.
She slumped down, rubbing the small port behind her ear.
“This can’t be happening. You’re just a figment of my deadline-fueled insomnia-addled imagination!”
“Fig-mint?” She laughed. “I prefer to think of myself as a pomegranate-lemon verbena!”
Angelia closed her eyes in literal self-defeat.