opposite sides.

The middle-aged, existentially-crisis-ridden Woman sat at the far end of the Table.  In her hands, she held two lethal knitting needles, on which was impaled a black yarn.  Her hands moved nervously, trying to match the irregular rhythm of her clicking needles.

The young, procrastination-prone Man sat at the far end of the Table.  Under his hands lay an old, fractured keyboard.  He tapped absentmindedly at the keys: f, f, f, f.  j, j, j, j.  The steady beat syncopated with the needles' rhythms.  In his lap sat the Cat.

Time Passed.

"Twenty-one.... Twenty-two.... Twenty-three.... Twenty-four.... Placemarker.  Mmmmm."  The Woman's voice cracked.  "Can you get that Cat away from here?  My eyes are getting itchy just being near him.  And I... Wait.  Don't disturb me.  Thirty-three.... Thirty-four...."  Her voice faded.  The Man stayed silent, immobile.  His fingers feebly betrayed his statued-ness.  His eyelids drooped lower.

Time Passed.

The Cat's purring grew dimmer.  No hands were scratching at his chin.  No warm breath on his stomach.  This was no better than the floor.  He jumped.  The Man shuddered with a start.  The eyes snapped wide.  The Cat's hair found its target.

Time Passed.

The Woman sneezed.