Early days

This morning Ecks reflected on the nature of his nascent blog as Madame Poincaré, the Bengal cat, purred softly as he stroked her head. She had asked him, as he typed, what was so important that he had to clatter the keys of his computer so and disturb her nap, but when he told her she was less than impressed.
"I don't see why anyone would want to read anything written by you."
"Well, I'm not too sure why anyone would either," he replied, "But at the very least a blog will encourage me to write."
"Write, shmite," she grumbled, "Clickety-clack, tippy-tap, all it does is get on my nerves. It keeps me awake. I don't - no-one told you to stop stroking - I don't have time for stories. You can't eat a story. Stories give me itchy claws."
"I didn't know cats could get itchy claws."
"Well we can. It makes us want to scratch things. Chairs, curtains, carpets. People."
Later, Ecks moved his computer away from where Madame Poincaré took her naps.