The Cat-astrophe of Q3 Projections

The quarterly projections meeting was usually a graveyard of enthusiasm, but today, Gary was *on fire*. He had graphs, he had pie charts, he even had a perfectly timed, slightly dramatic pause before revealing the projected 15% increase. His mic was crisp, his lighting impeccable. "And so," he boomed, gesturing emphatically, "with these innovative strategies, we anticipate a monumental shift in..."

Suddenly, a fluffy, ginger projectile streaked across his keyboard, tail held high like a victorious flag. Mittens, Gary's notoriously aloof Persian, had chosen this precise moment to perform her daily "zoomies." This wouldn't have been so bad, except Mittens had a peculiar habit of *only* doing zoomies when wearing her tiny, festive sombrero, a relic from a forgotten Cinco de Meow-o party.

The sombrero, now slightly askew, caught on the 'mute' button, then the 'share screen' button, before landing squarely on Gary's head. The screen, instead of displaying dazzling sales figures, now showed a full-screen, slightly blurred selfie of Mittens' surprised, sombrero-wearing face.

A collective gasp, then a strangled cough from Brenda in accounting, quickly followed by the distinct sound of someone spitting out their coffee. Gary, red-faced, tried to shoo Mittens, only succeeding in sending the sombrero spinning like a deranged frisbee.

"As I was saying," Gary stammered, frantically trying to regain control of his cat, his presentation, and his dignity, "a *monumental* shift in... our ability to maintain professional decorum, apparently." The meeting devolved into a cacophony of suppressed giggles and one very proud cat purring loudly into the microphone. Q3 projections were discussed, eventually, but the true takeaway was that Mittens now had her own corporate title: Director of Unplanned Interruptions.