Last month I gave my office a fresh coat of paint. It’s a small room with a pretty window, a desk, an electric fireplace, and during writing hours, a cat. Sounds nice, right?
My Blue Office
Having “A Room of Ones Own” is a joy for a writer. I enjoy writing in different settings, too, such as in pubs, coffee shops, airports, or gardens, but these days, the bulk of my writing takes place in my little blue office.
Enter Annabelle, our newest family member. She came to us this past October. You can see an earlier post about her miraculous appearance here:
Since then, we’ve been in training.
One of her quirks is that she does not like to drink from the bowl in the kitchen that Jack and London (our long-haired brother cats) use. Since she was a newcomer, some might say interloper, in the beginning we understood her wariness to drink alongside two much larger male cats who had been living with us for years, and so it was understandable that we accommodate her desire. Which is: we are to give her fresh water from the bathroom faucet, and only the bathroom faucet, on an on-demand basis. She does not like stale water, not even if it’s only been a couple of hours. She will stand or sit next to the sink, silent, yet powerful, until one of us goes in to wash and refill her little faux crystal goblet. I believe it’s some kind of extra sensory mind control. Somehow, we just know.
Additionally, she sleeps until 9 or 10 am and doesn’t care to be disturbed with bed-making attempts. So what if it we think of it as our bed? We’re welcome to continue to sleep in it; she’s not stopping us. We just need to understand that she is not a morning cat. Later, when she’s up, she’s happy to join in on the fun of bedmaking, hopping about and attacking the sheet, burrowing under the comforter, playing hide and seek. I would never call her a poor sport. And to be fair, London is just as often the sleepyhead that I can’t bear to disturb.
London
Then there is the insistence Annabelle accompany us on our daily walks. I mentioned this in the Early Annabelle post, so if you read that, you can skip down a few paragraphs.
Since we live in a sparsely inhabited town, there is very little danger to the local cats. Dogs are seldom allowed to roam freely here, but we have a goodly number of local mule deer and cats who come and go as they please. Needless to say, because of the deer, we don’t have any backyard gardens, but that is a story for another day. As it turns out, mule deer and cats get along well. There are no coyotes or badgers or mountain lions in town, no cat predators, so, other than the one road that goes through the town, it’s a pretty safe cat and deer haven.
We had never allowed our cats outside until we moved here. They were often perched on the windowsills gazing out, but they never actually went out. They never even attempted to get out until the neighborhood cats started coming around and sitting on the outside of our windowsills gazing in. It wasn’t long after that Jack and London rebelled.
Jack and Buck
London ready to leap
They wailed, “Sparky’s mom lets him play outside! You’re so mean!” or “Fluffball says you guys are stupid, and her mom thinks so, too.”
You know, the usual.
It was inevitable that the struggle would continue until they escaped. When it comes to me and pets, I accepted a long time ago that I was not the boss. So, there came a day when I had my hands full coming in and they were ready and waiting. Before I could stop them, they shot out the door.
Annabelle The Great
This means that if they like, they can follow us on our daily walks. They have their own door. Jack and London don’t go beyond the yard, but Annabelle Lee, well, she enjoys a nice walk with her humans, so she often tags along. This makes me nervous and curtails many a walk. I’ve taken to sneaking out during her catnaps.
I know. I know.
The last thing is her increasing interest in sleeping in my writing chair, and in attempting to add content to my stories. I’ve given her a basket to sleep in, but she prefers my chair. So I brought in another chair. Problem half solved. But, if I get up and leave the room without closing down the laptop, she gets up and types a bit, and then returns to her nap before I return. I have proof of this!
The empty basket
Annabelle the usurper
She meddled while I was in the kitchen and then feigned sleep when I returned! Evidently I misspelled klutz, and she wanted to insert more description.
Am I the only writer dealing with this? Please tell me that I’m not alone, and happy writing!
LakeArrowheadLadyWriter 