Cats and Writing
It’s hard to work with a cat lying on top of my page wanting attention: chewing on the pen, grabbing at the moving pen-tip and wanting to play.
I move my page, he moves his head and paws and we start again.
He wants attention, so with my other hand I pat him, stroke his head and hear him purr contentedly. Not contented enough to fall asleep, sleep that would allow me to write, at least…not yet.
At sixteen pounds, he is a large kitty, though still a kitten. Maine Coon cats don’t reach their full mature size until they are three years old; he has two to go. He is a delightful companion, as are our two Birmans, though all three are demanding and persistent. They would be on top of me as well, except that they are currently napping elsewhere in the house.
I’ve put him down on the floor a dozen times. There seems to be no way to keep him off my papers unless I lock him in another room.
He doesn’t get that I am “potentially” a famous writer at work. He just wants to be loved and patted and cuddled.
Perhaps, he wants to teach me patience and calls me to wisdom and play. He wants to have fun, coaxing me for attention, grabbing the pen away from me.
When I give up and decide to photograph him atop my writing, he jumps down off the desk, seeming to know that, finally, I am ready to accept him sitting there. He doesn’t co-operate with photos either.
Another lesson for me? About control, this time.
I’ll start writing again. When I hit the next “creative roll,” he’ll sense it and be back.
All photos are mine of Oliver the Maine Coon Cat, who frequently assists with my writing.