Right now, I think I have the worst cold I’ve ever had. I was up all night last night, and this morning, writing is not a flow activity.My cat is trying to write for me, and she’s further off than I am. Time to go back to bed.
Tag: cat
No Claws, Kitty!
Daily writing prompt
If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?
I have three cats, and all three have very sharp claws. They work hard to keep these claws in perfect working order, and I can attest to the functionality of these appendages. The three use their claws in unique ways to keep me in line.
Chuckie reaches out with his claws when I haven’t petted him enough. He reaches with just enough claw to sting, hinting at how much worse he could apply his claws. Sometimes he reaches for my face, and I suffer five tiny points of pain.
Pumpkin lurks in the kitchen and claws at my feet as I walk by. She’s not a very social cat, and she’s asserting her boundaries. My feet are trespassing in her space. The entire kitchen is her space.
Chloe likes to dig her claws into me when she’s jumping off my lap. I appreciate her need for leverage, but I appreciate her claws less. I have claw marks on my thighs because she digs deep.
I could clip their claws — ha! Have you ever tried to clip a cat’s claws? My cats aren’t highly trained sweethearts — they’re cats. I would be shredded if I tried to clip their claws.
Claw marks are a small price to pay for the privilege of being owned by amazing creatures.
CATS
I think it’s clear to anyone who has followed me for any time that my favorite animals are cats. (Dogs and goats are tied for second place).
Why cats? First, because of all of their moods. My cats are silly, aloof, affectionate, grumpy, sleepy, and content. They remind me a lot of me in their variety. And they have no trouble telling me what mood they’re in.
Second, because they’re amusing. Whether doing zoomies, jumping into the bathtub until it starts filling up with water, or defiantly standing on a high surface, cats’ antics leave me chuckling. Sometimes they’re not so amusing, such as when they climb up a Christmas tree (who am I kidding? If they’re climbing up someone else’s Christmas tree, it’s hilarious), but for the most part cats are funny.
Third, because they’re beautiful. Even my chunky cat Chloe possesses a beauty that makes me envious. They flow, they slink, they’re smooth and powerful. (Except for Chucky, who lumbers and plunks).
Having three cats in the house has been a cornucopia of experiences. I can’t imagine being without cats. If I were, my house would be that much less comforting.
Recommending Cats
I have three cats at the current moment, and have had many cats over the years, so I feel like I can answer this authoritatively. The best thing about having cats is the companionship. They are furry, friendly little creatures who want to share your life with you. Sometimes. Right now they’re making themselves scarce, only to get particularly chummy when I’m in the middle of a project.
They also provide lots of humor. Chuckie, our big orange cat, entertains with his total cluelessness. Chloe (the black cat in this picture) is just weird. For example, she goes crazy when Richard sneezes, chattering and running about as if she needs reassurance that he has not released demons into the world.
The best thing about a cat, though, is that you can’t take them for granted. They’re there when they want to be, not necessarily when you want them to be. They’re autonomous creatures with their own agendas. So, when they want to spend time with you, you know they’re there because they want to be. Or because they want food. Or because you’re busy with something else — they’re perverse little creatures.
I’d definitely recommend a cat.
In Memory: Me-Me
Me-Me, my seventeen-year-old kitten, died yesterday afternoon. She had been aging for a while, going through what looked like a bout of feline senility, so it wasn’t unexpected.
We adopted her as a kitten from the neighbor’s. One afternoon, there was a knock on the door and my husband and I answered it to two little girls who wanted to know if we wanted a kitten because the local tom had killed all the male kittens in the litter and they wanted to save these kittens. I decided on the grey-and-white kitten, and we named her Me-Me, because she liked to be the center of my attention.
Meemerz was a one-person cat for much of the time, and that one person was me. She would hiss and bite Richard, until one day she warmed up to him and became our cat.
She was always a bit — flaky. Ditzy. Flighty. Spacy. Whatever word you choose to denote a cat who seems a little … vacant up there. She wasn’t cognitively impaired, just an airhead. Like she didn’t have a thought in the world. We imagined her saying things like “Why are clouds?” and “Food?”
This morning seems a little empty without my geriatric cat sitting on the couch.
Avoiding Plagiarism
I was joking about the concept of Chekhov’s gun the other day, with the example of a cat that showed up early in the action and then turns around to save the day. That, in a phrase, is Chekhov’s cat.
Looking up Chekhov’s cat, I discovered that someone had gotten to the joke before me, a writer on Tumblr named The Bibliomancer, on a blog by the same name (The Bibliomancer, 2023, Nov. 10). They define Chekhov’s cat as when a cat appears in the story, it will play an important role later.
It’s important that we credit the original thought of others with citations, such as what I’ve done above. I use American Psychological Association citation style here in addition to a linkback to the original site. Blogs generally use the linkback, but I want to make sure the originator gets the full credit, so I use academic citation style. The full citation will be at the bottom of this page.
I have been the victim of plagiarism. Once, I gave a colleague an assignment of mine as a guideline for structuring her own homework in a class; she published it as her own without giving me any credit. I still seethe over it, twenty-eight years later, because she stole an idea from me by not crediting me.
I think we on the Internet need to credit the sources we use to make our content. That way, maybe people will cite us.
The Bibliomancer (2023, Nov. 10). Chekhov’s Cat. Available on Tumblr: https://thebibliomancer.tumblr.com/post/733615519135039489. [August 28, 2024].
My Editorial Staff
Despite my middle-class status and that I’m not a full-time writer, I have an editorial staff.
My senior editor, Me-Me.
Chuckie is sitting to my right on the window bench. Chuckie just woke up, and fell immediately asleep again. His job is usually to keep me on my toes. I am not on my toes right now.
Chloe is falling asleep on the job. This is probably because she is a cat, and cats are notorious for their ability to take naps anywhere. She’s on the back of the couch, right behind me. Her editing duties fall by the wayside.
I wonder if the cats are on strike, because the senior editor, Me-Me (at age 17) is sleeping on the couch.
Pumpkin has walked off the job.
I suppose paying my editorial staff in cat food isn’t the best arrangement, but they’re better than not having editors at all. And they have the advantage of purring when I pay attention to them.
Cats, Of Course
I am a cat lover. Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs too. I will pet every dog I get a chance to pet, and yell “Look at the goggie” to my husband across a parking lot. But, as one of my cats (Chloe) is sitting in my lap while I type, it’s obvious that I prefer cats to dogs.
Cats have peculiar personalities. One might even say they’re little weirdos in fur suits. Me-Me tries to ingratiate herself to people in the bathroom. Chloe tries to lick faces. Pumpkin hisses at all the other cats, and Chucky is just breathtakingly brainless (he’s an orange cat; orange cat owners will know what I mean.)
Cats do not have a fanatical devotion to their owners. I do not deserve fanatical devotion, nor do I want it. It’s only smart for a cat to look upon me with a bit of skepticism. It shows discernment. [ppppppppppppppppppppppppp;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; (This is Chloe’s response to reading the above paragraph. Note the lack of fanatical devotion.)
My personality is mercurial, quirky, and at times a bit inscrutable. I’m a lot like a cat that way, so I think I will always get along best with cats.
Writing with Chloe the Cat
Today, Chloe is helping me write the blog. Chloe is my second-youngest cat at age 4, and she is peculiar:
We adopted her as a kitten from the Humane Society — she was the one who spent her visit climbing all over me, so we knew what to expect.
The kitty we nicknamed “Itty-bitty-bitty-bitty-BABY-BABY girl” has grown into a chubby adult. She sits with me when I’m in my writing spot (a loveseat in the living room) or sits nearby, looking out the window. Often she asks for attention so it takes longer to get things done.
I’m trying to figure out what to write today (if anything). She is not helping any, choosing instead to sit on the back of the couch and read over my shoulder. Just now she ran toward the stairs for no real reason at all.
I guess I’ll just write on my own, then.
A Saint’s Day
I am going to write about the patron saint of this day, March 17.
Not that one.
I’m writing about St. Gertrude. St. Gertrude is the patron saint of cats for reasons that do not appear in her history. It might be because she was the patron saint of rats and rats spread bubonic plague so we have to bring the cats out to rid us of the plague — but no. Early Catholicism was brutal on cats, especially black ones.
Nowadays, though, in this cat-loving world of ours (the cats won!) Gertrude can be portrayed with a cat in her lap and the rats scurrying away.
St. Gertrude is also the patron saint of gardeners, widows, the recently deceased, the sick, the poor, the mentally ill, and travelers. She sounds like someone I’d like to hang out with.
How does one celebrate St. Gertrude’s Day? I guess by petting cats. They’ll be happy for the attention.
Words Like Me 