I’m on a writing retreat in KC, and although I haven’t written anything yet, I got to watch fireworks from the 35th floor of my hotel.
Today is writing, followed by going to the cat cafe to pet cats. Then maybe more writing. We shall see.
I’m at a crucial place in my story, a big reveal, and then chaos. It’s a bit intimidating to write. But I will make it.
I want to do nothing today. Absolutely nothing. I want to store up the nothingness so that when I go through my busy week, I feel rested and open to whatever the week throws at me.
It’s hard for me to do nothing. I will end up doing something, even if it’s reading Quora all day (a waste of time; I would probably accomplish more by napping). I will check on the plants in the basement and, if I feel bored enough, I will possibly write. That’s the only thing that gets me writing these days — absolute boredom, and my writing is desultory and not flowing.
If it were possible to store up sleep, I would take a nap. But napping will keep me awake at night, and I can’t afford to miss my lifetime sleep.
I will end up emulating the example of my cats, who do nothing for hours a day. Right now, Chloe is laying on the arm of my chair, cuddling up against me. I could certainly do worse.
I don’t ask for much, and this includes ideal days.
My ideal day usually happens on a Saturday or Sunday. The best of these days happens in Kansas City while on a mini-vacation. My husband and I wake up in a hotel room and stretch and yawn, then get dressed up for a day of wandering.
My favorite breakfast is at Eggtc, which is a breakfast restaurant in the KC area. I usually order something bad for me, although sometimes I eat the avocado toast. From there, we go to Broadway Cafe, with the goal of some writing time. I like the Cafe’s coffee, and so I drink less coffee at Eggtc to make sure I don’t get over-caffeinated.
We stay at the Cafe for a while. Part of the reason we’re in KC is for a writing retreat. We probably stay there till lunch, and then go to lunch at Choga in Overland Park. we don’t get to eat Korean food often. We usually order dolsot bibimbap, which is a sizzling rice bowl with Korean vegetables and bulgogi.
After this, we go to Whiskers Cat Cafe and play with the cats there. Mind you, we have three cats at home, but it’s fun playing with the cat residents there, especially the kittens in their enclosures. After Whiskers, we may go back to the room to rest, or maybe to the Cafe again. Dinner is likely to be ordered in through Door Dash.
It’s not an exciting day, but it’s ideal as far as this old lady is concerned.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I’m sitting at home again today, cowering in the air conditioning because “it’s going to be another hot one,” in Midwest parlance. I’m listening to playlists that help me concentrate, hoping they’ll inspire me to finish the last three chapters of Carrying Light.
There’s a list of where I’d like to be right now:
Where I do not want to be:
Words Like Me 