This installment of life with cats involves me trying to write the other day and me trying to sort out an issue yesterday. Doesn’t seem too exciting, does it? When there are cats involved, it’s never dull.
Two days ago while writing, I’m getting seriously into the story. Like…the climax of everything. I needed to concentrate. No interruptions kind of concentrate. I had X-Men: Days of Future Past playing and I paid James McAvoy no attention. Yeah. I was getting intense.
Then I hear it. Crying. Well, more like crying and begging, but in the form of the cat meowing. Captain America, so named because his white patch on his nose and chin looks like the Avengers A and it seemed like a good name at the time, wanted to play ball. He does fetch like a dog. It’s funny. He finds the paper ball, brings it kind of over and stares at you. When you don’t respond, he cries. It’s like, oh my gosh you’re not paying attention to me…and I want to play. But most of the time when he does this, he’s out of sight. Like…in the other room and I have no idea he’s even in there until he cries. Oh and this boy is a master of stealth, too. One minute he’s one place and the next he’s somewhere else and I have no idea when he went from point A to point B.
So I’m writing and getting into the story and he’s crying. Of course that rips me out of the story. I mean, I thought he’d gotten locked in a room or something. He does helpless well. Because I’m concerned, I put the story down and hunt for him. He’s sitting on the steps with the ball in front of him and looking very annoyed that it took me this long to bother to arrive to pitch the ball for him. Needless to say, once we’d done this two or three times and he’d decided he was bored, I’d lost all concentration on the story. Sometimes I think he knows he does it and it’s a special thrill for him.
Then there was yesterday. We have two cats. I had three, but one passed back before Christmas. Toughest decision of my life. I hate putting animals down. Even if he was failing and fast, it still sucked. Anyway, the black cat, Cap’s adoptive brother is missing a few screws. I really think when he was in the oven, so to speak, Momma left a few pieces out. He’s a neurotic cat.
So I’m dealing with an issue on a program. I’m the publicity chair for the author brunch and I’m in charge of the program. I wanted said program to look neat, professional and clean. I had the whole thing planned out and emailed the entire plan in document form, plus the banners, plus the menu, to the person who puts it all together. There shouldn’t have been an issue. I mean, it’s copy/paste from the one last year AND I had it all spelled out in the document. Should’ve been easy peasy. But this person swears, despite having acknowledged the email with the information all in and attached to it, that he never got the right stuff. Irked the crap out of me. I have proof he did get it.
In the middle of my having a conniption, the black cat, Vader, strolls over to where I’m sitting. He’s neurotic, but he’s also nosy. Oh, and he loves pens. I had a pen in hand, taking notes, when he decided I didn’t need the pen and didn’t need the notes. He sat on the notes and stole the pen. Instead of getting even more irritated, the interruption actually helped. I appreciated his decision as my supervisor, to step in and de-escalate the situation. So anyone who says cats aren’t therapeutic is wrong.
They know when to step in, when to cause chaos and when to be themselves. I might get some writing done today. Might get to concentrate. I’m not counting on it. I know these two. They’re goofballs, but they’re nice goofballs. I can’t imagine life without them.