The Seasons Change

Up here in the north country of New Hampshire, we’re well out of the glorious fall colors and moving into the grey-and-brown of late autumn and early winter — fitting weather for enduring the tail end of a particularly debilitating cold, and for contemplating revisions and similar work.

None of it is made any easier by having a large, plushy cat draped across my forearms as I’m trying to type.  Having me gone for over a week in mid-month appears to have made her inconveniently affectionate.  On the other hand, she’s warm, which will be a decided plus if her new behavior hasn’t moderated itself come January.

Cats, by and large, make good writer’s pets.  They’re emotionally self-sufficient, which means that they aren’t going to go into a decline if the human of the household spends a week or so in a deadline-induced fugue (but they’re perfectly capable of demanding attention for necessary things like food — quite ruthlessly, if need be.)  They don’t regard the human of the household as a minor god, or even the alpha of the pack; at best they appear to regard humans as mentally challenged, peculiarly-shaped kittens who can, with patience, be taught to understand simple commands.  This is good for keeping the writer’s ego in check.  And they can catch mice, which — considering the sorts of places writers often have to live — is  a positive contribution to household morale.

2 thoughts on “The Seasons Change

  1. Some cats are more self-sufficient than others. One of my cats will come and stand in front of my monitor and bat at me, the cursor, and the keyboard if not fussed regularly.

  2. One of our cats — Selina Mitten, the mad Siamese — used to sleep on top of my co-author’s CRT monitor with her head hanging over, looking at him like a hungry vulture. The day that he switched over to a flat-screen monitor and she discovered that her nice warm draft-free perch had gone away, she gave him the most amazing dirty look and didn’t speak to him for over a week.

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