Today I am home alone writing, apart from the company of one furry black and white cat called Mojo. She is a sweet old cat and doing well for her 19 years.
She can be quite useful to have around during the writing process. She is quite willing to patiently listen to me read out long passages of writing without criticism or interference and she is also quite happy to take any questions I might have, although I have found her responses to be a little limited. It's also nice to know that if I am ready for a break, she'll be there to wander in the garden with me for a while or sit on my lap contentedly while I think about future scenes and scenarios.
On the downside, she can be a distraction and an easy excuse to stop writing. She gives me that look which says I demand love and attention now or actually it's more likely to be associated with feed me now oh big giant cat. Oops did that slip through. Yes it did. I'm convinced that Mojo thinks that me and my husband are other bigger cats and the three of us live happily together in our cat emporium. But I guess that's a whole 'nother story that we don't necessarily want to get into now. There are of course the hazards of living with cats. One that regularly occurs in this household is when Mojo decides to make a massive dive from the table to my writing desk, landing with great speed and no brakes on top of the laptop. As there is no warning of this event, it also frightens the life out of me. She could of course have been reading over my shoulder and made the decision to stop this writing nonsense immediately and knows that giant cat paws on the keyboard is a good way of making it happen.
However, today we had the invasion of ghost cats in the house. I'm sure that this is just a cat technique devised over the years to completely freak out any non-cats in the house. I'm sitting quietly writing to suddenly hear some sort of pandemonium taking place in the lounge. Before I can get up to suss out what's going on, a black and white blob moving much quicker than is probably good for a cat of 19 roars past me and hoons upstairs. I look up the stairs to see her hiding behind the wall but her face is visible and she meows at me for good measure to tell me what she's seen. I can only put it down to a ghost cat roaming about in the lounge for when I go in there is nothing to see.
But actually, I think that Mojo cat is rather savvy and is trying to aid my writing. As I am now freaked out by the prospect that the lounge is harbouring unnatural spirits of cats long gone, I've decided to stick here at my writing desk in the other room and stay well away. Funnily enough cats haven't ventured in there either.