When I was a child, we had a family cat. She became a part of the family when I was three and lived for 16 years, so I never really knew a time without her. So it is hardly surprising that I have always been a ‘cat person.’
In my adult life, however, a cat was never a possiblity. At first it was because pets weren’t allowed in student accommodation and then because my partner of the time didn’t care for cats and then it was because my demanding day job meant that I wasn’t at home enough.
Not any more, though. I leave the day job on Tuesday – to take up what I am now calling my ‘joy job’ of being a writer. I will be working from home as, as a result, a cat is a possibility.
Not just a possibility, in fact. When I’ve been visualising what it would be like to be a writer, there was always a cat. In my mind’s eye I could see an inquisitive tabby, weaving around my arms as I wrote. A cat was a necessity!
Well, yesterday Lola arrived in my life. She is a rescue cat, who has moved about a bit so she’s finding it a bit hard to settle at the moment but I am already completely besotted with her.
We’ve had a long discussion about the relative benefits of silver paper over freesia stems (Lola has dissected both in the course of the night) and experimented with each corner of furniture to see which is best for claw-sharpening (the specially provided scratching post is of no interest). Right now, however, she is sitting on my lap, entwined in that curly silver string used for giftwrapping allowing me to make a fuss of her. It makes blogging rather tricky – I’ve switched to my phone so I can write with one hand – but I’m not complaining.
I am a writer and I have a cat.
Contentment
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