Teddy, Charlotte, and Chase – A writer’s best friends
Charlotte
Almost every day, my black cat Charlotte jumps onto my desk while I'm writing. She usually sits still for a moment, twitching the tip of her tail and staring at me intently, before bumping her head under my busily-typing arms and placing her paws on laptop. She will have my full attention, lest a string of cat-generated gibberish start appearing in Word.
Trying to remove Charlotte from the desk is not something to be taken lightly. She's small, but she's dense, and - because she hates having them clipped - her claws are very sharp. I was painfully reminded of this a few months ago when Charlotte started to go through her routine of strutting about the desk and shedding fur everywhere. When I picked her up to put her on the floor, she flung out her arms for balance and one of her claws went right into my upper lip - I still have a little scar from where she got stuck. It is better to give her a backscratch and let her lick my fingers when she jumps up.
Still, I adore Charlotte. When I am frustrated or just don't know where to go with a difficult essay or chapter, it is nice to get a visit from my little pamplemousse (because she is so round, you see). She also kept me company while I was going over the drafts of my first book during our unusually snowy winter. I know she was mostly looking for a warm place to rest, but it was still nice to have Charlotte curl up on my lap as I went through my edits.
Teddy
Teddy is a very different animal. Where Charlotte can be by turns by both very skittish and extremely affectionate, Teddy is a mellow cat, or at least he is until he thinks he sees a bug right above my office chair. One moment I'll be typing away, the next I will just catch the sound of Teddy bounding through the apartment before he launches himself through the air onto the back of the chair, his back claws scratching at the leather for purchase. Then he'll sit there for a few minutes, sniffing the air and staring at dust motes or whatever it was he thought he saw, before settling down on the head of the chair.
Chase
And then there's Chase. At about ten years old, he's the grumpy old man of the apartment, and unless he's out of food he rarely comes to see me while I'm writing. Instead he bides his time until I settle into bed at night. Almost as soon as the lights go out, Chase creeps up the bed to sit on my chest and stare at me for a while. During the day he mostly minds his own business, except when Charlotte tries to wash him and he inevitably attacks her for her troubles.
I had not intended to wind up with three cats of my own. Growing up, nearly all my pets were of the scaly and slimy variety - a small menagerie of frogs and anoles are buried in shallow graves behind the house I grew up in. After I married Tracey, though, the cats just found their way to us - Chase was given to us by friends who could no longer keep him; we adopted Charlotte because Chase didn't like Tracey (even though Charlotte ended up liking me better, anyway); and Teddy was the one foster kitten (out of 60+) that we could not let go. Since they often follow me into whatever room I'm working in, they are my near-constant companions while I'm writing.
Some writers think of their pets as their "editors", or at least friendly ears to listen to rough drafts. I can't. If I were to start reading my manuscript to Teddy, he would probably just crack an eyelid before going back to sleep (though I imagine that he would prick up his ears if the word "treat" was involved). He's just a big, fat, friendly grey cat, but that's why I am so glad he and the other cats are here.
I don't like my day job. As you might expect, that's an understatement. When I get home from work I am usually tired, have a headache, and just don't want to do anything, but - every day - the cats come out to greet me when I walk in the door. They purr, arch their backs, and jump up to have their heads petted, and their affection makes all the difference. They break my frustration with my job or whatever else might be bothering me, and that helps me settle my mind enough that I can write. For that, I think I can take a break every now and then to give my cats a little treat or bellyrub.