The Eternal Mystery of How to Write Alongside a Cat
The centuries-long quandary for authors employed by cats
I’m not quite sure how this is meant to work, this “writing with a cat” thing. Has any writer ever figured it out?
Polly the Demon Queen is completely adorable, a positively perfect specimen of CHONK who arrived, large and in charge, when I fostered her for 28 hours in 2020 as early pandemic “practice” for the theoretical dog I’ve yet to adopt. She was 7 then and she’s 11 now and I remain obsessed with her, obviously.
It is hard to not look at all that floof all day - who the fuck has time to write a “series outline” or “simple email”? Sure, I’ve got agents and correspondents and a full-time paycheck job, but on the other hand, I HAVE A CAT TO STARE AT ALL DAY!
Here in Chicago, I did set up a workspace with her in mind. I’ve got a little round coffee table made of scrap wood by the good people at It’s Not Trash, a lovely workshop in Los Angeles. She can hop onto it and then right onto my desk, which I must admit is something cheap and factory-made with zero interesting backstory elements.
Upon this desk is a cute, crinkly pad with dangly things stuck to it. She can sit on the pad and then bat at or chew on the aforementioned dangly things. I can type and occasionally pet her. Fabulous set up, right?
The lady begs to disagree.
The trouble seems to be that she is unable to sit upon my actual human person, even if my wrist is but a couple inches from her bum. For reference, I will share a portrait of her preferred seating arrangement.
At any rate, I have become a cat freak just like all the other cat freaks. I was not one before 2020, more of an admirer than a stan. But now here I am, a woman who just returned from vacation with her ADULT LOVER, a vacation upon which I insisted we visit a cat cafe on the Lower East Side. Granted, my travel mate was quite enthusiastic about the idea, and very nearly stole a kitten, but relented when we realized the logistics made it improbable in addition to being highly unethical.
I can’t blame my procrastination on my cat. And of course my desk setup isn’t good enough for her. Isn’t that the nature of humans who sign over our personal agency and willpower to cats? That’s the whole deal: they’re never fully satisfied with us, and we never stop trying to make them happy. It’s a rather more benevolent reenactment of a dynamic often found in families around the world.
I say “more benevolent,” but this cat does bite and scratch me at least twice a week on average. However, she doesn’t bite or scratch any adult visitors. She glowers at them, hisses at them, and swipes at them without using her claws. She occasionally permits them to pet her, play with her, and sit very close to her.
When children come over, her eyes become rounder and softer, and she looks at them with a charming curiosity, her ears perky and a bit forward rather than angry and pointing in near-opposite directions in what I think of as the Batman position. To my eternal relief, she does not hiss or swipe at kids.
I have concluded that she knows she is not in charge of these temporary guests, no matter how tall or how small, but that she is very much in charge of me.
I have also concluded that she doesn’t give a shit about my writing career, which is entirely understandable.
So here’s where we’ve ended up, me and my furry duchess - excuse me, QUEEN: in a position not exactly amenable to typing.
Well, off to fulfill my duty as a loving piece of furniture to this polydactyl beast. May your evening be free of uninvited biting and scratching, and may you enjoy the long weekend in the manner of your choosing. I’ll get to that series doc eventually, and if you ever see something I’ve written since March 2020, know that it was written in spite of the angry disapproval of a creature who I do suspect loves me a great deal. If you’ve got stories like this, do feel free to share below.
xoxo
Sara
William Burroughs had cats and was more fond of them than people. There is a chapbook called Ruski ($125 on ebay!) named after one of his favorite. I was his gardener in Lawrence, KS, after he retired there in his later years. The previous couple-gardeners had created a male genitalia shaped vegetable garden in the far backyard near a trickle creek now named after Burroughs. Since the ground was too soggy for tomatoes I used a queen-sized waterbed frame to raise up the middle portion, filled it with dirt, planted the tomatoes and learned to always keep it top mulched with the grass trimmings because the cats loved it. The decomposing grass always had a little extra heat, and the raised view point allowed them to survey their back kingdom, where I left a few unmowed irregular patches so both cats, bunnies, and birds had places to hide.
I have been obsessed with cats since I was tiny. I’ve always had a cat. What is life without cats??? Not one I want.
I have two. They both prefer to sit directly on my hands when I’m typing. Even though my desk is near a great window/fire escape/ bird and squirrel situation. But they’re so cute. I forgive them.