The Cat’s Meow

I’ve been writing about dead cats for the last hour.

I snuggled with the live ones before I did it. There is a method to my madness. I am trying to author a compelling tale for Chicken Soup for the Soul as I don’t see many other publications willing to pay to hear about my cats.

I might also write a piece about my Grandma and Grandpa Slavin while I am at it. May as well write more than one piece.

I accomplished a lot yesterday. I got the apartment completely in order​ and wrote a piece I hope will end up published at another website. Today I am editing a bit before I go to bed (and am forced to get up at three in the morning).

The only part of my plan for world domination that hasn’t fallen into place is the exercise bit. I think it’s because I am generally sedentary and need to force that piece into place. Perhaps I will stretch before I go to bed. It’s a start.

My cats have been beckoning me to bed. How they are a fan of routines. That is perhaps why I like them so much. Like me, they want to go to bed at a particular hour, even if they’ve napped recently. Like me, they enjoy affection and being told that they’re pretty. Like me, they whine a lot when they don’t have food.

I’ve heard that cats are very obsessive-compulsive. I tend to agree. Once Starlight has something in her sight or mind, she is obsessed until she gets it. Mona is a creature of habit and continually wakes me up at 1:30 AM and then again right before three. Like clockwork.

It’s hard to resist early morning cat cuddles, especially when the cat is purring loudly and has her paws tucked under your chin.

I just had a completely new idea for the cat essay, right after I finished editing 1200 words.

Yet, the siren call of the cats compels me. I must away to bed. Toodles…


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