Pyewacket thinks she’s my writing partner. She might be right. She certainly helps with the all-important procrastination segment of my writing process.
No writing day would be complete with our obligatory morning conversation. It goes something like this:
Me (standing in the door of my office): Are you coming in?
Her: …. (pointedly looks out across the yard at something, or possibly nothing. No one is sure but her.)
Me: You don’t have to, you know.
Her: …. (Deigns to look in my general direction.)
Me: I’m closing the door now.
Her: (lifts one foot and implies forward motion in the general direction of the doorway. At this point she may or may not meow.)
It goes on like this for another five minutes while she makes her decision. If I close the door with her outside, she uses the window lattice as a ladder/seat in order to make her pathetic situation known. Namely that she is outside when I knew full well that she wanted to be inside.
So, I let her in – and she immediately jumps up on my desk. Not content to simply sit there, she insists on being petted. If I do not pet her, she demonstrates the proper procedure by rubbing against objects which should not be rubbed against, lest they fall to the floor or wind up befurred – a particularly sad fate for scotch-tape.
This is followed by another conversation during which I try to write while she pats my face ever more insistently until I pet her instead. Only after the requisite attention has been paid to her soft and furry self am I allowed to begin putting words on the page.
One might think these shenanigans would be distracting. And perhaps they are, a bit. But the truth is, they also lighten my spirit. Interacting with Pye calms my soul and injects a wealth of humor into my day. Companion animals are experts in the area of soul-calming, whether they intend to be or not.
So – I will continue to let her in. And I’ll pretend to be mildly annoyed when she pats my head, adding a claw-tip or two when I fail to pay immediate attention. (No actual scratches have ever occurred. It’s just a warning. I think.) Because Pye is my muse.
Or possibly I am hers. I’ve never been quite sure which.