It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.

The last time William appeared here, he had sat on the keyboard and turned the working title into gobbledygook.

I suppose tonight’s activity is progress.

Yes, I know it’s progress. Because a year ago at this time, his hobby was lying across my lap and biting my fingers. Lunge-chomp-lunge-chomp. Tonight he’s helping.

But Just for the Hell of it Writers meets tomorrow morning, and my promise (to myself) to finish my critique chapter early and, for once, get to bed at a reasonable hour is vaporizing even as I type.

Especially since I took a half-hour out of the evening to prepare this post. That’s okay. It was necessary. I needed a break.

I also needed to memorialize this event so in a couple of years I can look back and say, Wasn’t that darling of him?

Because it’ll be a couple of years before I think so.

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Note: That isn’t dust. We have a super-duper fancy two-toned gray-and-black keyboard.

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Update: Two hours later: I heard growling and turned to find William and Ernest arguing over a cricket. Ernest grabbed it and shot up the stairs. I grabbed a paper towel and ran after him, hissing, “Spititoutspititoutspititout.” At the first landing, after some indecision, he let it go. The cricket is no more. David was asleep but probably isn’t now.

16 thoughts on “It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.

  1. I’m not sleeping either. Need to be reading for a book review and author interview. My mind is elsewhere. If you see it, please send it home! For what it’s worth, William is awfully cute sitting there….

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    1. I haven’t seen your mind. It’s probably wherever mine is. But I’m too tired to use mine now anyway. You and I must get more sleep.

      William thanks you for thinking he’s cute. He thinks so too. Just before the photo was taken, he was cuter–stretched across my lap, typing with his rabbity hind feet–but then he became more interested in the photographer than in the keyboard.

      I’m so grateful for the Undo key.

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    1. Nope, no dust. Never dust.

      I still think it’s typing rather than word processing. And I refuse to use the term keyboarding. So much for being old.

      William will be pleased to know he has your approval. He never grows tired of hearing it.

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    1. It’s amazing how long it takes to eke out two pages, even when a cat is not helping. There will be more crickets (unless I discover how they’re getting in) and regarding Next Chapter, so far, so good. Thanks for your support.

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  2. Susan and Kathy – you are so smart to be blog-hopping in the wee hours when you can’t sleep. Me? I just lay in bed and fret. P.S. My Yorkies said that they think William is very handsome.

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    1. Well, I don’t know how it works for Susan, but I’m more likely to be blog-hopping when I could sleep if I would just go to bed. Why sleep when you can see what the rest of the world is up to?

      William sends his thanks for the compliment. He would no doubt think your Yorkies very cute but would probably not come out from under the bed to say so.

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  3. William is indeed a handsome feline. He bears close resemblance to my own cat, Maggie the Cat. Maggie doesn’t trust machinery (aren’t laptops in that category?), so she has nothing to do with it. She shows no interest in the writing process.
    She is content to be eye candy.

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    1. William considers the computers just another distraction for humans who should be looking at him. He could probably explain the writing process to Maggie, but if I were she, I’d stick with the eye candy gig.

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  4. Agamemnon likes to help sometimes, too, but he does it by lying in my lap and hefting part of his body onto the keyboard (I keep it very low for my carpal tunnel, tendonitis, etc.).

    But why didn’t you let the kitty play with the cricket? Memnon had great fun with a little lizard in the living room today. I assume he ate it because I can’t find it anywhere.

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    1. I love Agamemnon. Did you choose the name on a whim, or was there something about him that told you that was his name?

      The kitties are welcome to bat crickets around the floor. But a friend’s cat had to have significant ($$$) medical treatment because all the crickets he’d eaten clogged up his digestive system. Something about their little exoskeletons. Ernest has already had X-rays and a sonogram (@!%#$$) for a similar condition, so I try to discourage his eating too many foreign objects.

      I had an indoor-outdoor Siamese that left dead chameleons on the doorstep. A jolly present to come home to in the afternoons.

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      1. Agamemnon came to me with his name firmly in place. He was an unadoptable rescued feral–unadoptable because he was 9 months old (approx.). I took him, his brother James (who started life as Lady Jane Grey, before his little testicles descended), and their scaredy-cat sister, Sarah. Sarah ran off after a few day sunder our bed and I never saw her again. James was a sweetie who succumbed to liver failure a couple of years ago. Memnon was named for his fierce nature and will probably live to be 25.

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        1. It’s always nice to hear that rescue cats got a happy home. Ernest came to us after suffering extra trauma: they’d tried to spay him. Fortunately, before the cutting began, someone noticed that wouldn’t be appropriate.

          David wanted to know whether you have to say Agamemnon every time you call him. I’ll tell him about Memnon.

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    1. No, best not to mention it. I’m sure William and Ernest are appalled by the baby-talk addressed to them by two supposedly reasonable adults.

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