Writing and a Distracting French Cat

Jone Fonda and Cat Yoga

An airy West London house with 3 terraces sounds like an ideal place to continue the writing in exchange for waiting for a delivery man. Well it’s ideal if you were prepared for a big cat with golf ball eyes that they have just acquired from a cat orphanage.

He followed me around as I snooped around the fridge and made myself a cup of tea – daring me to put on the owner’s dressing gown. Stretched out in front of me front side up suggestively expecting me to touch it and when I ignored him, tried to get my attention by first playing dead, then trying to dance solely on his hind legs – ok so the last one was mildly impressive but more freaky. How much attention does this cat normally get?

I contemplate dangling a piece of saucisson in its face before throwing it out of the window. And then receive a message from the owner asking me not to feed le chat as it is sick and too fat. What if the cat bites me I ask? No reply.

I sit down. The cat follows me. I stand to go use the bathroom and when I come out, the cat is sitting outside. This cat totally has issues. My phone rings and I’m saved by the bell. I take the call upstairs so I get some privacy. When I return the cat is sitting at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me – clearly it has been earwigging trying to get material for his own book no doubt. I open the laptop and it leaps onto the keyboard – damn this cat can write.

Someone’s even dedicated a whole blog to great writers and their cats.

Jack Kerouac and his cat

Hemingway and his cat

Hemingway and his cat

Judy Blume with Her Cat

Judy Blume with Her Cat

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