As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. We are at the delicate stage of peace negotiations.
The ceasefire has been rocky, to say the least.
Blame is being thrown about like confetti at a wedding.
And to top it off, it’s Friday the thirteenth.
Im fuĺly expecting Chester to change his coat to black, and walk in front of my path with an evil grin on his face.
There’s already been signs of his mischievousness. A long time ago we bought him some fake mice to play with since he didn’t have the inclination to chase the real rodents. Little did we know he had hidden these away, to bring them out on black Friday.
And, sitting on the floor, giving me the death stare, I wonder what his intentions are.
So, I ignore him. I go back to the computer and get on with the day’s work. I have episodes to write, some research for a project one of my granddaughters is working on, and a novel in the throes of a third edit.
Still, I can feel those beady eyes drilling into my back.
Do what you like, I say, turning suddenly on him, causing him to jump. Just go away and let me get on with my work. Instantly, I realise I’ve lost the battle, as he stands, gives me a final smug look, and leaves the room.
Was that a swagger?