Past conversations with my cat – 32

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This is Chester.  I’ve just told him we will be going away for a few days.

What, again?  You do nothing but go away these days!  That look of disdain is meant to move me, but, sorry, it doesn’t.

It is retirement, you know, I say.  I’ve waited for 65 years so that I can do what I want.

Poor you!  Any idea how old you think I am?

15, mate, and lucky to have lived that long, despite the fact you’ve tried to escape.

That’s a matter of opinion, but not cat years, fool, human years.

I’d never quite worked that out.  We had a dog once, and I know that for every dog year it’s seven human years, so it was, in human terms, rather old.

But cats?

I’ll look it up on the internet.

Interesting.  The first two years are worth 24 human years and 4 years for each successive year.  That makes you, wow, 76.

A smug expression takes over.  Old, he says, you don’t know what it is to be old.

Except at your age, you’re too old to be travelling.

He wanders off, the tail indicating his annoyance.  I don’t think it was what he wanted to hear.

 

Past conversations with my cat – 31

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This is Chester. He doesn’t like being on the end of a berating.

In a moment of extreme pique, as can happen when dealing with an obstinate and sometimes utterly obdurate cat, you can sometimes forget who is the master and who is living on borrowed time.

It’s like dealing with a spoilt child, but unlike a child, you cannot get down to their level and instead of speaking down to them, you can reach them on their level.

With a cat it’s different.

You are enraged, you see red, you are prone to becoming something other than who you really are, going from calm and urbane, to this red-faced infuriated gibbering idiot.

Over something so simple that you can only describe the circumstances as inexplicable.

And yet above it all, this wretched animal remains quite calm and looks at you with those innocent eyes and a face that tells you that whatever the problem is, he didn’t do it.

Those claw marks on the curtains didn’t get there by themselves, did they?

And it’s not as if the humans are likely to climb up the curtains, is it?

What’s the point?

It’s off to the vet to have the claws cut. Then we’ll see what happens.

I’m also wondering if we really need curtains. I hear shutters are in vogue.

Damn cat!

Conversations with my cat – 69

This is Chester. He’s looking for a cool spot to lie down.

We’ve been having something of a heat wave for the last few days, temperatures soaring above the mid-thirties, and nearly as high as forty degrees centigrade.

So, this morning we watched the ice hockey, and even Chester stayed the distance, not so he could smirk when the Maple Leafs lost, but to channel the idea it was cold somewhere else in the world.

And it worked for a while. Having been to the ice hockey in Toronto in person, I know just how cold it was.

After that, it was a matter of leaving the doors opens to let what breeze there was flow through the house, so Chester first sat by the front door, then the back door, then came out to see me.

Time for the air conditioner.

Yes, we have air conditioning, and yes, the cost of electricity in this country is horrendous.  It was why we had solar panels put in.

I just leave it as long as possible before turning it on.

I thought about toying with him, but he’s sitting on the keyboard looking angry.

Now was the right time.

Past conversations with my cat – 30

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This is Chester.  Waiting impatiently.

I’ve asked him to stay by the front door and let me know when the delivery man comes.

What is it we’re waiting for?

It’s a surprise.

For who?

If I told you that, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.

That, of course, sets his mind racing, because now he thinks I’ve got a surprise for him.  And the memories of that doesn’t sit well, because the half dozen practice mice I got him didn’t get used.

Why do I need to practice chasing mice that don’t move? he asked.

It was an interesting question, a led to another surprise, a half dozen clockwork mice.

He wanted to know why I was winding them up, and then, when I put them down, he simply watched then crash into the wall.

I shake my head as I walk away.  Why did I say anything?  All I had to do was open the door and he would have come, sat and waited for no reason at all.

 

 

NaNoWriMo Supplementary Day One

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It’s past five o’clock in the afternoon and I haven’t had a look at working on the last few chapters.

I looked at it last night, made the changes I thought I needed to continue working the next day.

But…

The day started with the Maple Leafs playing the Buffalo Sabres. It was at Scotiabank stadium, our home ground, so the odds were in our favour to win.

Of course, the day before we lost.  It was disappointing, and if anyone has been following the trials of living with Chester, my cantankerous cat, you would know he was happy they did.

And still getting his least favourite food.

He knows the deal. Barrack for the Maple Leafs or there will be consequences.

Today we won in overtime. Good, we’ve been winning since we changed coaches, and the loss yesterday was an aberration.

The game ended in the early afternoon, our time.

Then we switched over to test cricket, and this will run till about ten tonight which means not much work will get done.

I have been forsaking the cricket to finish the NaNoWriMo project. Now that pressure is off I have a few things to catch up on.

At least the next hockey game is not till Wednesday.

The cricket may be over in a day or so.

In the meantime, when there is a lull in sport, I will get back to work.

Past conversations with my cat – 29

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This is Chester  He thinks he has managed to slip away without anyone noticing.

He doesn’t realise that we put a special collar on him so that we can hear him coming.

It was supposed to save the birds, stopping him from sneaking up on them, but we don’t let him outside.

Like all cats who have a dash of bravado in them, they don’t realize cars are not meant to be chased, and they are faster than cats think they are.

Or so the last three cats we had thought.  Chester is benefitting from their mistakes.

Not that he can be told.

Still…

He knows it’s reading days, where I need an opinion, and I’m guessing he’s not in the mood.

That’s OK.  I need a change of scenery.  And the chance to improve my surveillance skills.

Maybe I can use that experience in the story.

 

 

NaNoWriMo Day Twenty Seven

It’s interesting that no matter how much you outline and plan a chapter, when it comes to actually putting words on paper it doesn’t quite run the way it should.

Last night I toiled over the chapter that has the first of the plot twists.

It’s been writing itself in my head, and I’ve been making notes to supplement the plan and take those notes into consideration.

But…

When I wrote it, the first time around, it didn’t seem right. You know what that’s like. It’s not the second guessing thing, it’s not the being over critical thing, you write it, walk away, get a coffee, or in my case a large Scotch and soda water, and go back.

You either tell yourself it’s utterly brilliant, or at the other end of the scale, complete rubbish.

I was somewhere in between, and the cat, who was skulking nearby suddenly found himself a captive critic.

I read it out loud, he made weird faces, and, yes, I could see what was bothering me.

Three hours later, past two in the morning, it was in better shape than I was.