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. He’s pretending to be wise.

We’re having a discussion about perspective. I’m trying to explain that it is different for every person.

He reckons from his perspective, I’ve lost the plot.

So, I say, this is how it goes.

Imagine you’re arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. All the evidence is circumstantial, your gun is missing, and only two people know the combination, you can’t get corroboration on your whereabouts at the time of the crime, and you were heard to say you wanted to kill the victim.

A measured look of thoughtfulness followed by, he’s guilty of course.

Why I ask.

Give a man a gun and it’s bound to go off.  That’s the problem with you humans.  You need to figure out how to get along with each other without having a gun to back you up.  Have you ever seen a cat with a gun?  No, I didn’t think so.

How did this get to be about guns and not perspective? I ask.

Leave the gun out of the equation, then it’s only circumstantial.  Just saying.

I shake my head.  Why am I talking to a cat?

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.  Somedays, like today, he is an accomplice.

In what, you may ask.

I got a DM (a direct mail in Twitter) from someone who wants to ask a few questions and write a little piece about me in their blog.

Why? Chester asks.  He’s been sitting beside me staring at the same screen I have, and it finally got the better of him.

They asked I replied.

But what about the last person who tried to get simple answers to simple questions?

I was in a frivolous mood, I tell him.

That’s most days, isn’t it?  Unless, of course, you’ve dozed off after a long night trying to get words on theoretical paper.

OK, so he’s trying to annoy me.  It’s working.

The first question, tell us a little about yourself.

So, what do I say?  Suave and sophisticated.

A sidelong look from an obviously amused cat.  I can tell by the expression on his face.

And then the words, don’t use words of more than two syllables, and worse, use words you don’t know the meaning of.

That’s why I have a thesaurus and dictionary on the computer.

He lets that pass.

So I have been around long enough to have many experiences, go to many places, see many people, and do stuff.

Do stuff?  What the hell is ‘stuff’?

You know, stuff.  Looking at stuff, eating stuff, sitting on stuff.

Groan.

He gets up, gives me that pitiful look of disdain, and leaves.

I shrug.  Maybe tomorrow, when he’s in a better mood.

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. He’s pretending to be wise.

We’re having a discussion about perspective. I’m trying to explain that it is different for every person.

He reckons from his perspective, I’ve lost the plot.

So, I say, this is how it goes.

Imagine you’re arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. All the evidence is circumstantial, your gun is missing, and only two people know the combination, you can’t get corroboration on your whereabouts at the time of the crime, and you were heard to say you wanted to kill the victim.

A measured look of thoughtfulness followed by, he’s guilty of course.

Why I ask.

Give a man a gun and it’s bound to go off.  That’s the problem with you humans.  You need to figure out how to get along with each other without having a gun to back you up.  Have you ever seen a cat with a gun?  No, I didn’t think so.

How did this get to be about guns and not perspective? I ask.

Leave the gun out of the equation, then it’s only circumstantial.  Just saying.

I shake my head.  Why am I talking to a cat?

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.  He’s amused by the new Google Home device we have.

It sits on the table next to the dining table, and only today did he discover we talk to it.

You know, you say “Hey Google” and it listens and fairly accurately types out the voice request you’ve made, such as,  “Hey Google, play some Creedence Clearwater Revival”.

Of course, Chester doesn’t like their songs, and all but covers his ears when he hears it.  It might be the reason why I request it often, but

Sometimes he’ll sit in front of it, waiting.  I suspect he thinks it will work on thought transference, and it will play ‘the meowing of a thousand cats’, to get his revenge.

Sorry, great minds don’t think alike in your case.

Then play something I would like.”

Right.

I ask google to play the Pastoral Symphony.  Not exactly Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, but it has it’s moments, like turning up the volume and waiting for the cannon fire.

Scares him every time.

But that was last week.  This week he’s requesting Ravel’s Bolero.  I think he’s been watching late-night movies again.

I say, “Hey Google, play Ravel’s Bolero.”

Instead of music, I get the instruction to reinstall Spotify.  It seems my subscription has run out.

Ugh, technology at it’s finest!

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. He’s pretending to be wise.

We’re having a discussion about perspective. I’m trying to explain that it is different for every person.

He reckons from his perspective, I’ve lost the plot.

So, I say, this is how it goes.

Imagine you’re arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. All the evidence is circumstantial, your gun is missing, and only two people know the combination, you can’t get corroboration on your whereabouts at the time of the crime, and you were heard to say you wanted to kill the victim.

A measured look of thoughtfulness followed by, he’s guilty of course.

Why I ask.

Give a man a gun and it’s bound to go off.  That’s the problem with you humans.  You need to figure out how to get along with each other without having a gun to back you up.  Have you ever seen a cat with a gun?  No, I didn’t think so.

How did this get to be about guns and not perspective? I ask.

Leave the gun out of the equation, then it’s only circumstantial.  Just saying.

I shake my head.  Why am I talking to a cat?

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.  He’s amused by the new Google Home device we have.

It sits on the table next to the dining table, and only today did he discover we talk to it.

You know, you say “Hey Google” and it listens and fairly accurately types out the voice request you’ve made, such as,  “Hey Google, play some Creedence Clearwater Revival”.

Of course, Chester doesn’t like their songs, and all but covers his ears when he hears it.  It might be the reason why I request it often, but

Sometimes he’ll sit in front of it, waiting.  I suspect he thinks it will work on thought transference, and it will play ‘the meowing of a thousand cats’, to get his revenge.

Sorry, great minds don’t think alike in your case.

Then play something I would like.”

Right.

I ask google to play the Pastoral Symphony.  Not exactly Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, but it has it’s moments, like turning up the volume and waiting for the cannon fire.

Scares him every time.

But that was last week.  This week he’s requesting Ravel’s Bolero.  I think he’s been watching late-night movies again.

I say, “Hey Google, play Ravel’s Bolero.”

Instead of music, I get the instruction to reinstall Spotify.  It seems my subscription has run out.

Ugh, technology at it’s finest!

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’re back to discussing topics of interest on the internet.

I’m not sure why, because yesterday, after a few minutes he yawned and went to sleep.

Today, it seems, he’s prepared to show more interest.

There seems, I said, a lot of discussion around writer’s block.

You mean, those lumps of wood you keep putting on the fire, he says.  And, while we’re at it, why haven’t you got one going today.  It’s cold.

I thought we were on the same page, injured elbow, can’t use the axe.

A slight shake of the head, as if to say, I can’t remember everything you say.

OK, moving on.  Writer’s block is not about wood.

Come to think of it, haven’t we got a shed full of wood, you cut it up last year.

Enough with the wood already.  Writer’s block.  The only block I can see that’s preventing me from writing is you.

Yawn.

Yep, conversation over.

Time to make some tea.  He doesn’t like that.  I wonder if the makers of the tea would want to know it makes an excellent cat repellant?