My Writing Companion

Charlie Keyboarding
The Critic, yawning at my work
I get up early each morning to write. Savannah started me on this habit. I'd get up at 5 a.m. to write, so I could squeeze in some time before we had to get her out of bed at 6 a.m. That was the end of my free time until the next day... one golden hour.
The Wrong kind of Mousing

Charlie the Cat likes to help me. Sometimes he helps a little too much, such as walking on the keyboard, lying down on the mouse, or trying to get my attention by biting my notes and tossing the pages on the floor one at at time.  Did T.S. Eliot have these kinds of barriers?

After Savannah died, he moped around the house looking for her. Though he didn't really interact with her much, he seemed to miss her (and her nurse, who could do such a convincing imitation of his mournful cry that she could sometimes fool Ruby). He clung to me more than ever. They say animals can sense when their people are mourning and try to comfort them. If that is true, he more than played his role in our grieving process.

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