Tea Troubles

Back home, after a whirlwind week of travel that took me to Santa Barbara, Irvine, Riverside, Dana Point, Costa Mesa, and Anaheim. I was without my journal for most of the trip (panic attack!) and now that we’ve been reunited, I can hardly write fast enough.

I’m journalling sporadically, trying to keep up with all the observations and experiences that simply MUST be recorded, and I keep forgetting to drink my tea! Every time I pick up my mug, it’s already gone cold. I take a few gulps, make room for more hot water, and pad quietly to the kitchen for a refill. Half an hour later, I find myself yet again with a mugful of lukewarm tea, and tea’s just not satisfying when it’s not steaming. #writerproblems

But there’s a warm cornbag at my feet, and my journal is back in my hands, so this cat is happy. 

P.S. Who knew that “mugful” is a real word

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Marbles Lost in Martinez, Please Return to WriterCat Immediately

The morning started well enough. My train was delayed by three hours, but I was in a fine mood, and spent my time reading and writing sonnets.

Trains are often late, but a WriterCat is always prepared

Trains are often late, but a WriterCat is always prepared

I rarely have the patience for sonnets, because iambic pentameter really cramps my style, but occasionally I’m up for the challenge.

WriterCats do their best work when curled up in the sunshine. (It's also where they take their best naps. Which I may have done.)

WriterCats do their best work when curled up in the sunshine. (It’s also where they take their best naps. Which I may have done.)

Then the unthinkable happened. I boarded the train, set my bags down on my seat, and before we’d even pulled away from the station I realized that my journal was not with me. In a panic, I tried to run back out to the platform, but it was too late, we were slowly moving away, and there was nothing I could do.

An unhappy WriterCat curls up to mope. This is a perk of being a cat-like writer: we fold up into small spaces, allowed optimal moping (and napping) even when limited to one upright seat.

An unhappy WriterCat curls up to mope. This is a perk of being a cat-like writer: we fold up into small spaces, allowing for optimal moping (and napping) even when limited to one upright seat.

Filled with anxious adrenaline while trapped inside a crowded car does not allow for the typical pacing and scurrying of an irritated WriterCat, so I did what any WriterCat would do: curled up for as many naps as I could fit in to the five hour train ride. Because my journal is where I keep my sanity, and when would I ever have the patience to attempt those sonnets again? Never, that’s when.

There is, fortunately, a happy ending. The next day, a package arrived at home, addressed to me, from Amtrak. I assume my sanity is inside, and when I get home, I’ll be writing a heartfelt thank you to Amtrak.

Amtrak Delivers!

Amtrak Delivers!

For now, I’ll fill the blank pages of my aptly named reading material with the thoughts and sentences that just can’t stay in my head any longer. Because there’s just too many words bouncing around inside of me to go even a few days without writing.

An Unquiet Mind

Hooray for train rides and happy endings!

#writercatproblems

I just spent an inordinate amount of time attempting to get the cord for my laptop untangled from a nearby cat toy.

Mostly I was just flailing them around, hoping they would come undone of their own accord (#ohnopuns) but it didn’t work, and I had to bend down and use human logic and some patience.

It’s not even like they were horribly tangled, just mildly intertwined.

It’s late at night though, so I forgive myself for my pathetic efforts.

 

An Inconvenient Cat

I think my cat is trying to force me to be in sync with her sleep schedule. At least, that’s my excuse for sleeping til noon.

In the middle of the night, she’ll come scratching at my door, and when I groggily let her in, she won’t lie down like a good cat. She’ll come up to the head of the bed, walking back and forth and back and forth and often on top of me, and then she’ll start pawing at things on my bedside table which means spilled water and falling books are imminent, which means that I simply MUST pay attention to her or the pawing will never end and the scratching at my door will never cease.

Sometimes I just throw her out, put in ear plugs, and go back to sleep, but usually I sit up and read or write and pet her. Because cats are finicky, especially mine, and I feel honored any time she wants to hang out.

I mean, how can you say no to such an inviting spread?

I mean, how can you say no to such an inviting spread?

Then during the day, she follows me around the house, staring plaintively up at me and waiting for me to sit down for even a moment so that she can curl up near me. And she’s just such a Fluff Bundle, my little Cuddle Puff, that I simply must get back in bed so that she can sleep at my feet and make her tiny little cat snores.

We might have a lot more in common that I care to admit…