Category: Life with Coon Cats

This is what happens after writers turn in their book and before their brains grow back.

Cat spam!

A kind friend sent me a Quillow for a birthday present.  If you, like me, were heretofore ignorant of Quillows, they’re quilts with an integral pocket that you can fold the quilt up into, creating — a pillow!  Mine was on the couch yesterday when I retired there from dozing on the porch.  I started in to reading, but got cold.  The Quillow was right there, so I unfolded it and snuggled in.

When Steve called me for dinner, I left the quilt where it was, because Sprite had joined me and was still dozing.  And I forgot to put it away before I went to bed.  No worries, though; it’s still getting plenty of use:

Meantime, Mozart was enjoying his fleece-y blanket on top of the file cabinet in my room, with plenty of reading matter to paw.

Don’t mock me.  It was hard.  Also, I thoroughly brushed Princess Jasmine Sprite, and! edited the 3,500 words I wrote yesterday (that’s not a bridge, that’s an interstate!), and in a few minutes I’ll do the dishes and then get back to work.

But!  Decluttering has happened, and I declare myself Mighty.

Here, have some pictures:

The Before, of the wall over my Mozart’s rocker.  The shadow box is full of teensy, tiny, fragile, um…things.  All of which had to be removed, dusted, wrapped and put in the box.  I discovered that plushies make really good in-box shock absorbers

It was hard, but I am, as above, Mighty.

I then turned my attention to one of the several bookshelves in my office:

It comes to me that I have ‘waaaay too many stones, and seashells, and acorns — and that’s after the Lightning Decluttering a couple weeks ago when much of that stuff was swept off the table.  Also, the top shelf was home to a Whole ‘Nother Bunch of fragile, finicky things, including my poor, unglazed Llardo vulpine madonna and child; the Big Chunk of Glass with the flowers etched on it; the ginger jar with the dragon painted on it; several winged creatures; bottles; the Murano glass egg, like a zillion origami cranes (people give me origami cranes; no, I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to get rid of them, either). . .stuff that’s been with me for most of my life, come to think of it.  Thinking of it takes me to odd places, and I set some things aside for yard-saling or giveaway, but most of it? Yeah, I packed it.

I may be a hopeless case.

This is what the bookshelf looked like when I was done with it.  I trust that everyone Appreciates the artful arrangement of stones on the top shelf.

I don’t, however, want you to think that I labored alone.  Nothing could be further from the truth. Trooper was right there, pitching in.

So, yesterday was an exciting day, for values of exiting that include High Comedy and Sheer Terror.  Though it was Wednesday, Anything did not happen.  No, I’m wrong.  Anything did happen.  Just not the things I would have preferred to have happened.

Let’s see. . .we didn’t get an offer on the house yesterday.  I would’ve liked that.  At least, I think I would’ve liked that, but who knows, y’know?  It would certainly have Clarified Things.

We did go to the bank to get pre-qualified.  The bank’s idea of how much we can afford is. . . whoa, really, and in what alternate universe?  This was to create problems, later in the day, but at the moment of pre-qualification, it was merely blackly amusing.  It is to our credit that Steve and I managed to both look at the figure proposed by the bank and not burst into wild gales of laughter.

After the bank, we viewed that house we had liked, with advertency and utilizing a fine-tooth comb, and regretfully came to the conclusion that, no, it would not do, after all.  We therefore move on to the next two on the short list.

When we came home, I made the mistake of actually looking at houses that the bank thinks we can afford.  And, then, I made a very bad mistake, indeed.

I looked down.

Anyone involved in the arts — from circus art, to music, to painter, potter, writer — will tell you that it is crucial to your mental well-being and to your art not to look down. Ever.  Usually, I’m good with not looking down, because, hey, fiction writer, here.  But, yesterday — I looked.

And the reality of my life kind of all rushed up and hit me in the face: how I don’t know how we’re paying our bills now, except that we do — it’s, yanno, magic, near enough, and it never does to scrutinize magic too closely, either. . .and how I can’t predict if I’m going to be able to pay my bills in future, and how the bank’s happy assumption that we’re going to continue to grow our earnings is simply. . .not the freelance reality, and, and. . .and!. . .And. . .

. . .let’s just say that, had I actually been climbing a tree at  the time, I would have fallen, and Jimmy Bean would have had to run fetch Aunt Polly.

Who knew house hunting would be so VERY exciting?

I am today cleaning all of the old typescripts of the novels out of the file cabinets.  We have more file cabinets than any sane couple of writers needs.  Later this week, I intend to throw away the mountain of tearsheets from our days as reporters/reviewers/photographers.

Here’s what the pile of novel typescripts looks like:

I will also, later this week, be setting up a Patreon account, for Mozart, mostly, so that his many fans and well-wishers may do as seems reasonable to them.  Watch this space for more information.

And I think that catches us up for the moment.

Here, have a picture of Sprite and Trooper, overlooking the birds at the feeder.  Sprite is taller than her dad, now.

Today’s blog title comes to you courtesy of the late JJ Cale.  Here’s your link.

Topping off the holiday weekend is!

The second natal day of Jasmine Sprite, Princess of the Night, call-name Boopsie.

Today, we celebrate the fact that Kelimcoons Sooper Trooper has been a busy, practical, silly, and kind member of the Lee and Miller Cat Farm for exactly. . .

One year!

Yes, on this day in 2013, we picked Trooper up in New Hampshire and brought him back to the Motherland.  Boy, were we lucky.

Trooper’s already celebrating:

So, Trooper (and Mozart, and Sprite; and Socks, and Hexapuma before them) hates to Travel In the Box.  Hates it.  He doesn’t growl or bite or claw, but he does run around the house like a crazed box-avoider who weighs upwards of 16 pounds, all of it muscle, and when you do finally catch him, he extracts his Other Eight Legs(tm) and flails them all around while you’re trying to get him into the box (see 16 pounds, muscle, above).  And then, once you do manage to get him into the box, and you’re exhausted and ready for nap, it takes two of you to carry the box out to the car (see 16 pounds &c…, above), whereupon Trooper commences in to moaning, and drooling, and asking in his quaint, quacky little voice what he’s done to deeeeesserrrrrrrrve tttttttttthhhissssssss.  And by the time you get him where he’s going, which is, yes, usually the vet, he’s a mess and so are you.

What I do for Mozart (and did for Socks and Hexapuma) is wrap him in a towel, carry him out to the car and hold him in my lap while Steve drives.  Even in his days as a young athlete, he was kind of a marshmallow, and I didn’t really worry about carrying him anywhere.

Trooper and Sprite are another matter.  Trooper’s big and strong and forceful; Sprite is big, squirmy, and scratchy.  So, I haven’t dared the towel.  However, we did have several cats who used to walk on a cat string.  Archie was the first (poor Archie had Much to endure, coming in as my first cat after I’d had a lifetime of dogs, but he actually liked to go outside in the grass and to visit his favorite flowers, and if the price of that was wearing the stupid blue string, and have Mom tag along, that was a bargain he was willing to strike).  We therefore bought a harness and a leash, and have been trying to reach an accommodation with the two newbies.

Sprite wants Nothing to Do with the project, even though I bought a pink glittery leash especially with her in mind (also, it was on sale).  She screams and rolls around and tries to kick the harness off, and, when that doesn’t work, she races around the house approximately three feet off the floor.  I think the plan here is to run so fast that she runs out of the harness.  This hasn’t worked so far, and I’ve needed to wait until she’s exhausted herself, then bribe her with cat treats so I can get close enough to take the harness off.

Trooper, however, allows me to put the harness on him, and will wear it for half-an-hour, 45 minutes at a time.  He doesn’t particularly care for the fact that it jingles (the loop that the leash snaps into is metal).  Granted, he clings to my side the entire time (so I know Exactly where he is when I get the notion to take the Stupid Thing off), and his demeanor is that of a cat Sorely Tried, but he doesn’t freak out, and he doesn’t hold a grudge.  I guess my next step is to snap on the leash and walk with him around the house; carry him with the equipage on.  And if that works, I’ll try to carry him outside and down to the car.  I’m pretty sure he won’t willingly walk down the stairs to the driveway, but will just do the belly-down-I-weigh-five-thousand-pounds-and-you-can’t-move-me thing that cats do.

So, anyway, this is why Trooper has my nomination to the Cat Hall of Fame for Most Patient Cat EVER.

In other cat news, Trooper and Sprite have apparently decided that it would be Much Better for Grandpa Mozart to have company, rather than being a grumpy old cat in the corner, and they’ve been taking Active Steps to impose a more comfortable social order.

Sprite has already been cleaning Mozart’s ears for him from time to time, which he accepts with a certain attitude of  bemusement.  The other day, when I was working on the couch, he came up and snugged next to me.  Usually, he will Not Allow another cat on the couch during such times; it’s Him and Me and nobody else.

But, Sprite came by, saw that there was half a couch untenanted, and jumped up. Mozart tensed, but she didn’t even look at him, just flopped over on her side, flipped her tail casually over his rump and stretched her back foot out until it touched his back foot.  She went to sleep.

Mozart looked up at me as if to ask, “What just happened?”  But he was already relaxing again, and finally sighed, put his chin on his front foot and went to sleep, toe-to-toe, and Sprite’s tail still covering him.

Trooper is also making an obvious effort to be with Mozart.  Yesterday, for instance, it was cold and rainy, and Mozart wanted to sleep in his Special Warm Corner in my office.  The problem being that it’s currently filled with books from the bedroom, which I moved in anticipation of the Return of the Contractor.  Mozart threw a temper tantrum, by which I mean that he started to yell, stomped under the desk, and instead of lying down on the nice, comfy towel down there, started whaling the hell out of various wires, yelling all the while.  Trooper, who had been sleeping in the red basket, jumped down, and went under the desk.  The whaling and the yelling stopped, and, when I looked down a couple minutes later, Trooper was lying on the towel and Mozart was next to him, up against the UPS, which was probably a much warmer situation than he would have had, even in His Corner.

So, that’s the State of the Cats here at the Cat Farm, as of Saturday, June 14.

Here, have some cat spam:

Sigh.

Tomorrow, I will decide whether or not I’m going to do the sit on the floor with scissors &c thing, or try to noodle this out in my head.  Because my head has been totally on the case with this project.

In Archers Beach news, I’ve heard from Audible that Carousel Sun is in production, and a narrator will soon be chosen.  Watch this space for more news.

Also!  Splinter Universe readers should note that Welcome to Welton, by Marie Brennan, is now online, as well as a brand! new! chapter of Steve Miller’s novel-in-progress, Quicksliver.  We have also turned in the manuscript for Liaden Universe® Constellation, Volume THREE, which means that we have removed the following stories from Splinter Universe:  “The Rifle’s First Wife,” “Roving Gambler,” “Code of Honor.”

Most of my work yesterday was done on the corner of the couch next to the cat tree.  Below, is the view from my office:

This is a picture of Trooper as three pink feet and an ear.

Here’s what’s going on at the Cat Farm this morning:

. . .I’m not sure I want to know what’s under the stove. . .