You probably know by now that there’s a new boy in my life. If not, where have you been? Avoiding the kitten pictures and posts? Fair enough. Kitten ‘parents’ can be nauseating.
Life has got more interesting since a certain kitty cat came into my life. I thought I’d go ‘legit’ after the earlier success of the Kitty, Cat, Moggy Feline Fest post, and get a real live one, so I can bore you with cat pictures of my own. I’ll do a big hit now and you’ll be safe from feline photos for a while… maybe.
World, welcome Feegle to the writing fold.
He’s feeling a little shy being in the spotlight right now but the male diva tendencies are simmering away.
Today we will learn how to exist as humans and writers (the two aren’t necessarily the same thing) according to the ways of the kitten.
Reading is a writer’s food.
All writers have had the mantra, ‘You must read lots to write well’ rammed down their throats. I have no issues with this. Reading is not a chore. I practically eat books. Feegle, literally eats books.
We named him Feegle after the Nac Mac Feegles from a collection of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.
The husband is a huge Pratchett fan. He persuaded me to read The Wee Free Men after I decided I needed to broaden my reading horizons.
I was struck by these amazing little blighters. I could see and hear them clearly. I wanted one. That, in my estimation, is successful characterisation.
When we met our Feegle he was tiny, cheeky, chilled and independent. He taught me that day about the power of characterisation.
Those pesky Nac Mac Feegles are like tiny blue Scottish pixies (not flipping Smurfs), who love to drink booze, steal, eat lots, cause mischief, tip cows, and have sheep away on their toes. They are also extremely loyal and funny.
This is why our cat had to be Feegle; the full title was a bit of a mouthful. His personality fitted the characters perfectly. Note to self: now work on own characterisation skills so that I can have more cats *husband’s pained groans are audible*
Feegle is teaching me about the little and often approach to writing, revising and editing.
Regular readers of this blog will know that my novel’s first draft has been written and is awaiting revising and editing. This will happen once I’m in established recovery from the rubbish depression. In the meantime, at least someone in our house is getting their teeth into the novel folder and the writing books.
Feegle is teaching me that a little nibble at the novel every now and again will be the most productive process going forward.
Is it wrong to try to train your kitten to write and edit? I see it as him earning his keep. The husband tells me that ever since we’ve brought Feegle home my IQ is rapidly decreasing with how I treat him as a human.
The husband does not understand the importance of talking ‘kitten’, although I have caught him doing it when he thinks I’m not looking.
Feegle has taught me that all the weirdness in my head can come out and be inflicted upon his furry ears and in my writing. All ideas can be valid.
Kitten does not judge me. He listens to every word. Okay, it takes food, play, or my lap to kip on to have him as a captive audience, but I know he’s making notes. Writer’s cat is a potential writer *brain cells diminish as I write*
Writing is more successful with cats (dogs are allowed too, if you must).
Writers apparently need cats. It’s writing law. I was feeling inferior seeing the influx of pics of cats sitting on laptops and shredding manuscripts. I decided that I needed a moggy muse in my life. The writing may not be flourishing right now but I have a cat, so that makes me a writer, right?
I have a feeling that Feegle will find his own way. He probably won’t settle for being just a writer’s cat. He’s only eight weeks old. The world is his catnip.
I’ll let the boy figure out his calling. It took me decades to become a writer. He’ll work his way through the tunnel of options and come out purring.
Kittens are great companions and distractions from the badness of life.
Feegle has also shown me that having someone dependent upon you is both scary and comforting. When we first brought him home I was that neurotic first time ‘parent’. The husband knew it would happen. I swore it wouldn’t.
It didn’t help that Feegle decided to ‘treat’ us to explosive diarrhoea the first day. But the kitten has taught me not to pre-judge.
I thought cats didn’t like water. Turns out Feegle loves a shower, especially when it cleans off the apocalyptic crap all over his rear end. He’s currently concentrating upon his meowing skills so he can sing in the shower.
It’s been great for me to have this cute ball of kitten loveliness around me. He has made me smile and distracted me from dark thoughts that try to invade my mind. He loves to snuggle up with me and often falls asleep on my chest.
Feegle is helping me to make it through. He is showing me that there is a world outside my own messed up mind. It is not all about this illness. There are other wonderful things in this world to concentrate upon in times of clarity. It is all about the Feegle – even in a selfie.
Kittens also teach us that play is a great thing.
I’m not recommending you chase a ball or toy mouse around your house (although if that floats your boat, go ahead) but we do need to make time to have fun. I’m shite at this. I tend to be all or nothing in my approach to work and life.
When I started writing, I was obsessed with working for hours on both the actual writing and my social media platforms. I was so tired at the end of the day but I didn’t seem to achieve much because I was spreading myself too thin.
I am learning from Feegle that regular breaks of silliness and entertainment are good for the soul. I may even lie on my back to have my belly rubbed and make frantic dashes around our home. Although thinking about it, when you’ve been diagnosed with a mental illness and are being overseen by health professionals, this may not be wise…
Kittens teach us that sleep is good.
They sleep like bosses. I’d like to say that this is a valuable lesson that Feegle has passed on, but I’ve already got the afternoon nap down pat. Nowadays though I can blame it on the cat.
How can I possibly move when I have a sleeping cat on top of me? *shiftily hopes no one ever finds out that she picks the sleeping cat up from his other snuggle spot for just such a reason*
Every writer needs a rest. Okay, this writer needs a rest.
Our work here in teaching you ‘kitten’ is done. I’m off to make a cushion fort with the boy. Send in provisions.