Writing with Cats

One of the things that doesn't become obvious when you read my blog is that I have five cats: Stinkerbelle, Me-Me, Snowy, Girlie-Girl, and Charlie. Each of them have multiple nicknames:

• Stinkerbelle: She's the rotund black-and-white cat. She goes by Stinky, Soccerballee, Turnip Head. She's 11 years old and lives next to the food dish. We have to prod her every now and then to see if she's still alive. She's not sick -- she's just that lazy.
• Snowy: Almost pure black longhair. She goes by Ironic Cat, Snewy, and No-ee. She's the prima donna of the batch, sitting with paws politely crossed.
• Girly-Girl is a patched tabby. We call her Squirelly-Girl, Twirly-Girl, Cattywumpus and Butterbutt. Very prosaic, as if she were a farm cat in her last life. She can jump four and a half feet from the loveseat to the couch and jump over me on the couch with minimum effort.
• Me-Me is a petite blue tabby and white. We call her Meemerz, Weemerz, Meemer-butt, Wiggle-butt and Weebles. Pretty little con artist, but pretty independent.
• Charlie is a six-month-old buff tabby and the only male in the bunch. He goes by Chuckie, Chuckles, Chuckroast, Chuckie Monster and No! As you might expect, pure energy and mischief.

Snowy, AKA Ironic Cat 

Stinkerbelle when younger

Me-Me, who looks like she took this selfie. 

Girlie-Girl, my editor

Charlie, in a rare non-evil moment.

The average morning early writing goes like this:

1. Snowy sits on the arm of the couch next to me. A few minutes later, she gives me The Paw. Then both paws.  On my right arm while I'm typing. This is a signal to drop everything I'm doing so I can pet her. One hand is now occupied.
2. Girlie jumps on the couch on the other side of me and plasters herself against my leg and purrs, even though I'm not petting her. Just wait.
3. Girlie starts giving me The Paw. Only one paw, but she pokes at me in her rapid Kung Fu fighting strike. I pet her with the other hand.
4. Snowy feels neglected because I'm not petting her hard enough, She starts headbutting up against my arm. I pet her twice as hard.
5. Me-Me lounges on the floor, waiting expectantly for something. Charlie saunters down the stairs; Me-Me jumps up. They touch noses, the equivalent of shaking hands in the ring. Then they start whacking at each other.
6. Girlie jumps off the couch to turn the twosome into a free-for-all MMA match, employing her Kung Fu fighting strike to the middle of the pile. Nobody is yowling, which makes me wonder if they like to fight.
7. Snowy jumps off and saunters to the loveseat, where she sits on the back, since she doesn't have to compete for attention anymore.
8. The three-way fight on the floor breaks up with three cats scampering. Girlie jumps on the loveseat with Snowy, Me-Me sprawls on the ground, and Charlie bites my toes, then scrambles off.
9. Snowy runs over to me for reassurance, with both paws and headbutts. 
10. Richard turns on stereo.
11. Snowy stands on my lap, in my face, meowing, headbutting my face. 
12. Charlie sharpens his claws on the speaker. Richard yells, "No!" 

This is life with my cats.