Weaving in and out of a writing euphoria: I knew I was losing it, when I looked over at my fat, black cat, Kitty, and she said "What the fuck's your problem?"
I only asked for her help in solving a few, minor plot issues. I stared her down. She returned the stare. I back down then she backs down. Back and forth this went, until I heard a rustlin/banging noise from the back room. She smiled and I swear to God she nodded- cocky bitch.
I move to the back room and there's our old dog, Rocky, turning her litter box into a smorgasbord. How do you make a puking sound in a blog post? He's chewing...something and smacking his lips, which are now dotted with kitty litter. We do the stare thing. He flashes puppy dog eyes. I chase him out of there and coming back up front, I see what they were up to: Kitty's puked up a hairball on my manuscript.
It was the perfect plan- a well executed setup performed by a ten year old cat and a thirteen year old dog.
And no, there is not a drop of booze flowing through my system.