The author says that journaling is good for the soul, so I thought I’d give it a try. My name is Jeffrey, and I am a gorgeous seal-point Himalayan cat, from a long and distinguished bloodline that dates back centuries. Due to a series of unfortunate incidents, I ended up at the local animal shelter where the powers-that-be adopted me out to an author. Not just any author; Anne Kane, an erotic romance author! The indignity of it is crushing.
Not only am I forced to live with an author, but a Jack Russell terror resides in the house as well. And no, that is not a typo; she’s a terror all right. She seems to have the idea in that tiny little head of hers that she is more important to the author than I am. She makes me sleep at the bottom of the bed, and she insists on having the best seat on the sofa, complete with her own little blanket. It’s disgusting.
Right now, I can tell that the Jack Russell is up to no good. Her furry little muzzle is twitching and her ears are pointed straight up. She thinks she’s being clever, but you can’t fool a cat by making puppy dog eyes. I bet she knows where the author hid those liver snacks. To think that I’ve been reduced to competing with a dog for treats!
I can tell that the author is aware of her bad breeding and untrustworthy nature. When the author goes to work, she leaves me in the house, secure in the knowledge that I will behave myself and respect her personal property. She takes the dog with her at all times, and who can blame her? Would you trust a dog alone in your house for hours on end? I think not.
While my captivity is irksome, I have come to accept my lowered station in life. The author obviously needs me to set an example of breeding and decorum for her and the dog. She treats me well enough. I have a nice rug on top of a heating/ vibrating device that massages my fur. I quite enjoy the massage setting. I believe the device is called a dryer although that term does puzzle me. I avoid swimming and bathing at all times, so unless I misjudge the weather I’m rarely in need of being dried.
The author has no such aversion to water. I am intrigued by her habit of creating mounds of bubbles in the large cleaning tub when she bathes. The tub has a wide edge that I patrol to make sure the dog doesn’t interrupt her while she is in the tub, and I can see no useful purpose to these bubbles. They pop and disappear as soon as I touch them with my paw, and yet there are so many that you can’t tell when one or two are missing. Very puzzling.
When the author first brought me home with her, I kept to myself, hiding under furniture and plotting ways to escape and seek out a home more in keeping with my status, but as time went by, I realized that the author truly needed me.
I sit on her desk and make sure she stays awake with well-placed swipes of my paw. I listen to her mumblings as she types, and I’m not shy about vocalizing when I disagree with a plot point. I also help free up time for her to write by exercising the dog. I drop random toys on its furry little head from one of my many perches, causing it to jump up and down. Good exercise! Overall, I am a vital and cherished part of the author’s household. Now if I could just figure out where she hid those liver snacks!
To find out more about the Jeff’s author, visit here at one of her online homes listed below.
Sci –Fi and Fantasy with a sensual twist!