About ten years ago, my husband picked out a family house cat from the local animal shelter. She was a blue calico, with fur that could be described in practical household terms as the color of interesting dryer lint or in poetic terms as storm clouds touched by a sunset. My husband must have been thinking in the latter terms, for he named her Nimbus.
She cried all the way home from the shelter. Nimbus was a sheltered house cat who didn’t like being outdoors. I could immediately relate. I didn’t like being out of the house either. When released from her carrier into my family’s apartment, she found a hide-y hole and stayed there observing us for about three days. On the third day, as I began practicing my harp, Nimbus came up the stairs and sat down on the bed beside me to listen. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Although she is quite dutiful in making her rounds to bond with the other members of the household, they eventually go off to work, socialize, or run errands, leaving her to spend the lions share of her time with me. She knows I am usually to be found in my office. Indeed, she appears to have developed a very firm conviction that I BELONG in my office.
She greets me first thing in the morning with anxious trills, asking after her breakfast and reminding me that I am due in my office. If I linger over my own breakfast or get caught up in housework, she follows me around meowing polite suggestions to get back to work in my office.
As mentioned in a previous post, I practically live in my office. Nimbus has taken up a co-residence. She likes to sleep in a comfy box under my writing table, on a top of the bookcase, or on a shelf below the keyboard of my standing desk. I don’t mind that she snores, but Lord help me if she should wake up and find me missing. Cats have keen senses. I can run, but I cannot hide, and the sound of her reproachful mewing is quite effective for getting me back on task.
There was once a study in which people viewing cat memes were found to get more work done. A local writer’s Facebook group has embraced the idea and members post such memes often, referring to them as “productivity cats.”
I’ve got one of those, but in a more literal sense. If I happen to sneak out and take a vacation day, Nimbus is sure to greet me at the door wondering where the hell I’ve been and why I am not in my office making soothing clickety sounds on the keyboard. That’s my job, you know.
She’s my manager, my task mistress. One could say she was born to the position. She is after all a Manx cat. Her ancestors are from the Isle of Man, a place where cats are born without tails. I create tales, so one could say we are a good match.
- Spend an hour a day formatting Hunt Club for print. Up to date.
- Average ½ hour a day working on new novel. Uh, yeah…No. I’m 8 hours behind on this.
- Average ½ hour a day on promotion and blogs. Up to date. I’m thinking of evenly dividing this into quarters as I’m lately doing more blogging than promotion. For now though, it’s all good.