Let’s talk about cats

As you have guessed, I have cats. In fact, for most of my adult life, I have had a succession of pairs of cats. As a writer with cats, I really, really don’t want to turn into yet another writer who blathers about her cats.  But a recent comment called me out.

You see, I did name a cat Halloweenie.

Even though I was a kid, I knew the name sounded, um, dumb, but I was convinced the only possible names for a pair of black kittens were Blackie and Halloweenie. Halloweenie died within a week. Maybe it was the name.

Blackie was a wonderful kitten, playing fiercely all day and climbing up the bed post to curl up with me at night.  One day he tried to follow me, got lost, crawled up into a car, and was killed. The guilt was heartbreaking, but the good memories are what count.

So Blackie and a half-remembered reading of (probably) Breed to Come inspired my first mythological cycle of stories–about a six-foot tall, talking black cat who was immortal. Andre Norton has a lot to answer for.

Anyway, you know what the real moral is: don’t name a cat Halloweenie.


2 thoughts on “Let’s talk about cats

  1. The moral I’m taking away from this is that every experience ends up as grist for the writing mill, even if the influence is indirect.

    I wrote a story with a dungeon in it, and when I was writing it, I was sort of picturing in my mind the humanities building at college. Echoing footsteps, sudden gusts of breeze, as if the tunnel were inhaling and exhaling, a smell as of burned incense mixed with raw sewage, the half-heard sounds of voices… you get the picture. Yeah, I hated having classes in that building, LOL. Did I mention the Insane Trumpeter trapped in the basement?

    I am rather hoping some day that you write a Young Adult novel set at the North Pole. You totally could. Take a dollop of Richard Peck, add a dash of Lois Duncan, a sprinkling of D. Manus Pinkwater, and a generous helping of your own style. I’ll even buy a copy.

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