Diary of a Middle-aged Woman

03/20/07 - My Writing Buddy

Every morning as I start my day, I have a writing buddy who makes sure that I sit down at the computer and write. Of course I have to feed her first, after all, she can't be expected to start her chores on an empty stomach. And she does like to be appreciated for her hard work which usually requires my brushing her.

My writing buddy is our pet cat, Licorice. She is black and white, like a tuxedo, and has a yellow collar with a bell. I often wondered how cats feel about wearing bells around their necks. Do you think the sound of it drives them slightly insane? If it does, that would explain a lot about Licorice.

I found her one Saturday morning returning from my weekly grocery shopping. She walked underneath the hedges behind our house and I caught a glimpse of a kitten's butt out of the corner of my eye. Unsure of what I had seen, I parked the car in the driveway and got out, walking over to our old shed. As I looked behind the it, there she was. I turned my head to the left, and cowering behind the row of hedges was her mother and siblings. If I'm remembering correctly, there were about four cats all together. This was the last time I saw the mother and other kittens. I don't know where they went, but apparently, she was just finding a home for Licorice, and then moved on to find homes for the other kittens in her litter.

At first. Licorice was afraid of humans. It took a lot for her to trust us enough to let us pet her. We patiently and methodically fed her moving her food dish closer and closer to our kitchen door. Finally, one Saturday morning as my daughter and I watched her eat, I reached out and quickly touched her back. She spun around and meowed at me as if to scold me for petting her, then went back to eating. Again, I reached out and pet her - slower. She was hooked. We could do whatever we wanted to her after that.

At first she was an outdoor cat only. My husband didn't want another cat in the house since we already had our cat, Shooey. She was a member of the family for over 15 years and she would not like an intruder, an upstart, entering her realm. She was the queen of the house and liked it that way. My husband didn't want her getting upset or jealous.But, by the fall of the year we allowed Licorice to live in our basement until she was old enough to be spayed. The rest is history. She and Shooey had their encounters, but Licorice always laid down and submitted at Shooey's paws. Shooey tolerated her.

Now Licorice is the queen of the house as poor Shooey passed away last September. Licorice is not as smart as Shooey was. She can't open doors, or jump up onto things without a lot of planning, and it took her forever to figure out how to drink out of a water dish. I told my daughter that Licorice plans to get by on looks and not brains. It's worked for her so far.

Licorice takes her self-imposed, daily duties seriously. In the morning, she's constantly on patrol, checking one window after another, for any bird that has the nerve to fly too close to our house, or any rabbit or squirrel that wanders onto our property. The perimeter must be checked and watched vigilantly and Licorice is on it. Upon seeing the hillbillies next door, Licorice always musters up a growl or two.

Her duties extend to making sure I do my work, like feeding and brushing her, and writing. I don't know how my writing got added to her list, but she checks my work daily. She does this by jumping onto my lap as I type, and plopping down, waiting for me to finish. In fact, you'll have to excuse me for the day as I have a 12 pound cat on my lap, and it is getting harder to type. She knows that I should be getting ready for work. What a taskmaster!