Meet My Editor: Sir Cat

In the span of 13 days another 20 hours of writing passed. This time I wrote words and didn't spend the whole time editing - sort of. After all, I had to prepare written words for DriveTribe. This and a couple of prompts took the lion share. However, what astonishes me the most, is that I was able to write anything at all. The reason for that?

This white ball of fur:

It's a while feline, and I may have written about him before. It shocks me every day that I am able to get anything done with him around. In summer it's not a problem because he lies under a bush, snoring while a baby spider spins a web between his whiskers. But in winter ... you'd think he would turn into a bun and sleep on the radiator. Usually he does but then he has attention fits.

Since a week I haven't been counting words for NaNoWrMo and I blame my cat. He either sits on my lap, on a part of my foot or any other body part that suits him. When I dare to move an inch he starts to protest with a whiny meow.

In any other circumstances your heart would melt but not so much when you're desperate for a wee. Even less so when you can't reach your keyboard. He will quite literally sit on it. Sometimes he remembers that he mustn't do this, then he manages to squeeze himself between me and the keyboard. It is frightening to watch.

Luckily I happen to have abnormally long arms for someone so tiny and in such situations they come in handy - see what I did there? Anyway, I have to use my little knowledge of yoga and stretch forward without moving my hips. If they accidentally move he'll complain because how dare I move my own hips?! How inconsiderate of me ...  Then I need to stretch my arms and start typing without accidentally smacking him over the head. Should I manage to do this, he will be happy and I will be happy. Unfortunately, this can take quite a toll on my back.

Even worse, it also seems that Sir Cat has become my new editor. He thinks that asagggggggggggggggggggggkk would look better than, I don't know, an actual word. You try to convince him of the opposite. I tried.

And yet I made it. There are two explanations for this: One, I mostly run on spite. Is there a better motivation than spite? Possibly, and I think found it. It's option two: I am so terrified that one day the cat will plop his furry bum on my keyboard, that I write as fast, as quickly, and as soon as I can.

Simple conclusion: get a cat to become a better writer.

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