August 17 is Black Cat Appreciation Day!
And I am writing this on August 26 because sometimes we can’t do everything the way we’d like to. But never mind—let me share with you a Bookish Memory of a cussing kitty.
No cussin’!
Penelope (or Nele, pronounced Nellie, for short) was my sweet girl for over seventeen years—nearly half my life. We said goodbye just about two years ago, and I still miss her terribly.
It wasn’t for nothing, though, that she earned the nickname “The Mad Kitty.” She knew how to make her displeasure known. One thing we’d often say to admonish the cats when they started yowling at each other was, “No cussin’!”
This, of course, seldom if ever dissuaded them.
That means you too, human . . .
Ahem. I’ll confess to the occasional slip. Interruptions, annoyances . . . they catch me sometimes.
One thing I am strict about, though, is not swearing in print. I don’t write curse words into my books. I don’t cuss in social statuses or blog posts, or even share content of that nature. In spaces where I can be thoughtful and deliberate, I try to present the best version of myself.
Tell that to a cussing kitty, though.
Nele was thoughtful and deliberate, too, and you could never tell me otherwise. Why else, then, would she always, always park herself on anything—notebook, laptop, or novel—that took my attention away from her?
Truthfully, I loved this about her, and I started making a point of capturing these moments whenever possible. Lots of times, I’d share them.
But when I read Whistlin’ Dixie in a Nor’easter by Lisa Patton, I hesitated slightly about sharing. My cussing kitty chose to “give a sit” on a page with a curse word. Only after I studied the photo closely and decided the wordy-durd was unlikely to be noticed did I go ahead and post the pic.
Words matter. Moments do, too.
It’s easy to let annoyance become the default position for interruptions—and yes, sometimes I didn’t have time or patience to play with my cat when I had work to be done. Yet when my cussing kitty plopped herself in the pages of Whistlin’ Dixie in a Nor’easter, she invited me to pause for a moment, and she got my attention.
Between yowling and camping on keyboards, Nele demonstrated one thing very clearly—there’s often more than one way to get your point across. At least for a snuggly little cat, the gentle approach usually worked best.
And as many times as Nele came sniffing around, measuring the distance before hopping up on the bed or couch or desk, moseying her way into my line of sight, and settling in with a generous belly and a soft, stingy purr . . . oh, how I wish she could do that just once more.
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Thanks for reading. My next post will be the August update. Stay tuned!
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