I’m a writer. On every level, it’s what I do. I write for a living. I’m doing a literature-based PhD (and I’m in that especially fun phase where I’m meant to be writing up my dissertation). In my spare time, I write, edit, and publish articles for fun. In short, there’s very rarely a time when I am NOT writing.
But I also have cats. Multiple cats. And if you’ve ever thought that writing at home, surrounded by a flock of cats, is a cute, cozy, and relaxing image… you’ve clearly never met mine. In fact, the following transcript is literally a live-action blow-by-blow of an average work day at home. It was, in fact, so ludicrous that I decided to reimagine it as a short horror-comedy flick. Read at your own risk.
SCENE: Soft lamplight comes up on a girl sitting at a desk with a laptop and an obscenely large bottle of sparkling water. The room is dominated by large panoramic windows; behind her, two or three cats are snuggled together in the window seats. In the floor around her feet, three others lurk, green eyes glinting in the lamplight.
ACB: *Calmly typing typing typing*
Floof: *finds a bottle cap*
All floofs: *get involved with the bottle cap. A family-wide game of hockey ensues with literally no surface, corner, or body being off-limits. Someone gets whacked in the head with the bottle cap. Pitiful yowling ensues with the clear implication that the “injured” party is mortally wounded and can only be cured with catnip treats.*
ACB: *sighs, tries to drown out all the noise; carries on calmly typing typing typing*
In the background, the bedroom door is slightly cracked open. Someone decides to launch themselves through the crack like a fluffy rocket; the sound of claws shrieking down a mirror or a wooden door becomes the only soundtrack in the house.
ACB: *stares at the camera with the weary expression of Jim in every scene of The Office* I am autistic. I can TASTE that sound. I feel it humming in my blood; I can feel it thrumming on my very bones like the legs of a tap-dancing spider. Every word I know flies from my brain.
ACB: *takes a deep breath; gently closes door and offers floof another distraction. She sits back down, takes more deep breath.*
ACB: …is it too early for a cheeky drink?
ACB: *sits back in her chair, spins slowly a few times, thrums her fingers against the desk, hums a song to calm herself. More deep breaths; eyes closed; leans back. She finally leans up to the laptop again with a new expression of focus that implies the words have started to flow in her brain again.*
FLOOFS: *take flying leaps from the kitchen counter, shoots through the air like SpiderFloof, and parkours themselves off the laptop and onto the window ledge*
A close-up on the laptop reveals that the last 500 words have been deleted in a few floofy Just Dance gyrations on the keyboard.
Someone gets behind the TV; wires get trampled and nibbled.
ACB: *gets up; gets the floof from behind the TV.*
Close-up reveals that said floof’s tail is dangling from her arms. This has not gone unnoticed by all other floofs. A game of “catch the tail” ensues with ACB’s arms, legs, and torso being used as home base for everyone’s claws.
After being used as a human scratch post, ACB sighs heavily and returns to the desk. She sits down without looking; shrieking ensues. Someone was loafing in the seat and she has slightly squished them.
ACB: *gently removes the seat loaf; sits back down*
FLOOF: *runs up the back of my chair and digs their claws into ACB’s neck as they launch themselves across the room.*
ACB: *throws up her hands in exasperation, shoves laptop, wallet, and keys into her purse. The camera follows her out the door and down the street as she gives up and goes to the pub.*
