For every writer who could never write without a cat at their side, there’s another writer, sitting at their computer, trying for the hundredth time today to lovingly, gently nudge the cat off the keyboard. My cat is clawing my toes through my slippers right now. No doubt in a moment she’ll decide that writing time is over and really put her foot (paws?) down, and climb on up into my lap.
My tabby will be six years old this May. She’s well into her adulthood, though she still plays like a kitten. She knows what she’s about. And I’m fairly certain that she’s made it her life’s mission to rescue me from getting any work done.
Long ago, one of my coworkers was trying to find homes for a litter of kittens. The kittens had been born on Mother’s Day. I wasn’t going to take one—I already had one cat—but said yes on a whim. Dilly was a downy-soft torpedo with tiny razors for claws. The coworker dropped by my apartment to deliver the kitten, just as my date was arriving to pick me up. The kitten wasn’t sure about me, but she climbed up the leg of his jeans to say hello. I named her Dilly, short for “do I look like I give a—” well, you know. And, by the way, she absolutely never has. The guy ended up proposing to me six months later.
And I said yes. That was 2015. I like to imagine baby Dilly, on that day when she first met me, taking in the lay of the land—new owner, new boyfriend—and saying to herself: Yes, this will do. I imagine she must have cast some secret feline spell to make everything fall into place, because it’s been a whirlwind ever since. Dilly was with us when we bought a home, and six months after that when we came home from the hospital with a baby. Incredibly playful, Dilly was never one to let you walk by without slashing at your ankles. But, with my daughter, she’s proven incredibly patient—quite a feat of adaptation. She’s round and sweet, and follows me through the house in the way you might expect a loyal dog to do.
I was pregnant with my second child when I signed my first publishing contract. Being that she is in every way an exemplary housecat, I admit I assumed that Dilly would enjoy sitting quietly with me while I worked on my books. But she’s never more like a kitten than at those moments when I sit down to write. Maybe she’s reminding me of that first day. The kitten with the secret magic spell. And when she spills my cup of tea on the computer again, I like to think she’s telling me something. Reminding me that, if it seems all this good luck started the day she came to live with me, that’s because it’s true. Even if she isn’t, I do my best to write a cat into each one of my books. And really, how could I not, when half the time I’m writing, there’s a cat standing between me and the screen?
Kelly Heard is a novelist from Afton, Virginia. She published poetry in literary magazines before signing her debut novel, Before You Go, with Bookouture.
Kelly prefers writing to most other pastimes, but you’ll occasionally find her in the garden, hiking, or exploring antique shops.
