Mocha - The Writing Desk Saga (Sequel to previous blog posts: "The Writer's View," "Desk with a View," "Cat with a View," and "Jewel of a View")
It’s been six months since my writer has sat before me. Dust has been invading the corners of my top and in the creases of my legs. The books have been still, and a vile cobweb now connects me to the windowsill. But even worse, she barely looks towards me anymore.
I miss her. But she misses him.
I have to admit that things haven’t been right since the old blob left -- the tapping from his claws, the weight of his girth and his so-called meow that sounded more like he was being stepped on than communicating. The competition is a third gone too, but my writer hasn’t even noticed. I guess Sonny’s presence was a part of her. Strange. You would think she would be relieved that the constant mêlée of cat vs. desk was less. That for once I wasn’t suffering. And that she’d have more peace without the keyboard battles.
But alas, as it seems, she can’t bare the sight of me without him, and I have fallen victim to absence. Oh, yes, I do have the other cat. The one that just uses me as a bird-watching perch as she smacks her tail back and forth across me. New scratches in my fine grain have appeared as well since my writer has moved the computer away. It seems Mocha has taken over Sonny’s spot.
Doesn’t my writer know I’m here to support her? Doesn’t she know that every morning as the sun shines across my face, that I wish she were here pretending to be someone else? Instead, I’ve succumbed to the whims of another unruly, spoiled cat that apparently has a licking fetish. It’s no wonder I have any finish left.
Oh, my words are a mess. My sentences unfinished. I yearn for the days when my writer was not in such a state. She must return soon. Or I fear she never will.
Oh, no, here comes the cat…again.
It’s been six months since my writer has sat before me. Dust has been invading the corners of my top and in the creases of my legs. The books have been still, and a vile cobweb now connects me to the windowsill. But even worse, she barely looks towards me anymore.
I miss her. But she misses him.
I have to admit that things haven’t been right since the old blob left -- the tapping from his claws, the weight of his girth and his so-called meow that sounded more like he was being stepped on than communicating. The competition is a third gone too, but my writer hasn’t even noticed. I guess Sonny’s presence was a part of her. Strange. You would think she would be relieved that the constant mêlée of cat vs. desk was less. That for once I wasn’t suffering. And that she’d have more peace without the keyboard battles.
But alas, as it seems, she can’t bare the sight of me without him, and I have fallen victim to absence. Oh, yes, I do have the other cat. The one that just uses me as a bird-watching perch as she smacks her tail back and forth across me. New scratches in my fine grain have appeared as well since my writer has moved the computer away. It seems Mocha has taken over Sonny’s spot.
Doesn’t my writer know I’m here to support her? Doesn’t she know that every morning as the sun shines across my face, that I wish she were here pretending to be someone else? Instead, I’ve succumbed to the whims of another unruly, spoiled cat that apparently has a licking fetish. It’s no wonder I have any finish left.
Oh, my words are a mess. My sentences unfinished. I yearn for the days when my writer was not in such a state. She must return soon. Or I fear she never will.
Oh, no, here comes the cat…again.
RSS Feed
