Thursday, October 11, 2012
At seven this morning, I could swear I woke to the sound of my cat Cheetah saying, in English, “Aren’t you up yet?” I felt a bit indignant. She was right next to me and had apparently said this in my face. After I was a bit more awake, this struck me as odd.
I’ve occasionally written fiction that involves talking cats. Perhaps I was a bit fixated on this as a teenager, because, coming to think of it, the first versions of both the works of fiction I’m thinking of date back to my adolescence. One is now my novella “Witch’s Familiar,” which is available in electric form as part of the Wormhole Electric Anthology on Smashwords.com. The other was my first novel, My Curious Adventures with a Witch, the original (and drastically different) version of a middle grade series I’ve begun writing, with the working series title “The Rowanwick Witches.” Perhaps it’s inevitable that the cat I live with would also start speaking. Or perhaps I should recall the words of the Cheshire Cat: “I’m mad. You’re mad. We’re all mad here.”