Today I Am a Cat

The cats are curled nonchalantly on the couch next to me.  The thunder?  They could give a damn.  Even Pan, my boyfriend’s cat, master of the outdoors, has nothing to say on the matter.  He only licks himself.

I feel like a cat.  The thunder?  Ha.  Rain is good for the garden.  I want to sleep in a puddle of fur by the window sill.

Today is submission day.  I’ve gotten it into my head that one day every week or two I ought to set aside for just submitting work to various magazines.  Sending all these finished stories off to markets and seeing what sticks.  It’s likely a good practice.  I’m likely muddling through trying to set a schedule in a way that would make a more practiced writer, a more published writer, cringe.  Some days I make myself cringe.

But today I am a cat.  I will approach the submission rounds with the nonchalance befitting my breed.  And when I am done, I will drink a glass of milk, thunder be damned.  Then I will curl myself into a tight tiny ball, with other tight tiny furred balls gathered purring around me, and I will sleep.

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