How my cats helped me (or not) to
write
by Andrea R. Cooper
My two black
cats are brother and sister. They love my lap, and fight each other for a spot.
I solved this problem by propping up my legs. One, usually the girl, will lay
on my lap and her brother on my legs. During the course of the day, however, I
have to get up and eat, etc. Both of them hop up with a look like “should you
be pushing buttons on that machine so we can lay on you all day?”
The problem
with them sleeping on me, besides numb legs, is then they are wide-awake all
night. Yes, I know cats are nocturnal, but they are leaping off the walls if I
sit at the computer all day. At night, they bite cables (one of my IT husband’s
carnal sins), chase each other up and down the stairs, and meow at our bedroom door.
Forget about them sleeping with us, tried that, they do not sleep; they walk on
our faces. When my cats act like that at night, they tell me I have sat down
too much that day. Therefore, the next day and most days, I take twenty minutes
every hour or every other hour to play with them. This also helps me to get a
little exercise—or I would be at the computer constantly unless I was sleeping.
The
advantage of them sleeping on me is feeling their soft warm bodies. If I am
stuck on a paragraph, I can reach down and pet their soft fur while I think. Purrs
that vibrate through me knowing I am loved no matter what I write. Their
presence is comforting.
Now, since I
have incorporated physical activities with my cats, they regularly remind me.
Usually when I am in the midst of typing furiously.
Reading
newspapers, books, or my kindle is another story (even if it is about writing).
One of them (they take turns) will rub their body between my face and the
article. If I lay it down, it becomes prime real estate for them to flop down
on while their tail smacks against the ground. I wonder if they are telling me
to get back to the computer and do more writing?
If only I
did not need sleep. I could write all day, then play with them at night until
they tuckered out, then write more. Maybe that is why they are so vocal at
night? They are my muses calling me to write. After all, I have the best lap in
the house (at least according to my cats). No matter if my husband or others
are sitting down, they will leap off them to come to my lap when I sit.
Anywhere, anytime.
Or maybe
they know when I sit down at the laptop, then I won’t move for at least an hour.
And they do their duty as my muses knowing I hate to stand and wake them up
when they are curled up into balls with their paws over their faces. Acting
like the cat angels, I know they will not be without their interactive
playtime.
In 856 CE, Ireland is a land of myth,
magic, and blood. Viking raiders have fought the Irish for over half a century.
Rival Irish clans promise only betrayal and carnage.
Kaireen, daughter of Laird Liannon,
is suddenly forced into an arranged marriage with her sworn enemy, a Viking.
She refuses to submit. With no mention of love, only land and the protection of
her clan, she endeavors to get her betrothed banished from her country. Will
love find its way around her stubborn heart?
Bram, the Viking, finds himself
without future or inheritance as a younger son in his family. A marriage to the
Laird’s daughter would grant him land if he swears fidelity and if his men will
fight along with the Liannons against any foe—Irish or Viking. However, the
Laird’s feisty daughter only holds animosity for him and his kind. Is marriage
worth the battle scars of such a relentless opponent?
With the blame for a rival laird’s
death treacherously set against the Liannons, Kaireen and Bram must find a way
to lay aside their differences as an unforeseen darkness sends death snapping
at their heels.
Viking Fire Excerpt
Chapter One Ireland 856 CE (condensed)
“I
renounce Father for this.” Kaireen threw the elderberry gown.
“Shame
on you and your children for speaking such.” Her handmaid, Elva, gathered the
damask and then dusted off the rushes. “It’s a wonder one of the clim has not
scolded you from your hearth for such talk.”
“No,
curse Father for a fool.” She plopped on her bed and a goose feather floated
away. With a huff, she leaned against the oak headboard. Red curtains puffed
like a robin’s chest around oak poles supporting her wooden canopy.
Her
bare feet brushed against the stone floor.
“You
know your da arranged a marriage within a season.” Elva smirked.
Kaireen
shook her head. “To another land holder,” and waved a hand in disgust, “not
t-this heathen. Twice they raided our land in the last month alone. Now father
wants me as wife to one of them?” She clenched her fists. “No, I will not marry
this Viking.”
Elva
smiled, reminding Kaireen of the rumors of her handmaid’s uncanny foresight.
Whispers
of Elva making strange things happen and often blamed as the cause of
Kaireen’s
stubborn refusal to behave as a laird’s daughter should.
“You’ve
not seen him yet.” Elva wiggled her brows.
“So?”
Kaireen shrugged. “I would like to never see him.”
“Well
then, would you not like to know if you have a handsome husband or not?” She
waited for her response, but Kaireen scowled. Elva chuckled. “I would rather
get a good look at him now than the morning after.”
Kaireen’s
ears heated. “I am not marrying.” She shook her head for emphasis. “So there
will be no morning, nor night, nor wedding.”
“If
he is handsome, I may fight you for him.” Elva smiled, deepening the wrinkles
around her eyes.
“Welcome
to him either way.” Kaireen laughed.
Available for Purchase:
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Author Bio:
Growing up in Houston, Texas, Andrea has
always created characters and stories. But it wasn't until she was in her late
twenties that she started writing novels.
What happened that ignited the writing
flame in her fingers? Divorced, and disillusioned by love songs and stories.
They exaggerate. She thought. Love and Romance are not like that in the real
world. Then she met her husband and realized, yes love and romance are exactly
like the songs and stories say. She is now a happy wife, and a mom to three
kids (two boys and a girl).
Andrea writes paranormal and historical
romance. When not writing or reading, one may find Andrea dancing in Zumba.
She believes in the power of change
and counting each moment as a blessing. But
most importantly, she believes in love.
