I mean, why do otherwise intelligent cats keep pet writers?
Based on empirical evidence from writer friends, I conclude the lives of writers and cats are inseparable. Let's be clear, I'm not talking solely about female writers here. Ladies who write and cats seems like a logical connection. No, the cunning felines have invaded male lifestyles too. Not just your willowy softie male writers, either, I mean blokey blokes, big hairy bitter-swilling geezers. If they write, you can bet your ASDA tuna some mercenary moggie has latched onto them.
Writers, we've been got at. Believe me, there's a clear correlation between literary output and cat food sales.
So, where lies our fatal flaw that the felines exploit? One possibility is our subliminal need as writers to focus our procrastination. Cat equals mandala, as in: talking plot twists through with Felix is a whole lot easier than real writing. And then again, according to my sketchy understanding of Occam's razor principle we can shave the subject down to basics and arrive at the conclusion that cats have simply suckered us writers into accepting mews as muse.
Look, there's a whole lot more I could write on this subject – nine tales at least – but I've got four cats to feed… I mean stories to write.
The teapot's on the go as usual but it's no good looking for the biscuits behind the side bar anymore, that's reserved for the litter tray and tuna tins.
Turn the light's out and lock up when you leave, okay? And, whatever you do, don't obstruct the cat flap.