So, the cat previously mentioned has adjusted well to her new home, by which I mean she’s now convinced this house is hers, as it should be. Let’s call her Terrible, since any cat who stands on the table and forcefully steals chicken curry is, well, pretty terrible. We have two more cats in residence, Dreadful (The Big White Cat) and The Innocent (the one adopted at the same time as Terrible). Terrible and Dreadful has– as things which are both terrible and dreadful do –made friends. In fact, I caught Terrible letting Dreadful bathe her the other day. They appear to have some ongoing scheme for opening doors between the two of them, but we’ll be damned if we can figure out how it works, only that suddenly CAT all over the repair personnel.
Terrible does every cat behavior I’ve ever witnessed, and several which appear to be her own. She has a need to destroy Fenton glassware, for instance. This wouldn’t be too unusual except that she accepted an identical, but cheaper, LG Wright replacement for the plate that she ended. She loves beading thread and taunting the foxes outside the window and randomly dive-bombing people on the couch.
We’ve tentatively decided that she’s a torbico, color-wise. This came after consulting every random internet cat-fancier friend we could think of, many of whom provided references on the subject. None of the references agreed. Apparently, tortoiseshell cats are kind of a big deal. I confess, I’ve never owned one before. This was all news and then of course it was also literal news because it turns out that cloning torties gets into the fiddly business of cloning as a practice. She’s basically the perfect cat for an aspiring science fiction writer, even if she does sit on my notebooks, thereby preventing me from writing.
Terrible has no sense of fear. I’m pretty sure that’s how she lost her eye. I’m pretty sure that if I used human words to describe her, she would sound more like a shonen manga hero than a cat. Writers plus cats also being a thing, perhaps I could do that. I could write a shonen inspired story of her adventures in Most Terrible Destruction.
But, the truth is, I enjoy Terrible for not being a source of inspiration. She’s not as complicated as my inspiration. Or as, well, Terrible. You see, I’m not really inspired by nice things or good things or especially not things that make me happy. I’m inspired by things that throw me into a frothing rage. I might end up framing whatever story comes to me out of this with queer people and needlessly picturesque murders and thunderstorms and all of the mono no aware I can cram into 2,000 words, but in every story I write there’s buried a seed if inspiration from something that I loathed to the point of wanting to erase it from the world. It could have been two assholes I overheard at the Ren Faire. It could have been the state of the universe at large. Whatever it was might not even factor into the finished version of the story it created.
Running on rageohol probably isn’t healthy. But, it works for me. It also seems to work for Terrible, since as long as I’m getting angry at words, I’m a captive audience.
It’s nice to just look down at her furiously sitting on my foot and go: ah, you’re the furry little asshole who takes my wine stoppers and leaves them all over the stairs for me to trip over and you’re adorable.