The final stage of becoming a real writer
Jul. 26th, 2007 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Secretly, in the back of my head, I've been worried that I won't ever become a real writer until I have a small fuzzy mammal or two around. Specifically, cats. It seems that the vast majority of people who are literarily respected have cats and have a snarky, lolarious relationship with said catS.
I have two dogs and three cats I'm pet sitting for the soon-to-be in-laws (who I love dearly).
The entire menagerie seems suitable for the task of snark and lolarity. Especially while I'm trying to write on a computer that isn't mine.
Because unlike cats, dogs can't really be said to have mischievous intents. They're just so *well-meaning*. Especially when one is an obsessive border collie and the other is a lazy, giant puppy that weighs 30lbs at six months old. And a cat who's an escape artist, and has to be allowed outside only when leashed. I kid thee not.
Let me give you an example:
Me: (typing along)
Obsesso-Dog: I has a squeaky thing. See? SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! Y, hallo thar biped, I has squeeker. You can has it.
Me: Sorry, the biped is typing.
Obsesso-Dog: (putting squeaky thing down at my feet) Here, see, SQUEAKY THING!
Me: TYPING!
Obsesso-Dog: (picking up squeaky thing and putting it back down again): Maybe you didn't see it, I know you bipeds are kinda dumb like that. See, here it is. You should throw it for me now, and I'll bring it back. See, here.
Me: Ignoring you now.
Obsesso-Dog: But it's here. Right here! IT'S A SQUEAKY THING PLEASE PICK IT UP. Okay, I'll just have to stare at you for a long time until you do what I want, biped.
Me: I can resist the Dog Eyes of Death, thanks much. You are not my first dog. Come back when you're a flufftastic little Pomeranian who knows how to dance in circles.
Obsesso-Dog: *stares* *whines* Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease it's so squeaky, why won't you just ACKNOWLEDGE ITS EXISTENCE AND THROW IT, JUST ONCE.
Me: I've been through this. It's a vicious cycle. I throw it once, you bring it back, we keep doing this until furniture gets broken or you collapse of exhaustion. And my arm's not that strong.
Obsesso-Dog: I know, I'll squeak the toy at you until it entices you and you are unable to resist its squeaky charms.
Me: Suit yourself.
Giant Puppy (ambling in, unbeknownst to anyone): *SLURP* O, hai thar, I got you a flipflop, but I eated it. *SLURP* You has a flavor, biped. I likes it.
Me: How can you produce that much saliva?!?!?!?!
Giant Puppy: I produce a lot of things.
Me: The way you say that worries me.
Giant Puppy: *SLURP*. Hahahaha. *SLURP* You still has a flavor. LOVE ME?
Obsesso-Dog: NOT UNTIL YOU THROW THE SQUEAKY TOY. I WILL EAT THE PUPPY'S FACE IF YOU DO NOT THROW THE SQUEAKY!
Me: Aww, I was typing.
Obsesso-Dog: I don't care. It is all about the squeaky. SQUEAK. SQUEAK.
Me: You need prozac
Obsesso-Dog: No, I NEED ONE OF YOU USELESS BIPEDS TO THROW THE SQUEAKY ALREADY.
Giant Puppy: LOVE YOU. Let me stick my cold wet nose somewhere random as a token of my affections.
Me: GAAAAAAAAAAH!
Giant Puppy: You're silly, biped.
Obsesso-Dog: (increasingly desperate) WHAT ABOUT THE SQUEAKY? ISN'T ANYONE PAYING ATTENTION TO THE SQUEAKY?!?!?!?!
Escape Artist Kitty: I hate you all.
I have two dogs and three cats I'm pet sitting for the soon-to-be in-laws (who I love dearly).
The entire menagerie seems suitable for the task of snark and lolarity. Especially while I'm trying to write on a computer that isn't mine.
Because unlike cats, dogs can't really be said to have mischievous intents. They're just so *well-meaning*. Especially when one is an obsessive border collie and the other is a lazy, giant puppy that weighs 30lbs at six months old. And a cat who's an escape artist, and has to be allowed outside only when leashed. I kid thee not.
Let me give you an example:
Me: (typing along)
Obsesso-Dog: I has a squeaky thing. See? SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! Y, hallo thar biped, I has squeeker. You can has it.
Me: Sorry, the biped is typing.
Obsesso-Dog: (putting squeaky thing down at my feet) Here, see, SQUEAKY THING!
Me: TYPING!
Obsesso-Dog: (picking up squeaky thing and putting it back down again): Maybe you didn't see it, I know you bipeds are kinda dumb like that. See, here it is. You should throw it for me now, and I'll bring it back. See, here.
Me: Ignoring you now.
Obsesso-Dog: But it's here. Right here! IT'S A SQUEAKY THING PLEASE PICK IT UP. Okay, I'll just have to stare at you for a long time until you do what I want, biped.
Me: I can resist the Dog Eyes of Death, thanks much. You are not my first dog. Come back when you're a flufftastic little Pomeranian who knows how to dance in circles.
Obsesso-Dog: *stares* *whines* Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease it's so squeaky, why won't you just ACKNOWLEDGE ITS EXISTENCE AND THROW IT, JUST ONCE.
Me: I've been through this. It's a vicious cycle. I throw it once, you bring it back, we keep doing this until furniture gets broken or you collapse of exhaustion. And my arm's not that strong.
Obsesso-Dog: I know, I'll squeak the toy at you until it entices you and you are unable to resist its squeaky charms.
Me: Suit yourself.
Giant Puppy (ambling in, unbeknownst to anyone): *SLURP* O, hai thar, I got you a flipflop, but I eated it. *SLURP* You has a flavor, biped. I likes it.
Me: How can you produce that much saliva?!?!?!?!
Giant Puppy: I produce a lot of things.
Me: The way you say that worries me.
Giant Puppy: *SLURP*. Hahahaha. *SLURP* You still has a flavor. LOVE ME?
Obsesso-Dog: NOT UNTIL YOU THROW THE SQUEAKY TOY. I WILL EAT THE PUPPY'S FACE IF YOU DO NOT THROW THE SQUEAKY!
Me: Aww, I was typing.
Obsesso-Dog: I don't care. It is all about the squeaky. SQUEAK. SQUEAK.
Me: You need prozac
Obsesso-Dog: No, I NEED ONE OF YOU USELESS BIPEDS TO THROW THE SQUEAKY ALREADY.
Giant Puppy: LOVE YOU. Let me stick my cold wet nose somewhere random as a token of my affections.
Me: GAAAAAAAAAAH!
Giant Puppy: You're silly, biped.
Obsesso-Dog: (increasingly desperate) WHAT ABOUT THE SQUEAKY? ISN'T ANYONE PAYING ATTENTION TO THE SQUEAKY?!?!?!?!
Escape Artist Kitty: I hate you all.