The following is another excerpt from my humorous memoir, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. I am almost finished with the second draft and have been sending out a couple of preliminary queries.
No family would be complete without their pets. We have had a number of them through the years, and they all have a story.
When Anjanette and David were young and Michael was just a baby, we had a cat, Nicky, who wasn’t too crazy about living with little people who pulled her hair and chased her. She had been my cat before I married Carl, and she just barely tolerated him before and after we got married. She would often get on the bed and insinuate herself between us, then push on him with her paws.
“Is she doing that on purpose?” he’d ask.
“Oh, I hardly think so,” I said.
Then a paw would hit a tickle spot and he’d go flying out of the bed. “That cat’s a menace,” he said. “She pushed me out of bed.”
“Honey, listen to yourself. You’re a grown man and she’s just a little cat. Besides, I’m sure she likes you.”
“Well maybe,” he conceded, giving her a sideways glance.
“Of course she does. Aren’t you the one who plays with her every day with the crazy ball? She loves that.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“I am. Now get back into bed.” I moved the cat and patted the bed.
This nightly routine repeated itself often, and many years passed before Carl started to really like cats.