Pepper. Day 39. by SJV
2017/11/01  |  By:   |  Features  |  

It’s been months since I last put pen to paper for the purposes of writing a piece … thank goodness I’m not an actual columnist and my livelihood depends on a regular stream of words at $4 a pop!

You see, I’ve been slightly preoccupied if truth be told.

Sure sure work has been manic, natch, with ‘finishing off’ the last half of 2017 and attempting to nail the first quarter of 2018; reading 578 short stories submitted for our cracking #heatseeker competition; planning our big Simon & Schuster 30th Anniversary Party which saw some 500 guests crammed into the glorious Wohl Room at the National Gallery; reading a bumper crop of manuscripts before, during and after Frankfurt Book Fair; and managing an extra 182 customers on top off my own accounts since my trusty desk buddy and right hand woman left the business…

But no, none of these are the reason for radio silence. Truth be told, it’s because of a cat.

Six weeks ago on a standard Saturday night, Mr Bookminx and I were in our kitchen, drunk in PJs, having a little dance… when we heard the gentle mewing of a local moggy sat on our doorstep.

We’d seen and heard her before of course, but for some reason we were just drunk enough that particular evening to think ‘let’s let her in’…

3 hours later we’d played, hugged, fed and stroked the life out of her and decided, literally right there and then, to get a cat.  I KNOW.  Listen, I’ve NEVER made such an impulsive decision in my life! I’ve never wanted to get a cat, a dog, a plant…a child. Sweet lord, the responsibility – heavens to murgatroyd!

And yet, there we were, the following Saturday (after several days of seriously hard core cat research), visiting a breeder with three 12 week old British Shorthair kittens, 2 boys and a girl, that were just about ready to leave Mum.

The following Sunday we went back, cat carrier in hand, and bought home the little girl, a blue cream princess, and life will never be the same again.

Yes, she’s up most nights for most of the night attacking EVERYTHING – furniture, feet, food and her beloved feathers.

Yes, she’s ruined all the chairs and carpets and cushions we own.

Yes, I spend most of my time when I’m away from her wishing I was at home with her.

Yes, I’ve taken to calling my husband ‘Daddy’ as in, ‘Don’t worry Pepper, Daddy will change your litter tray’ and ‘Daddy get you a sticky treat darling’ and ‘What’s silly old Daddy doing Pepper?’…

Yes, when I’m working late ‘Daddy’ rings me so Pepper can ‘talk to Mummy’.

Seriously guys, I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t care. I love every single second of being Mummy…

So what I’m trying to say is – sorry for the lack of column inches whilst I get used to being a cat lady. I’m sure after a while the novelty will wear off.  I’ll stop tweeting Pepper Day xx photos and stop being secretly delighted when pre- arranged plans get cancelled so I can rush home to play with her. And I’m sure at some point the sound of her not-yet-fully-formed mew will start getting on my nerves as will the gentle tapping on my legs that tells me she wants sit on my lap.  And yes, I’m sure at some point the scratching and chewing and breaking and ruining will start grating and I’ll resume normal book, bun and booze chat, but till then my friends…say hello to Pepper, isn’t she a doll?

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