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Some of you may know about a highly greased slider the universe has seen fit to toss my way. My lovely little coconut, otherwise referred to as the fruit of my loins, has managed to develop a severe cat allergy.
Well, shit.
There goes my ubiquitous writer's cat. Or, in my case, tribe of felines.
We have four, and the little beasts are terribly dear to me. I've even managed to get the one who is pathologically shy to start letting me pet him. A very recent development.
*sigh*
So, I have their names on the waiting lists for several local no-kill shelters, and even for the local SPCA. I'm totally downplaying the sadness factor to my daughter...I don't want her to feel guilty for getting sick. I just have to wonder though...how does one get into the zen like state that is the writing zone without a houseful of little furry zen-masters to emulate?
Hmm?
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