辛迪·錢伯斯 /Cindy Chambers
According to my dictionary, a “Muse” is any of the nine Greek goddesses who preside over the arts. This means that, as a writer, I not only get to work in my pajamas, I can also claim my own goddess who will answer my prayers in times of literary distress.
Luckily, there's no need, since I have Necco, a peach-colored tortoiseshell cat to serve as my own personal “mewse”.
The cat discovered us at the local animal shelter. We were looking for a quiet, neat pet to complement our boisterous dog, Emma. We found Necco instead.
As soon as we entered the shelter, she called to us in a noisy chirps that made it clear she required immediate attention. The yellow tag on her cage-the symbol showing that this was her last day-backed up her urgent request. When the cage door swung open, she stepped into my arms and settled back with a look that clearly said, “What took you so long?”
Six months old and barely three pounds, Neeco wasted no time establishing herself as the one in charge of our lives. The leather chair was her scratching post. The Christmas tree was her playground. And the mantel, neatly decorated with a collection of brass candlesticks of all shapes and sizes, was where she discovered the Feline Law of Gravity: Cats go up, candlesticks come down. The f irst dainty swipe of a paw resulted in a satisfying crash. So did the second, third and fourth. By the f ifth crash, Necco's face bore the cat equivalent of a grin. She had discovered her purpose in life.
It happened that Necco's skills reached her peak just as my life reached a low point. My twenty-year marriage had shuddered to a stop, leaving me with a ten-year-old daughter, Katie, and a large home to support on an advertising copywriter's salary. A1though I worked full-time, the pay was modest and I often found myself with more bills than paycheck. I soon realized I would have to work as a freelance writer just to meet expenses.