In just a few days I am off to the Cat Writers’ Convention in San Francisco. I feel guilty for harboring excitement in going. In getting away from the demands of sickly kitties, nightly bed checks, and braving the slamming rain and winds currently blowing here as I make my way to the stables in the morning to feed the horses.
Yes, I admit, I am feeling selfish. Rather than have hay in my hair, I will have bling bling on Saturday night at the banquet, where we all gather to celebrate the writing accomplishments of our creative friends.
Instead of having kitty claws crawling up my legs, my legs will be embraced by the wonderful feel of silk stockings, sent long ago to me by my mother.
Instead of being wakened in the middle of the night by the galloping of little kitties overhead now healthy playing a mean game of tag on the second floor. I will be sleeping blissfully, lulled to sleep by the sounds of San Francisco’s night life.
Instead of struggling to get into my Carharts so the wind doesn’t chill me to the bone as I let the dogs outside and make my way over to the enclosure to feed the cats. I will be dressed for success in my business attire as I meet and greet old friends and make new ones and meet with the publishers to pitch my book and leave them with a few chapters to read on the plane.
Rather than staying up all hours of the night, medicating kittens, giving supportive fluids, holding solo prayer vigils, I will stay up until I want to go to sleep while I visit with the group, have a drink or two to celebrate with others. Then, when I go upstairs to my room, I will spend time with my two roommates, Nancy and Dusty and listen to their exploits about their lives both at home and at the conference.
Perhaps one of them might be persuaded to set their alarm at midnight, and then set it every ten minutes after, waking up to meow loud and demanding into my ear (just in case, I might get homesick).
Yes, I will be gone from the house in body, but here still in spirit, praying that Mike’s blood sugar won’t drastically drop in the mornings, that Charlie won’t suffer another relapse and that Mike will suddenly realize all that is involved in taking care of so many animals on your own, because now he is doing everything I do.
So for a few days this pumpkin will turn into Cinderella and I am looking forward to having a glorious time!And who knows…I may come back with a book deal and a Muse!