Spent the time I’d planned to use getting Monday’s blog entry on finishing a flash piece due tomorrow. Won’t be uploading it here to get me off the hook for a couple of reasons, foremost is the thing is still pretty rough and not yet suitable for human consumption. The second is it’s a little darker than I usually go, and this isn’t a horror-themed blog. Except when I talk about politics, which is another level of dark.

I usually spend later evenings in the (small) library where all my writing tools are. This time of year I’ll also be running a space heater which keeps the room cozy enough to tolerate. I’m a night owl, and First Reader is a morning lark. This usually works for me, since late evenings and very early mornings are quiet and conducive for working. It should be a good time to avoid interruptions, and yet…

Sometimes I’ll be at the computer when a sudden cold chill creeps up my legs. Before I can notify any of the paranormal shows, I remember what it is.

Sheffield.

There he is above in a comfy spot. The cat has pushed the door open and let in the cold air as he comes in to get some attention. Yes, he can open the door but never bothers to close it. If I’m quick I can get up before he’s commandeered my lap and shut the bloody door. He gets his lap and scritches time, then gets bored and leaves.

And opens the door again.

This little morality play might occur anywhere from two to three times every evening. I love that cat, but I do wish he’d learn to shut the damn door.

P.S. Got a bit of good writing news last week. All will be revealed when the contracts are signed, and not one moment before.