I am a morning writer. No, I am not a morning person. Before marriage, and especially before baby, my perfect day started at ten and ended at 2 a.m. I usually wrote in the evenings or midnights. Now, I write in the mornings before sunset. I think before husband, I'd only seen maybe three sunsets.
This is where the cat comes in. I have a cat named Pricilla. She's from my single days and actually has seniority over husband and kid, which she does not hesitate to use: my chair, my spot on the bed. Her job is to make sure I get up around 6ish and write. If I don't, she cries and cries and cries.
If she were younger, I'd be tossing her outside. But in human years, she's over 20. I don't know, she was grown when I got her, and I've had her 18 years. In kitty years, she's at least 140. So, I don't toss.
Getting me out of bed to write is her only constructive contribution to my writing. She does contribute in other less constructive ways. For example, she leaves cat hair on my desk (sometimes ickier things). Often, while I in deep writing mode, she'll sit on hand or walk across my keyboard. I just know occasionally, my editor finds this in the middle of a sentence. They ran across the room, two souls, meeting as o6hibne.
I can only hope my editor has a cat!