That Cat Who Thought He Was A Boy

No, not Kitty O, who is always and most definitely a cat. This would be Felix, a handsome black cat who had been abandoned in an alley. When he came into my friend's home, they assumed they were bringing in a cat. Turns out Felix thought otherwise. He grew very attached to the boy, Erik, so much so that Erik had to close his bedroom door to make sure Felix did not run away with pieces as he worked on a Lego set. Whenever Erik missed a piece, he would find it near Felix's food and water bowls. When Erik grew older and became interested in computer games, he would sometimes find Felix trying to work the controls. This is all true, by the way. And yet, of course, Felix is a cat, not a boy.

I was thinking of Felix because most days I know I am a writer. But there are many, many, many shaky days when I think, really? I can write? People will read me? Then I think of myself as The Writer Who Thought She Was A Fraud. It's difficult enough to write; to put yourself out there in the world for anyone to say anything about a book you spent so much time on; it's worse, though, when you think that all you have done is for naught. I'm in a funk right now, sure that I should have chosen something else to do with my time on this earth.

I wonder how Felix manages being a cat when he wants to be a boy. I need to stop feeling like a fraud so I can get back to writing. I can tell you this: it's the best feeling in the world to put words together on a computer screen. Much, much, better than trying to work the controls in order to play a computer game.