It's a jungle out there

That's what I often tell Kitty O when he wants to go out late at night. On the one hand, I love the whimsical thought that he clearly has a date because he has taken great care to clean his grey coat. On the other hand, I worry that he won't be able to protect himself, despite having fabulous claws. A good friend of mine recently lost her cat to a coyote. And years ago, while I was driving to meet someone for an early morning walk, I saw a coyote with a kitten dangling from its mouth. So you see, I do worry about Kitty O, who is catered to by everyone in the house. Will he be able to take care of himself in the outside world? Just to make it even on the nights I don't let him out, I assure him that I, too, face a jungle.
I am a writer who releases a novel to the world that I can't see, but I can clearly hear. Will the critics savage my book? Will the readers loathe it? And these days, with everyone on a computer, and Facebook, Goodreads, and other venues available at one click, the jungle is even more frightening. I know writers who track their sales first thing in the morning. I know others who do something to promote their novel every single day. They all ll hope that the bits they do will get them good bites, not savage ones.
Kitty O is oblivious to such things; he could not care less about his jungle or mine. He scratches at the door some, then curls up next to the computer, softly snoring, while I keep plugging away, making that path through the jungle that I hope will be kind to me.