It's a Cat Thing, Take 2

For the past several weeks, Kitty O has moved residence and now sleeps anywhere he wishes to on my bed. This is a change from his previous abode: the dining room chair. He is either at the bottom of the bed where he curls up into a compact ball, in the middle, stretched out so that he occupies a large chunk of real estate, or sleeping exactly like a human, head on my pillow, back paws pointing to one corner. I wish I could ask him about this change. Why so suddenly? Why now?

I know I won't receive an answer, so I keep going, with bated breath, hoping he won't affect another sudden move. I like hearing him snore, I love feeling the rise and fall of his furry body. I definitely prefer this to all the times I have to reach under the dining room table to pet him.

This feeling is so like the times the writing flows. Then, too, I sit with bated breath, fingers flying over the keyboard, trying to take advantage of the rush of thoughts, so different from all those days when I sat at the computer and nothing happened. I never know why I have writer's block; and I never know why I am unblocked.

I guess there are more things in heaven and earth than are understood by mere mortals.