Pussycats and memoirs

Today's post was supposed to be the latest installment of a memoir I'm working on (one of two memoirs). But, this week's trawling and sifting of writing tips yielded the following advice, in a nutshell: Careful posting your unpublished work on your blog, because it might have an adverse impact on your having the writing published elsewhere down the track.

In other words, potential publishers might not want your work, or substantial portions of it, already having been published. Fair enough. Makes sense. Although snippets, they say, are okay to put up on a blog. Well, I think I've already indulged in enough snippet-ry so far. So, no more snippets for now.

Fine. But what about the pussycats?

Well, in the absence of yet another enthralling sample of my story, I wanted to clumsily type a few words about Sally. She's my pussycat - isn't she pretty?

Sally

Sally is the first cat I've had since I was a boy at home with my family. For as long as my boyhood memory stretches, we always had a cat roaming around the place. Whenever a cat died, dad would bury it in the same spot in our garden - then we'd get another cat. The cats kept coming and the cat bones kept accumulating in that spot in the front garden. Nothing sinister here. Just years of loving our cats.

And I'm loving having a pussycat now. Although, in this photo Sally looks like she could be saying:

"Take a photo of me again without my express permission - and I will claw the shit out of you. Got it?"

Still. She's a joy! Sally goes by a number of  nicknames. S-Alley Cat, Sally Smooch and Sally Fras - and of course she answers to none of these... because she's a cat!