Mom's Pal Mac
A writer sooner or later discovers that sometimes a good luck charm hangs right behind you, making the impossible happen before your very eyes, but without so much as an eye blink. You never know. It could be a close friend, a relative, or a pet. It has to be a living, breathing being. Someone with a heart, beautiful eyes, a sly smile, and omnipresent. The charm always seems to be hanging over your shoulder, even when it isn't. Such a person is Mac, our cat. He never has admitted to the fact that he's only half Maine Coon.
Mac slips up quietly, like a furry sphinx, grinning about who knows what. He bares his claws only when you arrogantly ignore him. In which case you totally deserve his fangs and his claws. Oh, you bet he knows. He's a fast learner. Mac hung around my work station quite a bit after he arrived at the high desert enclave. Worked his magic and my long-suffering narrative languished no longer. Took him a few weeks to perform the cat trick, but I am sure he is responsible for Wasape's completion. Consequently, I never deny Mac a place at my work table. It's just something that we don't argue about. You don't do that with a male or female Maine Coon, or half the fact.
Now that I mention it, there is one thing he made perfectly clear: He runs this household of four people and four dogs. He is the annointed one. The king of all. We weren't too sure that the dogs had accepted the feline's law. Particularly since Nadka, the boss barker, had already claimed that title. The days wore on and Mac refused to back down to anyone. . .except Nadka, the Siberian mastiff. We discovered this fact. When Nadka appeared after a long day of grumbling and barking at every passing vehicle on our narrow dirt road, Mac would quietly disappear. Aha! I guess you call that an accommodation of sorts. Something conservatives and liberals could learn from. Hey, it just takes trust in your lucky charm. . . and a good disappearing act.