I have finally found evidence that I might, just might, become a writer one day!

Browsing through the Guardian website yesterday, I chanced upon this article (Author’s mews: writers and their cats) that spoke of how many of the famous authors (man, woman) have always been known to have cats. Curled up somewhere within the photo frame – on the author’s lap, on the neighbouring couch, on the carpet – is an “unprotesting feline”.

With more than a dozen such (not always unprotesting) felines that are amply available to populate any photograph of mine, I have at least one of the criteria to make it big in the literary world!

What I found even more reassuring was:

Twentieth century Canadian novelist, journalist and playwright Robertson Davies tried to nail down the attraction [between writers and cats] with his oft-quoted: “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, loveable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.”

Joy, joy!