There’s something about cats.

Yes, in January  I burst my eardrum trying to cure the ear mite infection I caught from our two. They wont be  sleeping on the bed pillows after that. But I mean more. The truth encapsulated in this post from Jennifer Adcock, writer.

“You know who doesn’t get impostor syndrome? Cats. Not only does every cat know they’re a cat, I think every cat believes firmly, with conviction, that they are the best possible cat, the prime example of a cat, the most cat a cat could be.”

We are writers, published or not. An alleycat is as feline as a Persian drowsing in the sun.  That cushioned window seat comes with its own challenges.

We’ve all been indoctrinated with Hollywood scripts where destiny catapults true writers to New York and subsequent fame and glory.  But cats know fake crab when they smell it.   The real reward of being born with a writers brain is using it. It does stuff  that others can’t.  Everyday.  Turning over and around like weird alien clockwork. Or cats going about their business.

Cat brains resemble our brains structurally. Much more than do dogs. Ever see a cat playing with a feather toy?  Like a writer with a new idea. Everyday padding out on the prowl they are writing their own stories.

 If you have a creative mind you can’t help yourself-anymore than a cat can. Like these three on the brand new car despite the owner cajoling and threatening from a 2nd storey window.

Next time those inner jeering voices mock – stretch out your claws and yawn. Give the stare.

You are the prime example of a writer. The best possible writer you could be.  And if  that is not true-yet. Make  it so. There is no better  answer to  inner  imposter pigeons