It is 8:30 A.M. In the kitchen, I pour my second cup of coffee, then walk through the laundry room, and put my hand on the studio doorknob. Salem is fast on my heels, her black, shiny belly swaying side to side as she jogs. She looks at me with squinted eyes, her long tail swishing as puffs of dryer lint breeze by. She is the only boss I’ve ever had who allows me to come to work in my pajamas. In fact, she insists on it. She doesn’t care that I am not wearing makeup, or that my teeth may not get brushed until just before Michael comes home from work.
Meggie is the next to arrive. Hopping like a kangaroo on her three legs, she finds a warm patch of sun and lingers for a while, laying anchor on a pile of notes. She looks up at me, the corners of her little tiger mouth smiling. I can almost hear her say it, “Whatever you write today, Mom, be it a paragraph or a chapter, will be great.”
Salem moves between the seat of the Pilates Chair and the AB Lounger, never looking any thinner but always with an in-charge attitude. As I get up for another cup of coffee, she nips at my legs all the way back to the desk. Intent on my emotional creative state, they both listen as computer keys click, I make long sobbing sighs and talk to the ceiling. Meggie and Salem have heard it all. Every sentence of my molecule rattled life, read over and over aloud until I could finally do it without crying.
Today my bangs have been pulled back in frustration so many times that they are now standing up like antennas. My waste basket is overflowing with crumpled tissues and cast off pages full of typos. On my desk there is a cup of yogurt I started four hours ago, and next to it is my fifth cup of coffee, which is now cold. I need a break of inspiration and a nap, but as I lay down on my yoga mat, Meggie and Salem nudge at me until I get up and start again.
It is now 6:00 P.M. My teeth have been brushed, I have pulled on some leggings and a sweatshirt, and dinner is bubbling in the crockpot. Meggie makes a bolt for her food dish as Michael comes through the front door. I reach out, running my hand the length of Salem’s silky coat. “Time to end another writing day, Boss”, I say to her, “Tomorrow we will do it again.” Then with a dismount from the AB Lounger and a swishy strut to her back end, Salem and I call it a day.