the cat who writes

Write, take naps, and take another nap

Peachy, the fish would like to be my friend

Peachy the fish would like to be my friend

I have several friends. Some of my friends are cats. My best friend is a dog, Martha. She is also my bodyguard. The people in the house I live in, have  become my friends. They are my staff. However, I think it is wise to be friendly with the people who feed you.

Yesterday I received my first letter from a fish. Peachy, the fish, was brought to an English writing class by the family she lives with. Anastacia Maness was teaching a creative writing class at her home school co-op about perspective. Mrs. Maness wrote a story called The Cat Who Writes.

” Who better to help me teach perspective than Pooh Hodges,” Mrs. Maness wrote in her story.

I was pleased to read in Mrs. Maness’s story that she is well aware that I dictate my stories to Mrs. Hodges. Mrs. Hodges is only the typist. I have heard a few people say Mrs. Hodges is really the writer of this blog. I am offended by the theory. I am a writer. I am the cat who writes.

Dear Pooh,

What’s going on here? I am scared in this strange place.
I am hungry. Thankfully my people brought food for me.
If you were to visit our class, please don’t eat me.
I want to be friends. Will you send me a letter too?
Have you ever eaten a fish? You wouldn’t eat me, right?
Thank you for sharing your story with us.

Love,

Peachy

My dearest Peachy,

I would never eat you. I prefer mice. I have eaten canned tuna, but never a live fish. I eat my food from a dish on the floor. I prefer to have to catch my food. Usually I try to hide the evidence. The bird I ate on the back deck was delicious. The fun is in the hunt. Stalking and then jumping. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat the birds feet.

I wish you all the best Peachy. Did you ask your staff to feed you yesterday? And get them to change your water regularly. I like fresh water too.

Love Pooh

cathead

 

About Pooh Hodges

I have had a hard life. Born to a single mother in a back alley in Wisconsin. I never knew my father. My sister died young. I am writing my story. Look for it.

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This is an animal blog. Written by animals. Humans are only necessary to type for us. We don’t have thumbs.