The Writer’s Cat
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PART ONE
The Writing Brigade / An Unlikely Alliance
Published: October 19, 2025
Last Updated: October 20, 2025
Chapter 3:
"Can’t rush it"
It had been a week since everyone had agreed on PJ’s three-month deadline. A whole week. It went by extremely quickly somehow, and now Dot was curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed. PJ was standing, deep in thought, looking out the window on the other side of the apartment.
Tucked away in ball form, Dot was worried that they hadn’t seemed to have moved forward in any discernible way. And the cat didn’t know how to deal with this worry—as she couldn’t just ask the writer what the plan was. Surely, he had to have a plan. She could see the calendar, and there were only so many more weeks left! She had known PJ—AKA Pono Jefferson AKA the writer—for about five weeks, so she knew how fast that time could fly by.
Dot also knew that she didn’t know everything there was to know about writing. For example, apparently, there was a lot of preparation required before actually putting down any words at all. PJ assured her it was how real writers worked. And she thought that made a lot of sense. Sometimes, she would sit in a box for hours just thinking of what she had to do that day. When she did, her day was that much better.
Still, she couldn’t help but worry.
Dot had been sure that PJ’s thinking, along with his occasional monologue, would lead to some tangible work she could help with. But that hadn’t happened yet. And here he was just looking out a window for the fifth or sixth time this week.
In short, despite knowing the big picture, her patience was starting to fray. She was also getting pretty bored with nothing to do. Perhaps the writer didn’t know how ready she was to get to work. She uncurled and stretched on the folded-up comforter to show she was all set to really start writing. More ready than the plant anyway, which continued to sit in its half-dead state on the desk.
PJ, meanwhile, knew nothing about the thoughts going on in Dot’s head or that she continued to harbor ill will toward Zombie Plant. He just let out the occasional hmmm or grunt as he tapped a finger against his chin and checked the time on his phone now and again.
Dot twitched an ear as a particular thought wormed its way into her head. What if just letting things move so slowly was a mistake? It certainly appeared that the writer was not actually doing anything. But that couldn’t be. He always claimed he was being productive when he stood there staring off into the distance. The trouble was that she couldn’t tell what was going on in his head when he did this. He could be thinking about history, or food, or a good tune—but also nothing. PJ also sometimes explained that he was thinking once again about the unfortunate circumstances of his misunderstood genius.
Sneezing randomly, the cat was shaken out of her ruminations. Dot reminded herself that mentally preparing for a whole week had to be helpful. The writer was dead set on making this new push to establish his career as a big-time author after all.
From what she had heard from PJ, he had been like any other ordinary human child with big dreams. And he had followed them, working hard to become a “big-time writer” as an adult. Unfortunately, his efforts had given him a semblance of a career that, while allowing him to support himself, was nowhere near successful enough to meet his high expectations.
In the past, his work seemed to revolve around writing online articles and creating lists with numbers in them. His most successful list to date was one that had gone viral with tons of views and clicks.
It was, by many metrics, something to be happy about. But, if anything, the recognition had annoyed PJ to no end. He said it was because he had come to accept that his most well-known piece of writing was published on the website “The Things to Read When You’re Bored Internet Hub,” and was an article called, “10 Ways to Know You Like Lip Balm.”
Dot didn’t know exactly what this thing, lip balm, was—a thing to put on your face, from what she gathered—but it was clearly a disappointing thing to be at the top of one’s resume. It ticked PJ off so much that he had quit all his writing gigs, moved to a new city, and forced an old school acquaintance to give him a feature in a print magazine that had more acclaim than “The Things to Read When You’re Bored Internet Hub.”
He had also gotten a cat.
Dot fought a yawn and licked a paw that she ran over her face. The only change in the last five minutes was that PJ had remarked how the brick wall outside looked pretty old, and how that was interesting. Something for him to think further about.
Hearing this had caused Dot to yawn once again, and also realize that she was having trouble staying alert. She knew she had to do something before the day passed by completely—for her sake if nothing else.
So, Dot decided to take a minor action. Something that could just help nudge PJ to remember what they were doing, just in case he had forgotten. She could make a difference.
Reinvigorated, the cat did a big stretch, shook her head, and then clambered off the bed. Looking casually around, she sauntered over to the desk and leaped up so that she could peer at the calendar pages, which had been cut out and pinned to the wall. They showed the next three months, side by side, all next to each other. And very prominently, at the end of those three months, PJ had drawn a big star on the square for the final day. Written in big scrawl, under that star, were the words “ARTICLE DUE.”
Dot looked up at the big star and then over at the current month, where a whole week’s worth had been crossed out already. She looked back over at PJ to double-check what he was up to, and felt more unsure than ever. He was watching a bird that had flown onto the lone branch outside the window.
“Meow!” Dot said, piping up to get PJ’s attention.
“I know, Dot,” PJ mused, and then belatedly pointed at the bird. “This is great inspiration that I found right here, from the comfort of my own home. The old brick is interesting, yes. But this bird, it’s so grey and ordinary. Is it a cardinal? A dove? Who’s to say? I would need to research to be sure.”
The cat did think the bird was interesting, obviously, but wanted him to talk more about the timeline they were on. It was that much more important.
Dot crouched, then jumped wildly into the air, trying to paw the calendar pages PJ had stuck to the wall. PJ, in turn, immediately pulled back a step and let out a small yelp. As Dot jumped again, it looked like she was giving a feline version of a high five to the calendar.
“What? What is happening?” PJ asked, voice higher than normal, as he started to move over to her. “Don’t ruin the calendar! I spent all week getting the energy together to put that on the wall.”
“Meow,” Dot concurred out loud. It had taken him all week. She jumped up and placed a paw on the big deadline on the calendar again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” PJ squinted at the cat, suspicious of her intentions.
“Meow!” the cat exclaimed.
“Ah! You’re trying to hurry me up,” PJ said with a scowl. He puffed himself up as he responded. “Are you trying to tell me how to do my job? Are you the writer? No, I’m the writer. So, you should just trust the professional in this situation.”
“Mewurgh,” Dot said, her ears drooping and tail swishing back and forth as she looked away from him.
“Shame on you,” PJ said, reinforcing his point.
The cat flopped over in defeat.
“Okay, I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” PJ said, crossing his arms, starting to backtrack. Dot blinked back up at him with hope.
The writer sighed in his own version of defeat.
“Alright, now that I think about it,” PJ said, slowly. “I guess I could make some more…tangible progress today. I could add at least a couple ideas to a note here somewhere. Just calm down and don’t look so upset.”
Dot thought about his response, happy to know she had helped the writer out. It really felt great to be acknowledged for her effort. She mewled and curled up in front of the plant that hadn’t been any help at all yet. She also yawned again, since it was tiring being so involved.
“Okay, I’m going to assume that we’re all on the same page, and you will stop causing a ruckus,” PJ said. He paused and glanced at his phone. “Ah, yes, I’ll write some ideas down today, but it is still morning. We’re wasting valuable time by the window while the light is good. The notes can come later when I’ve fully ruminated on those thoughts I was having earlier.”
Dot blinked at him, not following this last bit as closely. She had really done enough to deserve a nap by now. And he did say something about writing notes down at some point. So, everything was probably fine.
Feeling pretty good about her contribution, she flipped over and stretched out a couple paws, getting more comfortable on the desk.
PJ, meanwhile, went back to ignoring the scruffy animal on the table. He hummed to himself as he went over to the window again, presumably to keep looking at the ordinary grey bird out there.
While PJ spent more of the morning looking out the window, turning over potential ideas for his big article, Dot closed her eyes and checked back in with the world of her human alter ego tasked with guarding a wagon…
Looking up at the dark clouds overhead, Dottie was relieved to finally be on their way. The group—including the exiled inventor, the retired merchant Lily, the horse Old Man Horse, and the guard Dottie—had managed to not be imprisoned. Also, the inventor’s wagon wasn’t confiscated or destroyed, which was how they were currently traveling.
They were on the dirt road that led out of the Bustling Town of Urk, with Old Man Horse plodding forward and pulling everyone along behind him. Obviously, they hadn’t moved that far yet, but Urk was getting marginally smaller as the wagon rolled its way bit by bit away from the city.
Dottie was lounging on top of the wagon, mulling over how difficult it was just to leave town when a sudden banging disrupted her. It was hard to ignore the interruption, a loud knocking on the underside of the roof, as it was happening directly beneath her.
“Guard! Guard Dottie! How far are we now?” Inventor Jefferson’s voice emerged from the interior of the wagon.
The inventor, as he had been doing off and on in the hour since their departure from Urk, was once again “checking in” on their progress.
“Not that much farther than when you asked five minutes ago!” Dottie yelled at the sky, pulling her hood over her head.
“What? I can’t hear you!” the inventor replied, causing Dottie to groan and then lean over the edge of the roof so she could shout into the window below her.
“I said not much farther than when you asked five minutes ago!”
“Oh,” the inventor said. “Well, don’t sound upset. You’re my guard! What am I paying you for anyway? Is there any sign of Rider’s Block? Also, I’m not entirely sure I should be paying you as much as I am.”
“The deal is done! And of course there’s no sign of Rider’s Block yet,” Dottie said to the sky, and then added mostly to herself, “Not that I even know what I’m looking for. But I’m sure I can handle it if it shows up.”
Lily, the driver, who was sitting and keeping a lookout on the absolutely abandoned road, let out a “Hah!” before shaking out her arms in a little jig to get her blood flowing. She was generally louder than her old companion, the equine of the traveling party, who just snorted occasionally and continued to do the most work of the group.
“What? I didn’t catch that!” the inventor yelled out, causing the guard to lean over and bang on the side of the wagon with her trusty rake.
“It’s fine!”
Rider’s Block was actually the main reason why Dottie was being brought along for the ride out of Urk. Not the only reason, probably, but a big part of it. Perhaps it was time to consider what would happen if they actually encountered it out here.
What was Rider’s Block, really? Dottie was vague on the details, which was normal, because the phenomenon was pretty mysterious. No one had seen it firsthand, and yet everyone knew about it.
Supposedly, it was a force that rose up from the land itself to stop people from going from one place to another, at least around where the settlers lived. Dottie wasn’t even sure if Rider’s Block was that dangerous, though. She felt confident that she and her trusty rake were sufficient to deal with any problems. The dangerous part was probably just blown out of proportion.
All the stories went a little like this: Something happened to travelers on long journeys. Something that meant they never got to where they were going. The stories just couldn’t agree on what that something was.
But if no one could even describe this Rider’s Block, Dottie thought to herself, it couldn’t be that bad. Most likely people letting fear get the best of them. And Dottie herself had even gone from the town of Rot to the town of Urk with no problems at all. It was a short week of travel, yes, but Rider’s Block hadn’t shown its face one bit. Not one sign of the thing.
Dottie felt better after reassuring herself of all this. If they ran into Rider’s Block at all, it would most likely be some minor thing. Just another small problem to deal with.
“Oh! And the horse!” Inventor Jefferson yelled up, interrupting Dottie’s thoughts once again. “Can that creature out front go any faster? Is that Lily woman really doing anything? This feels so slow.”
“Oy!” the Lily woman said, turning around at that. “What was that?”
Dottie raised an eyebrow as the retired merchant turned around on the driver’s seat and banged on the side of the wagon, telling him to quiet down. Lily loudly advised the “brat” to focus on “inventing.”
“Sorry!” Inventor Jefferson yelled, taken aback by Lily’s outburst. “I, ah, assure you that I am thinking up my next invention!”
“Well, I would hope so,” sniffed Lily, adjusting her hat that had tilted to the side in the excitement. She gave a side eye to Dottie, who looked away and held her rake out a little in front of her, causing Lily to let out another short laugh. “You, Rot girl, you think you’ll be able to handle traveling with this fellow all the way to Lilypad? Are you ready for three months of this?”
Dottie shook her head slowly and put her rake down.
“As long as we have supplies for the journey, we’ll survive,” Dottie said, considering what lay ahead. Based on what little was known about the road they were on, it was just passing through some woods and swamps and heading up into the mountains. “I might even handle it better than you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Lily said, waving a hand in the air. “Let’s not forget, even if we do make it alright, that inventor kid needs to make something good to help us get into Lilypad. A handy invention will be our golden ticket in a new town.”
Dottie nodded at that. They had discussed this earlier, how they needed something to smooth over getting into another town. Jefferson would have to come up with an invention so good that it would get them into Lilypad with no problems.
“Agreed, we’ll have to keep an eye on that,” Dottie said, drumming her fingers against the rake in her hand. They didn’t want to risk being out in the wilds again after reaching their distant destination, after all. “Maybe give some advice so we don’t get another room on wheels out of him.”
Old Man Horse snorted in the middle of this, drawing Lily’s attention away from her conversation with the guard and smacking his lips.
“You hungry? Well, stop if you want food,” Lily said, turning to the horse, and rooting around for the snacks she had for him on the driver’s bench. “I’m not jogging out in front of you to give you an apple.”
Dottie blew out a breath, since the earlier conversation was apparently over, and settled back on top of the wagon. She could probably take a quick nap before the inventor inevitably broke up the monotony of travel once again.
Awoken from the imaginings of a journey from one town to another,
Dot wasn’t sure what was happening as she shook off the haze of her nap. Blinking, she found that she was being lifted, and then carefully placed on top of the kitchen counter…
The writer was in the kitchen, not much later in the day, and he was in the middle of a monologue. It was aimed at the cat and the plant, both of whom he had brought to the other side of the apartment. He had yet to take notes on his ideas, seeming to think that this speech took priority. It was potentially coincidence that from this position, he could also look out his other window, the one facing out toward the street, for even more potential inspiration.
“I know you don’t understand what I’m saying,” PJ said. He took a sip from his glass of water before continuing. “Let’s face it, I’m talking to an animal and a potted plant. Neither of you should have a direct impact on my writing. But, really, that doesn’t have to be true.”
Dot listened with a curious expression, as cats sometimes have, from atop the countertop. The plant sat unmoving on the table by the door.
The man gestured to the kitchen table. “Look, you, Plant, can be a steadying, calming force—one that helps me focus my energy on the tasks ahead of me. Like those notes I mentioned.”
Dot considered the plant. She didn’t know if she’d agree that the plant was calming, as it frankly unnerved her, but if it helped PJ, then it was a good addition to the team. She didn’t have to like the plant after all, to work with it.
“And you, there,” PJ said, nodding at Dot. “You are soft and cuddly, so you can be a calming force too. But I know you can get distracted, so you should inspire me with your dedication and focus. Maybe a quiet wisdom. I think cats can normally accomplish that.”
Dot hadn’t thought that being any of that was an issue for her, since she always pursued a sort of self-directed dedication. Dot also thought she was pretty wise compared to other cats. She groomed a paw as she thought about how to handle the writer’s advice. She didn’t really agree that she got distracted much, but it might happen now and again. That happened to the writer, too, though.
“So, that’s a good plan for you two,” PJ said with finality. “You both do your jobs. That way I can really channel my energy and artistry into my writing. Then I can put my pen to paper, just like I said I would today.”
The writer paused and let out a hmm before continuing.
“Well, realistically, just to set expectations, I’m still in the brainstorming stage. I’ll write out my ideas and then be able to make a decision on the final topic.”
Dot rubbed a paw over one ear as she listened to the plan.
“Stepping back further, I should take things even slower, shouldn’t I? Really collect myself before jumping straight into notes. I need to be calm when making such a big decision. And I can always use more time to process my thoughts before I write anything down.”
Dot blinked. The writing steps seemed further away now. She glanced at the plant, but the half-dead thing didn’t do much to share its opinion on all this.
“Yes, that’s the first order of business,” PJ said, concluding his thoughts on his next steps. “I need to mentally prepare myself. Then I can churn out some brilliant ideas and pick the best one.”
PJ frowned for some reason as he tried his best to prepare himself for the work ahead and really focus. Dot and the plant did what they were told and stayed pretty still and quiet. A car or two passed by in the morning traffic outside as PJ continued to pull together the willpower to start putting ideas down on paper.
The man tapped his foot and took a sip of water. He looked at Dot and the plant briefly, eyes darting around. He turned back to the street-facing window, muttering to himself.
“Meow?” Dot said out loud, causing PJ to jump a little and turn to her with a glare.
The cat didn’t understand why PJ was glaring at her. She was trying to be a part of what was going on. She was just chiming in to see how things were going with the whole “getting centered” thing.
“Ssshh,” PJ said. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m thinking. I can’t write anything if I don’t know what to write about. And I can’t think about that if you keep making noise.”
Dot mewled and crouched down, waiting to see what would happen next. She recommitted to not causing the writer any distractions.
The next few minutes passed by with only one event of note: PJ looking at his sweater and admiring the feather design on it. He shared a remark about how he did such a great job in finding a nice, breathable fabric for his writing outfit.
Dot, being very quiet now, couldn’t help but notice that there was no obvious progress with the ideas PJ had for an article.
The cat knew she wasn’t an expert on writing or articles, as PJ often told her, but she was still going to think of a way she could help them move forward. She wasn’t just going to sit around and be a lazy cat. Dot was a hard-working cat. Her resolve firmed and, right away, she had an idea. In her gut, it felt like a great way to give PJ a little push.
Dot got up slowly, which went unnoticed by PJ and the decrepit plant. Still, trusting her instincts, she stepped back and forth as she got into position on the counter and turned toward the little dining area. Still, nothing from the other inhabitants of the apartment. It felt as good a time to get started as any.
Without further ado, Dot leaned back, and with a strangled “Yeowl!” took a flying leap forward. All of her pent-up anxiety and worry burst out of her at once as she literally sprang into action.
PJ let out a squawk of surprise but could do nothing to stop what was happening.
Soaring briefly through the air, Dot soon landed with a skid on the top of the kitchen table, narrowly missing the plant. Not done yet, she crouched and dashed off across the table, rebounded off the bottom part of the window frame, and then found herself on top of the back of the couch that was against the wall. From there, she ran along the top of the furniture's clawed-up frame, and then made another mighty jump to the writer’s desk.
Dot had finally made it to her destination, and she felt like she could really make a difference. Because she was next to the calendar again. And she had already done this once before.
Dot furiously started pawing at the calendar pages marking the days and weeks left ahead of them. She got out her claws and really started to tear at it, letting her own determination inspire the whole apartment to take the deadline as seriously as she did.
“Hey, whoa—stop!” PJ said, rushing over and picking up Dot from the table. He gave her some tentative pats on the head to try to get her claws to go away. “What’s with you and this calendar? Don’t attack it. What are you doing?”
“Yeowl!” Dot exclaimed, expressing—as only a cat could—that what she was doing was important.
“I thought you understood how much distractions were not helpful,” PJ said, putting her gingerly down on the couch and then backing away slowly. He looked at her, shaking his head.
Dot mewled up at him, trying to express that this was a misunderstanding—that she was just trying to inspire everyone to pick up the pace.
“This cannot be about our deadline again…” PJ said, trailing off, finally picking up what all the ruckus was for. “Trust me, I can’t rush it. I’ll get the article done in time. It seems like you want to be more involved, which I appreciate. But this interruption only slows me down.”
“Do we have an understanding?” he asked, patting her on the head.
The black-and-white cat looked up at him, slowly swishing her tail. He had just reassured her that he would finish the article on time, so really, that was the most important thing. It looked like she had inspired the man and successfully kept him on track.
On the human side of things, PJ was optimistic as well. Seeing the cat calmly listening to him, he was hopeful that she understood how running and jumping around the apartment was the exact opposite of what he needed from her.
“Mewrl,” Dot replied finally. She was pretty happy with her contribution just now, and PJ seemed more energized and full of purpose after her demonstration. She was somewhat tired after all that, though, so she gave PJ a slow blink and then dropped down to the floor so she could go crawl under the bed for a well-deserved break after getting the team back on track.
PJ dug out his phone from his pocket and got distracted by his phone’s digital display for a moment, completely missing the cat disappearing under the bed.
“Oh, well, look at that. It’s lunchtime, isn’t it?” the man said, immediately getting distracted by the clock on his phone. He looked up to find Zombie Plant the only one present. “I can’t think very well on an empty stomach. Right, Plant? No, not at all. But what do I have in the kitchen…”