“You know Fluffy? You’re the only one who really gets me.”

“Yes, Benjamin. But talking to me is not going to get that novel written.”

The writer looked around. But he knew it was the cat who talked. And he knew that there was nobody around to hear either of them speaking. Hazel had been asleep for hours.

“Silly man. Hazel cannot hear me. Or you for that matter. She tolerates you going to bed late and all. She believes that ‘Til death do us part’ thing. She really likes being married to you. Not that I get that. I mean c’mon. Your mistress is your typewriter. You spend more time at this desk than you do with Hazel. She’s gotta be a saint for putting up with you.”

Benjamin’s mouth opened. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“And that’s another thing. Why is it that you can write beautiful poetry and prose, but you can hardly speak. I mean really. What is that? Cat got your tongue? Nope. I don’t have it.” The cat laughed. Really laughed. “Oh wait. I do have it. But I buried it out in the back yard the last time I did my duty out there.”

Benjamin tried to speak again, but it felt to him as if his mouth was full of gravel.

“Or maybe you just can’t speak because you’ve got writer’s block again. Ha! Writer’s block. You don’t even believe in writer’s block. You’re always saying how writing is just what you need to do. Write, write, write. That will cure your so-called writer’s block. Just write. Of course, you know me. I believe you. I keep telling you to just write. But you think you’ve got to write the next great American novel. As if. You rarely write. You just come in here and pretend to write.” Fluffy laughed.

Benjamin sighed. He did not even try to speak.

“Then again, your writer’s block could be caused by that comfy chair and that cozy desk. I mean c’mon. You sleep more in that chair than you do in your bed. More than on your couch. In fact, you might even be dreaming now.” Fluffy continued laughing.

Benjamin woke with a start. He wiped the drool from the side of his face. He sat up straight in his comfy chair. He looked at the computer on his cozy desk. It had all been a dream. After all, cats could not speak. And he had not had a typewriter on his desk for years.

Benjamin turned off his computer that he had not written a word on. He stood. “Well, Fluffy. Tomorrow, I’m gonna get that old typewriter out. Maybe it will inspire me.” He scratched behind his cat’s ears as he turned to go.

Benjamin turned out the lights as he walked out the door. He turned and called back to his cat, who was still resting on the cozy desk. “Good night Fluffy. Sleep tight.”

Fluffy purred. “Good night, Benjamin. Maybe tomorrow you’ll write the next great American novel.” Then she laughed.

Benjamin’s eyes went wide. He looked back into the room. But the cat just sat there with her eyes closed. She looked as if she was already asleep. Yes. Benjamin thought. Tomorrow, he would get that old typewriter out.

And he would get his wife some roses.

***

Fluffy’s eyes remained closed. She purred and smiled.