If it hadn't been for the black cat I'd have been a great novelist.
In fact, I was two thirds in to what was probably going to be a great novel when the problem started.
Each morning I'd fire up the laptop only for it to behave like a cat magnet. Somehow, she had a sixth sense for when the machine had hummed into life and the Word document was ready to have more words added to its whiteness.
She'd leap on to the keyboard and ghdil;s
Sorry. She'd leap dfghjd
leap onto the keyboard and make random letters on the page until I hurled her off in the direction of the curtains.
Sometimes the keys would get hooked under her claws and and travel with her. To this day, although my career as a great novelist is over, I can't find M.
Things came to head when the two thirds completed novel was somehow deleted.
Cats are the sternest of literary critics.
Incidentally, I had nothing to do with the writing of this piece.