Hemingway And His Cats Have Nothing on Me

So I was writing in the study (a beautiful book-lined room with the requisite desk, computer, reading chair and comfy love-seat coach, not to mention some skulls and a great painting of Hemingway writing for good measure) the other day.

As I looked up from my writing, I realized that all four of the animals were lounging in the room with me.

After a slight heart-warming pause, I snapped some quick pics of the little fellows and posted it to Instagram with the following note:

"I’ve always loved this #jameslumbers painting of Hemingway called “The Sun Never Set” that hangs in my writing space. Love Papa’s cats in the image, and now have two similarly coloured ones PLUS a couple of puppies too!"

Left to Right: The Sun Never Set by James Lumbers, Meredith, Indie, Atticus and Maya

I have always loved that particular James Lumbers painting (among so many of his other works because of the beautiful "Moments in Time" that he captures using ghostly figures -- go figure that a writer of ghost stories and thrillers might enjoy that), but now this painting has an additional heart-warming feel to it, given the furry friends that I spend most of my days with lately.

I noticed, recently, that two of the cats in the Hemingway painting have the exact same coloring as Meredith and Atticus (the pair of mother and son cats in our home). Yes, Hemingway might have an additional cat in this painting, a Siamese cat, but we have two cats and two dogs: a golden retriever and a labradoodle.

So there! ;)

I finished three chapters on Macabre Montreal this week. I think I earned a celebratory drink of scotch. Thinking about Hemingway has, for some reason, put me in the mood for that . . .

Left: Papa Hemingway. Right: My Hemingway scotch glass: "Write drunk, edit sober."