Mullis: Working with the furry hubbub

Being a freelance writer enables me to work from home. I enjoy people, but writing requires me to shut my yap. I’m most productive without the hubbub.

Since 1997, my children have provided the hubbub. Most of the time, being a freelance writer and a stay-at-home parent meshed. I took on as much or as little work as my family life allowed, and I worked at midnight or in a school pickup line.

Now I have two kids in college and a high school student who can drive herself. I actually keep regular hours and could work in relative peace except for my furry dependents.

In 2016, we got two kittens and a puppy. How the death of one beloved pet turned into the acquisition of three pets is a long story involving a lot of sappiness. The point is, the kids may be gone, but the pets are still here.

My dog and cat twins are basically young teenagers in pet years, and the teenage years are prime hubbub years no matter the species.

Unlike human teenagers, animal teenagers don’t go to school or sports practice or rehearsals. They don’t slam doors or wear earbuds or hole up in their rooms with their friends. No, they want to be with me.

Right next to me.

When I don’t have cats crawling over my keyboard, pawing the buttons of my printer, or climbing the back of my office chair, they are knocking the pen out of my hand, swatting my flash drives across the room, or trying to burgle my pantry.

And I know they’re doing it on purpose. Most of the time, they’re looking right at me, as if to say, “Pet me or the cellphone gets it.”

My cats watch the printer like it’s a mouse hole. When paper emerges, they pounce. If I sit down to edit copy, they jump in my lap, waiting for me to lower the red pen. As soon as I do, they try to bat it away. Not only is this counter-productive, it puts their cat derrieres right in my face.

Cats should wear pants.

Then there is my dog. He’s a Labrador, which means his whole reason for getting up in the morning is to interact with people. We take a long walk together before I start working, but it’s not enough.

When I sit down, he sits at my feet and sighs. When I get up, he gets up. When I go to the bathroom, he waits for me outside the door. When I sit back down, he flops on my feet and moans. When I let him out, he sits on the deck and whimpers as if to say, “Outside is no fun if you’re not here.”

Like human teenagers, animal teenagers are always starving. We feed them, but it doesn’t seem to matter. When I break for lunch, I have a captive, drooling audience, which is why I eat standing up, sandwich in hand, ready to flee.

Sometimes I wear headphones so I can concentrate. Sometimes I give the pets a “time out” in their rooms. For the dog, this is the kennel. For the cats, this is the room that was supposed to be my office when my oldest went to school. It has a litter box in it now. And a scratching post.

In a few pet years, they’ll nap like exhausted adults, but there are a lot of deadlines between now and then.

Recently, while on one such deadline, the animals decided to play together – two acrobatic cats and one clumsy dog, romping through a tiny house with too much stuff.

Crash.

A scrabble of claws on the hardwood floor. Fur darting in three separate directions.

Silence.

I didn’t get up. I didn’t check. I didn’t care. I was taking advantage of the silence.

I had work to do.

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith." You can reach her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com or www.NicoleLVMullis.com.