Does it seem to you that most writers are also animal lovers? Just about every writer I know has a handful of critters hanging around the house: dogs, cats, parrots, gerbils...
Is it because our critters provide us with love, attention, and silence--which makes them far more attractive as roommates?
Is it because of our tendency toward solitary pursuits, either by choice or requirements of the profession?
Or is it something else? Share your thoughts with me, I'm curious.
P.S. Delaney, Charlotte, and Max follow me everywhere (into the bathroom, if I let them!) and are, as we speak, warming my feet.
P.P.S. The two feathered creatures, especially the loud, noisy one, belong to my husband. It was simply an anomaly that I taught Miss Big Mouth to say Hi, dad!