Who Are the Cat Writers’ Association: Terilynn Mitchell 

In conversation with Mollie Hunt. 

Part 1

About My Craft:

I am a writer and an amateur photographer. I write from experience as a tech and a rescuer. I tell stories of cats who have come into my life and forced me to grow in some way. I primarily only take in special needs cats, and they have all taught me something — sometimes the hard way, since they are such good maskers. I am working to finish a book called The Isle of the Misfit Cats. 

How Cats Inspire My Creativity:

Cats inspire me because of their ability to survive and go on to thrive. They each come with a unique personality and excel at bamboozling me. After 30 years of nursing, I am on a continual learning track.

What I Enjoy About Belonging to the CWA:

I like the CWA for the community of like minds. We all love and respect our subjects. I wish I could get to more of the Zoom meetings, because they bring me ideas and feedback.

Part 2

Mollie: Did you grow up with cats?

Terilynn: I grew up on a small farm in central California. Cats seemed to come and go since we didn’t have vaccines yet, and spaying and neutering were not in vogue. Of course, I became attached to all of them, and my heart was broken again and again. My mother wouldn’t allow pets in the house (not that I didn’t occasionally sneak them in). The harshness of farm life only served to cement my love of animals, and wanting to grow up in the field of veterinary care.

Mollie: What crosses your mind when someone tells you they don’t like cats?

Terilynn: When someone says they don’t like cats, I figure they were rodents in a past life.

Mollie: Tell us a true cat story.

The Magical Forest

My computer desk faced a picture window that opened to a vista of my backyard, nestled among the lofty redwoods. The afternoon sunlight streamed in, setting off rainbows of light fragments from a crystal hanging from the curtain rod. I had hunkered down to writing, but instead, I played solitaire while I waited for the internal combustion of creative steam to build up. Or so I rationalized to myself. 

My 18-pound cat, Georgie, lay smug and content as he sprawled out on the desk beside me. He basked in his alpha status, claiming the position of king of the mountain. I relished the domestic bliss, because Georgie is usually a troublemaker. 

Suddenly, a loud, insistent wail from outside shattered the drowsy quiet.

I leaped from my chair and raced to the back door to confront the latest crisis. I found my fearless warrior, the young Ms. Skeeter. She possessed an intense look in her eye and a tone of urgency in her howl. I saw the silhouette of a lifeless lizard against her white chest, its head firmly lodged in her mouth. Her eyes fixed on mine.

“Why, Ms. Skeeter,” I said. “You have slayed a dragon!”

“Mraoow,” she replied, between clenched teeth. 

I leaned against the doorframe, relieved she was okay. The cat expected something from me. Skeet had prevailed unharmed; the lizard had croaked, and no one required rescuing.

            She uttered another muffled cry. Did she want acknowledgment? I sighed. “Good girl.”

            She dropped her dragon and began to toss it around. Cats do that sort of thing. Soft-hearted as I am, I often wonder why I live with predators that have no sense of remorse or respect for a kill they do merely for fun. Maybe it’s the cat’s version of playing Solitaire when they’re bored.  

 Ms. Skeeter quickly tired of the game and returned to the magical forest, where more mythical beasts lurked. I buried the reptile under a rosebush, blessed it, and apologized for the inconvenience.

I slunk back to my desk, resigned to the notion that I was destined to write yet another cat story. At least I didn’t have to travel very far for inspiration. All I needed was to stay open to the drama du jour.

Mollie: What cat-themed item is sitting on your desk right now?

Terilynn: I don’t need cat-themed items. I have the real thing.

Mollie: Is your cat an unofficial (or official) emotional support animal? (Trigger warning: mention of suicide)

Terilynn: Are my cats emotional support animals? Oh, yes. Decades ago, I was going through brutal flashbacks and memories of the child abuse that was inflicted against me. One day was especially intense and I decided to kill myself. My cat, Alfy, sat right next to me, rocking and purring. I started wondering how to also take him out with me. Suddenly I realized that would be wrong, because Alfy was innocent. And so was I. He literally saved my life. I’ve always made sure I had backup cats ever since. 

Mollie: Please give us the names and short descriptions of your cats.

Terilynn: My Current Cast of Characters —

Aiden the Maiden, the first cat pictured in this article, is a hermaphrodite, or intersex cat, I brought home from a clinic. I knew they wouldn’t survive in a colony because of multiple birth defects. The kitty is gorgeous and dumb as rocks.

I also brought its sibling home. Tess the Mess, pictured earlier in this article, also has birth defects that got worse and cost me a lot of money in surgeries. She is an Old Soul. My friend, an animal communicator, told me she is the reincarnation of my late, amazing golden retriever. Make sense: She’ll eat everything and play in puddles.

Nikki is pictured above. I’ve always had a Russian Blue type, and when I lost my last one to old age, I called the rescue organizer who owed me a favor. I’d already taken in a few crotchety old cats, but now it was my turn. I told her I wanted a blue, preferable a male. She wrote back, “Cat it be a female? And does she have to have two eyes?” She knew me too well. Nikki is now 10 years old.

Farley, pictured here, is my latest addition. He showed up at the beginning of the Covid pandemic. He was feral and the restaurants in town were closed down. He was a diehard feral looking for a new food source. Over a few years and during our eighth heavy storm of the winter, Farley decided weather sucks and he came in. He now has his own bed next to mine.

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