My office is a converted sun porch off the back of our painted brick 50′s bungalow. It is all windows on two sides. We live right by a bird sanctuary; the yard is rife with the feathery little boogers. I put a feeder on the window just above Mango—my main personal assistant, mostly in charge of yacking hairballs directly into my printer—and all day long I have wrens and finches and even a few cardinals pertly sitting just above his cat basket.
I like to work with animals around me. My husband says the number of animals I need to be happy is best represented by X + 1, where X is the number of animals I have now. Currently X is three, and I am in the market for a tuxedo kitten. If we don’t find the right kitten, my back up plan to is to agitate for a Ball Python, a breed of snake known for being docile and amenable to being handled. If I get one, I am going to name him Sippy Cups.
The truth is, I need a bunch of little heartbeats in the house or I get very low, very fast. I am more an extrovert than most writers, and my job means a lot of alone time.
On the floor, you can see my secondary assistant, Ansley. She’s in charge of making pig noises and being anxious. Behind me is a futon, where Bagel-Dog, my tertiary assistant in charge of snoozing does his work, and floor to ceiling bookshelves holding the books I love enough to keep. I took a picture of one random section piece of my shelves because I love peeping other people’s book shelves and figured you might, too.