Authors With Cats: Meet Rory Williams


I always swear I’m going to adopt an adult cat next time, but I'm too much of a sucker for the baby kittehs.  The last time my family was between cats, my kids and I visited the SPCA to play with their inmates (which we do frequently even when we aren’t in the market). We fell madly in love with this super cool little gray-striped baby boy named Jack, but we couldn’t adopt him on the spot because we had a dad to convince first. When we returned to the shelter the following weekend, awesome Jack was gone, but his brother (then named Charlie), an identical-looking cat, was still available. Hoping they were also similar in temperament, we took this little guy home because look at him. How could we not?


But we quickly figured out this cat was no Jack. This cat, it turned out, was a jerk*. I know, I know. How can I disparage my own pet? While others talk about their cats climbing into their laps or onto their computers while they type, the best I can get is a fat monster lying across my feet. Cute, you might think. Alas, he’s usually only there so he can bite my toes or dig his claws into my legs whenever I shift positions. When I pet him, he confuses my hand for a cat toy and clamps down on my arm, absolutely unable to refrain from going full-on attack mode. If that's not enough, when I walk down the hall, he jumps out of nowhere to bite my ass. And yes, he is big enough to reach. He’s a vicious little beast. Did I mention he doesn’t even purr? What kind of cat doesn’t purr? This one.


And yet...over the years, he’s mellowed out a bit. He’s grown more tame than wild, and he’s learned he’s going to have to pay for his free food and sofa cushions by patiently putting up with butterfly kisses and baby talk. Now, when I pick him up and drop him in my lap to scratch him, he’ll hang out for a minute or two before squirming for freedom. When I write, he often flops down somewhere within eye shot of me where he falls fast asleep. He knows he’s safe with us, letting his giant belly unfurl like he’s tempting us with tickle time. Do not fall for this invitation or you may lose a limb.

*Disclaimer: I do love my jerk of a cat, and I've had many, many cats of various temperaments, from sweet to dopey to spastic. I love all the kittehs, meanies included, and would be overrun with them if it weren't for a cat-resistant man in the house.


Mary Ann Marlowe lives in central Virginia where she works as a computer programmer/DBA. She spent ten years as a university-level French professor, and her resume includes stints as an au pair in Calais, a hotel intern in Paris, a German tutor, a college radio disc jockey, and a webmaster for several online musician fandoms. She has lived in twelve states and three countries and loves to travel. Her novels, Some Kind of Magic and A Crazy Kind of Love, feature smart, professional women and the sexy rock gods they fall for. She can be found at


A Crazy Kind of Love can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other fine booksellers.


Some Kind of Magic can also be found on Amazon and wherever great books are sold!


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