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George Mason English professor writes both fiction and nonfiction. Her latest book, Cat and Bird (Belt Publishing, March 2024), has been called a “memoir in animals” and focuses on the six house cats who defined the major eras of her life as a writer.

What inspired you to write this book?

I’ve lived my entire adult life with cats and yet my previous books—both fiction and nonfiction—only featured cats in the periphery of the story, as colorful minor characters at best. In truth, getting my first cat at 22 was a life-altering event: that cat saw me through graduate school, my first full-time teaching job, marriage and divorce, and the publication of my first two books. I wouldn’t be the same person I am now if I hadn’t been with him for 18 years. So my first impetus was to finally do justice to him and to his successors.

I wanted to push against the misconception that cats and dogs are opposites—the cliché that cats are selfish and independent while dogs are loving and loyal. For those of us who are devoted to our animal companions, cats and dogs, equally, can be our alter ego or avatar—the core of who we are.

The real contrast is between cats and dogs on one hand and songbirds and other wildlife on the other. Even with birds who come to our window feeder or end up in our care (I worked as a songbird rehabilitator), we can only admire them from a distance or nurse them back to health in order to return them to the wild. We love companion animals by holding on; we love wildlife by letting go. I wanted to explore this contrast.

What surprised you about the process of writing this book?

I knew from the beginning that the book was going to be about the way the two kinds of devotion—to cats and to birds—have sustained my work as a writer and helped me to make a home as a single childless woman who is happy in her solitude and yet fulfilled by her involvement in the community. Having a husband and children is not the only way to engage meaningfully with the world and make a positive impact.

The balance between solitude and community and the joy of making a home alone (with cats) did remain important ideas in the book. But I also realized that a book about living with animal companions and witnessing the dangers that threaten birds, other wildlife, and the whole planet will have to dig deep into grief. The desire to hold on and let go at the same time—as when a beloved animal companion dies or when we watch from the ground as migratory birds navigate the sky full of danger—became the essential aspect of the book’s narrative and investigation.

What are you working on now?

My last nonfiction book before Cat and Bird was a knitting memoir titled Yarn: Remembering the Way Home. Since finishing Cat and Bird, I’ve picked up where Yarn finished and published four personal essays about women and clothes: shopping with my close friends, how we express ourselves with our clothes, etc. At the same time, I continue to be interested in backyard wildlife—birds that were not included in Cat and Bird and squirrels—especially after a squirrel made a nest in the flowerpot on my window ledge, had two babies, and stayed for two weeks before moving her nest to a maple tree in the backyard.

Sei Shōnagon, the 11th-century Japanese writer who appears in Cat and Bird as the embodiment of the book’s spirit, was equally interested in the beauty of nature and of human-made objects. I don’t think clothes and backyard wildlife can fit into the same book for me as they did for her, but for now I’m following the inspiration of her astute observations about both and seeing where my work goes.