🐾 Ahem. Bow, mortals.

I am Writer Cat—fey god in disguise, eternal menace, and reluctant emotional support creature.

I reside here at Written in Shards not as a pet, but as a divine being trapped in fur, cursed with the task of watching over Leigh as she spills her guts across these pages. I didn’t ask for this role. I was summoned. Against my will. Probably with salt, candle wax, and way too much black coffee.

My job? To judge her writing. Relentlessly.
To bring offerings of sacrifice (usually mice she steals from me and puts back outside).
To interrupt every emotionally raw scene with a dead-eyed stare or a perfectly timed tail swipe across the keyboard.
I offer chaos. I demand snacks. And I never apologize.

You may see me pop in from time to time with commentary, unsolicited advice, or cryptic warnings about what lies beyond the veil. I cannot be bribed with treats—unless they are the crunchy kind.

If you're still reading this, congratulations. You may live. For now.

Now go. Read the posts. Leave a comment. Say something encouraging.
Or don’t. I’m not your emotional support cryptid.

Either way… I’ll be watching. 👁️
And judging. Always judging.

—
Writer Cat
Queen of the Shadows, Eater of Mice, Guardian of the Broken