The Popple looked at the back cover of her current favourite book, “Mog the Forgetful Cat,” and pointed to the photo of author Judith Kerr.
“Mummy,” she said.
I looked at the photo.
Glasses and a cat on her lap. I conceded her point.
“No, that’s not Mummy,” I said. “That’s the lady who wrote this book. Mummy wishes she had written a famous children’s book about a cat. Then we would have lots of money and could live in a big house.”
The Popple considered this.
“Cat,” she said, finally.
This is where I’d been going wrong, I realised. Here I am, spending my free time bashing out blog posts about toddler crap that hardly anyone reads, when cats are where the money is. The internet loves cats. I bet if my blog was about my cat instead of my child, I’d have thousands of followers. My cat is a ridiculous a-hole. I could fill a blog with pictures of him doing a-hole things with stupid memes written on them and get more page views in a day than I currently do in a year. Observe:
Or maybe I should jump on the hygge bandwagon and start writing about that. I could do comfy and charming – candles and knitted throw blankets and all that. If you ignore the fact that my living room looks like Toys “R” Us vomited all over it, it kind of has that hygge feel. It even has a stone fireplace. Yeah, the actual fire bit is electric and yeah, the effect is kind of ruined by all the toys underneath it, but still. Cozy!
Or what about vampires? I wondered. Are they still cool? Or are teenagers into werewolves now? Zombies have been a thing for a while now, right? I should scrap this whole blogging thing and write a teen novel about a zombie falling in love with a werewolf. I could call it Undead Hearts Unbred. Adults love teen stuff these days too, so it could easily be a hit. Anna Kendrik could play the zombie and Chris Pratt could be her werewolf love interest in the film version. They’d be cute together, right?
“Mummy,” the Popple said. I looked down.
“What is it?” I asked her. Then I realised she was pointing at Judith again.
FFS. I give up.
“Yes, Mummy,” I said.
I’m no Judith Kerr yet, but I could be. Maybe my success is only a cat meme away.