Reflections - A Dog, A Mouse, and A Cat

Cooper at One Year - Photo by Kathy

The third Monday of July, I clicked my mouse and my picture popped into a small rectangle at the top of my computer screen.

DJ’s voice greeted me. “Hi, Janet.” Her black rectangle with Pennwriters Online Class written in white letters briefly occupied center screen. She’d volunteered to coordinate the online courses program for Pennwriters. She provided instructors with video programs, registered students, recorded classes, emailed links, and troubleshot—a tech job I’m thankful she handled, not me.

I’d opened over half a dozen ZOOM screens in the process of signing into the “Make Your Characters Memorable” class each of the first two weeks. At least this week I managed to enter on my first click.

Despite only two students enrolling, Kathy, the course instructor, had consented to teach the class because, she said, “I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.” She occupied a pair of video boxes—the large center one for her slide show and a smaller rectangle at the top of the screen between DJ’s and mine.

Due to a camping trip, the other student didn’t attend.

Kathy whispered to herself, “How did I load the slides last time?”

Crash. Furry tan flashes swept across the large box center screen. Cooper, Kathy’s one-year-old German Shepherd, had joined the class.

Grabbing Cooper’s collar, Kathy led him out of the room. She returned, let out a long breath, and peered at her screen. “I had the slide show right here.” She gestured to the left side of her screen. “Cooper hit the mouse and made my slideshow disappear. Where did it go?”

Barks echoed down her hall. Perhaps he answered her question.

DJ’s video box briefly occupied center screen. “Hit refresh,” she said and named a series of buttons at the top of the screen to select. They meant nothing to me.

Kathy waved her hands. “When I hit refresh, I get the old presentation for the Road Trip in twenty seventeen. That was only forty minutes long. I expanded this course.” Her eyebrows rose. “Did Cooper move the file to trash?”

“I find missing work in the recent file or in another folder.” Those low-tech ideas worked for me, but I only had my tabby cat Ande walking across my keyboard—not a German Shepherd.

Cooper barked another suggestion.

“Refresh and recent are the same,” DJ said. “But Cooper could have moved the slideshow to another folder. Why don’t you check them?”

“I have over a hundred eighty folders. I’ll search later and use my notes.” Kathy held up a three-ring binder.

DJ’s black box took center screen. “I’m starting the video recorder.” At this point she usually muted her mic. The mute symbol didn’t light up. Did she stay with us in case we had more problems?

At my desk, I wrote the date and title of the course on the top of a clean notebook page.

Eyes focused on her binder, Kathy flipped a few pages then gazed through her video box into mine. “Imagine my opening slide. An equilateral triangle with balls at the points. The word ‘action’ is in the top ball. ‘Reaction’ and ‘decision’ are in the others. Arrows connect the balls so the movement flows in a continuous cycle.” She swirled her hand around.

I scribbled notes.

“As your character moves toward the goal, the cycle flows from action to reaction to decision and back to action. We’ll focus on reaction. Other characters are moving through the same cycle. Each reacts differently to the same actions.”

In her video box, Kathy flipped pages back and forth, back and forth. “Cooper knocked the notebook on the floor this afternoon and all the pages fell out. The sheets aren’t numbered. I didn’t take time to reorder them because I thought I’d use the slide presentation.”

“No worries.” I rubbed my arthritic fingers. “I’ll have more time to write.”

Cooper didn’t bark. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep.

“Here it is.” Kathy grinned and described the action-reaction cycle with several examples. Then she said, “Check, to be sure your scenes work.”

Mew.

“Does the scene help or hinder the character reach the goal?”

Mew . . . Meow.

Kathy looked up from her notes. “Is that your cat?”

The mew didn’t resemble any of my three tabbies’. But to satisfy Kathy, I got out of my chair and opened the door. No cat in the hall. No cat in the room. “Not my cat, Kathy. Is it yours?”

She leaned in her chair and peered out the window beside her desk. “I don’t see him.” Kathy continued with the lesson.

ME-OW.

I dissolved into giggles.

Kathy called, “DJ, is that your cat?”

Silence. Not even a mew. DJ must have left the room with her computer like she usually did.

Kathy checked her notes.“It’s not just obstacles which cause reactions.”

Meow.

“Turning points or pivot points in the plot cause reactions.” Kathy’s voice vibrated, stifling her laughter. “Like when a detective gets new information or a new character joins the story.”

Mew.

Kathy slapped both hands on her desk. “I hear a cat. The sound’s coming through my speaker.”

I held up open palms. “My cats aren’t by the door and they’re not in my room.”

Meow.

“Maybe Cooper brought us one,” I said.

“Gosh, I hope not.” Kathy marked her place with a finger. “Soap operas create tension. Viewers must tune in to see how characters will react. What choices will they make when they’re pitted against obstacles? Will they fight for their goal, or will they avoid the situation?”

Meow.

At the same time as Kathy said, “That’s DJ’s cat,” I connected the meows to the black Pennwriters’ box taking center screen.

The cat meowed louder and louder before scratching noises came through the mic. Perhaps the cat rubbed its whiskers against the edge of DJ’s computer.

I jotted notes and giggled with each of the cat’s contributions. More than once I asked Kathy to pause because the cat’s entertainment distracted me—great for resting my fingers and absorbing the important points of Kathy’s presentation.

After Kathy ended the video recording, we chatted for a few minutes. DJ’s voice joined us.

“I’m so sorry. I could hear your voices from the other room. I didn’t know Kris was in here bothering you.”

“Kris wasn’t a problem,” Kathy said.

I agreed. The cat helped.

Kris and Cooper provided unexpected actions. Kathy’s reactions and decisions demonstrated a memorable character, who chose fight not flight when problems arose. She presented a delightful lesson I’ll never forget.

Kris - Photo by DJ