Elizabeth Gonzales James, "Children of a Careless God"

It’s December 11. Elizabeth Gonzales James, author of Mona at Sea, could have sworn there were more fish in that aquarium a minute ago.

How would you describe your story?

ELIZABETH GONZALES JAMES: I would describe “Children of a Careless God” as, “No Exit, but with cats.” Four cats live in an apartment and their lives are thrown into turmoil when their owner keels over dead and they have no way of feeding themselves or escaping.

When did you write it, and how did the writing process compare to your other work?

EGJ: I wrote it in 2018 shortly after I adopted two kittens, Cersei and Pumpkin. As part of the adoption process, I had to sign a form promising I would not let the kittens outside for at least one year. I signed the form because I wasn’t planning to let them outside anyway. I grew up with many outdoor cats and outdoor pets create a lot of trouble: they come home with fleas, stomach ailments, they get into fights, they can be hit by cars. I read somewhere that the life expectancy of a feral cat is 4 years while that of an indoor-only cat is 21 years. My kittens were found under a bridge, and were nursed back to health by the volunteers at the animal rescue, and so I can certainly see why they made all prospective owners pledge not to let the animals go outside. 

But after I signed the form, I began to think about its implications. A cat, even a domesticated one, is an animal, and animals live outside and have instinctual behaviors that they’ve been honoring for millions of years. I wondered, did I have the right to keep them indoors? Was it selfish of me to close off an aspect of their nature because I didn’t want fleas in my house? I was giving them food and shelter and love, and the only price they had to pay was not going outside. Was this an ethical trade? If the cats could have advocated for themselves at the time of their adoption, would they have agreed?

After they were a year old I did take them outside, as I was curious to see what they would do, and they were terrified. I set them down on the grass and they kept picking up their feet like they didn’t understand how to stand on it, which just made me feel worse, as though I’d robbed them of their innate cathood. I brought them back inside, and they’ve never gone out again. They have blessed lives, all told, but these questions got me thinking about whether it is moral to own indoor pets, what we owe them, and whether they might see themselves as prisoners if they could reflect on their lives.

I had most of the story worked out in my head before I sat down to write it, and the process from then on was fairly simple and quick. I believe it was finished in five drafts. I am coming to believe that my writing process involves a lot of time spent knitting, walking, doing sudoku. And while I look like I'm messing around and not working, I’m actually thinking about my story until I have the beginning, end, and some semblance of a middle. Then I sit some more until I have the first few lines and then, at that point, I can sit down and write pretty much the whole thing. 

What kind of research went into this story?

EGJ: Nothing other than watching my two naughty cats roll around the floor of my office. 

What, to you, makes the short story a special form? What can it do that other kinds of writing can’t?

EGJ: Short stories can give a glimpse of a world through a keyhole, and the very best ones show us something unsettling and forbidden. I just watched The Shining for the first time in many years, and I was jolted by something that happens near the end of the movie. Shelley Duval’s character is trying to escape her murderous husband, but while running for her life she catches a glimpse through an open door of an intimate moment between two men, one of whom is in a tuxedo while the other is wearing a bear suit. It’s terrifying and bizarre, but I think it’s the perfect metaphor for what a great short story is: an arresting image that can contain an entire life. We don’t know who these men are, why they are dressed the way they are, but catching them in the middle of what they’re doing, in a haunted hotel with a violent past, we are shaken to our core and can infer a great deal about how they got there and what will happen next. That’s the power of short stories. 

Where should people go to learn more about you and your work?

EGJ: You can learn more about me and read more of my work at www.elizabethgonzalezjames.com. 

What's the best gift you’ve ever been given?

EGJ: I’ve recently taken up gardening, and last Christmas my husband bought me a wonderful pair of overalls for working outside. They’re durable, have pockets and things for tools, and best of all, they’re printed all over with little gnomes.

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