On the one hand, it’s a job.

I’ve got a line on a potential job, but it’s one of those that demands some serious consideration. The job involves travel, which I’m not opposed to, but it could mean that I’m gone from one to three months at a time.

If Kitten and Cub were a little older, that wouldn’t be much of a problem, but they’re at that age where every day brings new discoveries and new successes – especially with Cub, who’s hit some super-accelerated acquisition phase, and is astounding us with his expanded vocabulary and new skills. Three months, and I wouldn’t even recognize him. Not to mention the fact that Mrs. Cat would be on her own with the litter for three months. As it stands now, we’ve got a good schedule worked out where we both get almost enough sleep, the kids get fed and bathed semi-regularly, and they aren’t left alone to run wild throughout the palatial Cat estate.

Another major drawback is that it seems I would be asked to travel to third-world countries. Now, I’m not one of these people that has to fly first-class and stay at a five-star hotel on every trip, but I would like the reassurance that I would get clean water out of the tap, have a reliable power grid, and not be caught up in some local civil war.

And then there’s the work itself. I would be expected to travel to these places and write about the company’s ongoing efforts all over the world. Their focus?

Leprosy.

Excuse me? You’d better have one hell of an insurance plan. And I don’t expect to have to pay any deductibles, either.

So as it stands now, I’m probably going to have to pass this one off to some other writer. Maybe one without a family, and who’s less aware of their own mortality.

However, if the company wants to pony up the outrageous salary I’d ask for this job…