This is Smilodon St. John Blue. He's around 18 pounds. He's 2 1/2 years old.
For size comparison I'm 5 feet tall.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL
BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL won the Holt Medallion Award for Best Mainstream Single Title for 2005. Also, the Gold Blether Award.
Chapter OneCalcutta, State of Bengal1932
"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.
The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers."
"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"
Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."
"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."
The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."
"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."
"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."
"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.
"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."
Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.
The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.
The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"
Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender."I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"
"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.
"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."
Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"
"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."
Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."
The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"
"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."
Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead.
He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls
Chapter OneCalcutta, State of Bengal1932
"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.
The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers."
"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"
Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."
"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."
The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."
"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."
"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."
"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.
"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."
Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.
The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.
The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"
Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender."I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"
"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.
"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."
Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"
"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."
Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."
The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"
"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."
Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead.
He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls
Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL
BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL won the Holt Medallion Award for Best Mainstream Single Title for 2005. Also, the Gold Blether Award.
Chapter One
Calcutta, State of Bengal1932
"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.
The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers.
"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"
Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."
"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."
The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."
"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."
"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."
"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.
"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."
Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.
The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.
The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"
Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender.
"I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"
"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.
"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."
Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"
"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."
Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."
The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"
"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."
Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.
Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead. He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.
Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls.
Chapter One
Calcutta, State of Bengal1932
"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.
The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers.
"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"
Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."
"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."
The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."
"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."
"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."
"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.
"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."
Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.
The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.
The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"
Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender.
"I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"
"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.
"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."
Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"
"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."
Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."
The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"
"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."
Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.
Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead. He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.
Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls.
Back Copy Blurb of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL
ISBN 08439-5452-3
Available NowLeisure Books
Free-spirited and ultra-modern Elizabeth Mainwarring returned to the sultry, spice-scented land of her birth for one last go at mending the breach with her long-estranged sire. She met Major Covington-Singh, a prince and an officer in her father’s regiment. The man was tall, dark, and utterly irresistible.Yet there was peril in desiring him. He warned her against falling for a wog, a blacky-white, an Anglo-Indian. It might be modern times in England, but not in India. Even for the son of a duke and a maharaja. Why, even Elizabeth’s father would disapprove! And then there were the recent happenings: the murders, the cruel strangling of those who were indiscreet.For Elizabeth to love Nigel meant death. But she couldn’t stop, even if there was a…
BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL
Available NowLeisure Books
Free-spirited and ultra-modern Elizabeth Mainwarring returned to the sultry, spice-scented land of her birth for one last go at mending the breach with her long-estranged sire. She met Major Covington-Singh, a prince and an officer in her father’s regiment. The man was tall, dark, and utterly irresistible.Yet there was peril in desiring him. He warned her against falling for a wog, a blacky-white, an Anglo-Indian. It might be modern times in England, but not in India. Even for the son of a duke and a maharaja. Why, even Elizabeth’s father would disapprove! And then there were the recent happenings: the murders, the cruel strangling of those who were indiscreet.For Elizabeth to love Nigel meant death. But she couldn’t stop, even if there was a…
BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL
Questions on Other Blogs
28 December 2006
Questions on Other BlogsI was over at LeeAnn Burke's blog earlier. http://www.leeannburke.com/blog/ She's taking advantage of the Boxing week sales and her question of the day is 'Who else is going shopping this week?'NOT ME!! As I commented on her blog, I don't drive a Hummer and don't own any armor. Hey, I got enough of aggressive shoppers a week before Christmas when I went out grocery shopping and normal errands. I don't relish going anywhere near WalMart or a mall anytime soon. I suppose that means I should pack up all our Christmas decorations and tidy my closet - which I've been putting off for some. Must have room for new Spring additions when they hit the stores:-)
The question of the day at Unusual Historicals http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/ is 'What keeps you writing?'
My comment: I'm compelled to write - whether I like or not. If I go a certain amount of time without writing I can't sleep and I get antsy. If I still didn't write I'm afraid the people in white with straight jackets would come get me . . .
A question from a fellow Romance Diva at http://www.romancedivas.com/divaforum/index.php?http://www.romancedivas.com/main.html 'Which books have made good movies?'
My answer:
WHERE EAGLES DARE by Alistair McLean (1969 movie w/ Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood)
ICE STATION ZEBRA by Alistair McLean (Movie made in the early 70s)
REBECCA by Daphne du Maurier (1940s movie)
FRENCHMAN'S CREEK by Daphne du Maurier (1953 movie)
EYE OF THE NEEDLE by Ken Follet (late 1980s movie with Donald Sutherland)
THE KEY TO REBECCA by Ken Follet (late '80s or early '90s movie)
But these are just my favs. The other Divas mentioned many other good ones.
So ~ Are you going shopping this week to take advantage of the after Christmas sales?
If you write, what keeps you writing? If you read, what kind of books do you enjoy?
What books do you think have made good movies - or would make good movies?
Questions on Other BlogsI was over at LeeAnn Burke's blog earlier. http://www.leeannburke.com/blog/ She's taking advantage of the Boxing week sales and her question of the day is 'Who else is going shopping this week?'NOT ME!! As I commented on her blog, I don't drive a Hummer and don't own any armor. Hey, I got enough of aggressive shoppers a week before Christmas when I went out grocery shopping and normal errands. I don't relish going anywhere near WalMart or a mall anytime soon. I suppose that means I should pack up all our Christmas decorations and tidy my closet - which I've been putting off for some. Must have room for new Spring additions when they hit the stores:-)
The question of the day at Unusual Historicals http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/ is 'What keeps you writing?'
My comment: I'm compelled to write - whether I like or not. If I go a certain amount of time without writing I can't sleep and I get antsy. If I still didn't write I'm afraid the people in white with straight jackets would come get me . . .
A question from a fellow Romance Diva at http://www.romancedivas.com/divaforum/index.php?http://www.romancedivas.com/main.html 'Which books have made good movies?'
My answer:
WHERE EAGLES DARE by Alistair McLean (1969 movie w/ Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood)
ICE STATION ZEBRA by Alistair McLean (Movie made in the early 70s)
REBECCA by Daphne du Maurier (1940s movie)
FRENCHMAN'S CREEK by Daphne du Maurier (1953 movie)
EYE OF THE NEEDLE by Ken Follet (late 1980s movie with Donald Sutherland)
THE KEY TO REBECCA by Ken Follet (late '80s or early '90s movie)
But these are just my favs. The other Divas mentioned many other good ones.
So ~ Are you going shopping this week to take advantage of the after Christmas sales?
If you write, what keeps you writing? If you read, what kind of books do you enjoy?
What books do you think have made good movies - or would make good movies?
Cat Hair
27 December 2006
Cat HairReceived a great gift from my friend Maggie today! An oblong serving plate picturing a cat and EVERYTHING TASTES BETTER WITH CAT HAIR IN IT! Of course it does! The Princelings immediately began eating the wrapping paper. This gift resides in the middle of my coffee table - where no one can miss it! Thank you, Maggie!Tomorrow the weather dude says a cold front blows in to the islands accompanied by high winds. Cold here means the low 60sF overnight and the mid 70sF daytime. Time to go bake in the sun while I can:-)
Cat HairReceived a great gift from my friend Maggie today! An oblong serving plate picturing a cat and EVERYTHING TASTES BETTER WITH CAT HAIR IN IT! Of course it does! The Princelings immediately began eating the wrapping paper. This gift resides in the middle of my coffee table - where no one can miss it! Thank you, Maggie!Tomorrow the weather dude says a cold front blows in to the islands accompanied by high winds. Cold here means the low 60sF overnight and the mid 70sF daytime. Time to go bake in the sun while I can:-)
Presents, Boxes, and Rules
26 December 2006
Presents, Boxes, and RulesThe Princelings made out like bandits for Christmas:-) Auntie Betty gave the Princelings a tiny catnip garden. We gave the boys a (large) furry battery powered mouse and a carpet covered little roll thing. When it rolls it rattles. The sweet ones enjoyed themselves tremendously with both their gifts and the wrapping paper and boxes:-) I believe they like the wrapping paper best. Just like kids! They have just as much fun with the package the gift comes in as the gift itself. I remember one year as children my brother, Harry, and I 'had' to wait in the kids' room while mom and dad attended to business in a store. What fun! A maze of boxes! They had to bribe us with Crazy Eric's burgers to get us out of there. We insisted on having our own box maze/fort in the basement. Lots of fun. So when Cmas rolled around our parents, being adults, thought they'd give us something better than boxes: a styrofoam log house complete with glassless windows. It wasn't nearly as much fun as the boxes. Poor mom and dad likely went a bit bonkers wondering where they went wrong!On Christmas Eve day Loren and went to see THE GOOD SHEPHERD. A disappointment. Slow moving and it only gave the tiniest hints on what project they were working on. A very long flick, too. Next up is A NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM. Hope we enjoy this one!As a rule I don't make New Year's resolutions but this year there are a few things I'm determined to get done. As stated on Unusual Historical blog they are:
1) I'd like to write a book faster!
2) To lick procrastination. To beat it to a pulp and send it so far into outer space it will NEVER pester me again.
3) To read more fiction. Can't write if I don't read.
4) To remember to take my vitamins:-)
5) Take a dance class. Either Hula or Salsa.
Are you making any New Year's resolutions or rules?
Presents, Boxes, and RulesThe Princelings made out like bandits for Christmas:-) Auntie Betty gave the Princelings a tiny catnip garden. We gave the boys a (large) furry battery powered mouse and a carpet covered little roll thing. When it rolls it rattles. The sweet ones enjoyed themselves tremendously with both their gifts and the wrapping paper and boxes:-) I believe they like the wrapping paper best. Just like kids! They have just as much fun with the package the gift comes in as the gift itself. I remember one year as children my brother, Harry, and I 'had' to wait in the kids' room while mom and dad attended to business in a store. What fun! A maze of boxes! They had to bribe us with Crazy Eric's burgers to get us out of there. We insisted on having our own box maze/fort in the basement. Lots of fun. So when Cmas rolled around our parents, being adults, thought they'd give us something better than boxes: a styrofoam log house complete with glassless windows. It wasn't nearly as much fun as the boxes. Poor mom and dad likely went a bit bonkers wondering where they went wrong!On Christmas Eve day Loren and went to see THE GOOD SHEPHERD. A disappointment. Slow moving and it only gave the tiniest hints on what project they were working on. A very long flick, too. Next up is A NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM. Hope we enjoy this one!As a rule I don't make New Year's resolutions but this year there are a few things I'm determined to get done. As stated on Unusual Historical blog they are:
1) I'd like to write a book faster!
2) To lick procrastination. To beat it to a pulp and send it so far into outer space it will NEVER pester me again.
3) To read more fiction. Can't write if I don't read.
4) To remember to take my vitamins:-)
5) Take a dance class. Either Hula or Salsa.
Are you making any New Year's resolutions or rules?
Birthday Cake and Curiosity
23 December 2006
10:29 pm
Birthday cake and curiosityMy birthday is on Christmas, as is my niece's. Before Loren and I moved to Hawaii we always celebrated Christmas at my brother's house with my mom in attendance. While I celebrate my birthday and Christmas at the same time, my niece opens her Christmas presents with her sister in the morning. After dinner is when she gets to open her birthday gifts and we all indulged in birthday cake. Luckily, Loren always got me a birthday cake all for myself. Hey! It only comes once a year and if I must turn a whole year older I want all the butter cream frosting I can eat! Last year Loren poached. He ate a slice of my birthday cake!Tomorrow, contrary to tradition we will graze: smoked salmon, crab, sashimi, peanut butter stuffed celery sticks, devilled eggs, a variety of cheeses w/ crackers and pate. Plum pudding for dessert. Likely we'll take in a movie. I hope it's THE GOOD SHEPHERD. Christmas day we eat the Big Meal: my special ham (Loren says it's the best he's ever tasted. Coming from someone who eats the finest meals due to his profession, that's something - especially as cooking isn't my forte), cheesy scalloped potatoes, sage stuffing, and brussel sprouts. Birthday cake for dessert. Who knows what Loren will scrounge for dessert because THAT BIRTHDAY CAKE IS MINE!!!! We usually reverse these meals but Loren got a wild hair and wished to do something different this year.It's said curiosity killed the cat. The poor kitty probably messed with something he shouldn't have like a moving car or a very large snake or ate too much carpet fuzz. My curiosity, I don't think, is that dangerous. I just want to know what is in those gorgeously wrapped presents addressed to me! This could drive me crazy wondering. I drive Loren bats because I'm an incorrigable package pinch. He drives me bonkers because he displays absolutely no curiosity at all! Ha! I got him one year on his birthday. He still gets hot under the collar when reminded. I laugh until tears run down my face:-) A few years ago I bought him a gorgeous black kid leather jacket. I didn't want to crease it by folding it into the box I was given at the store, so I hung the jacket in the closet of our guest bedroom and wrapped the empty box. On his Big Day I gave him his pile of gifts. He saved that box for last - and whadya know? He actually displayed some curiosity about it! It was light as a feather and didn't shake, rattle, or roll. In fact, it didn't make any sound at all. So he tore the wrapping and opened -- an empty box! The look on his face was priceless! His older brother and his wife were watching and they got a good giggle, too. Loren was the only one not gaffawing. I waited until I could see straight and then fetched his jacket.Ah, to have Superman's x-ray vision. But that would spoil the surprise . . .
10:29 pm
Birthday cake and curiosityMy birthday is on Christmas, as is my niece's. Before Loren and I moved to Hawaii we always celebrated Christmas at my brother's house with my mom in attendance. While I celebrate my birthday and Christmas at the same time, my niece opens her Christmas presents with her sister in the morning. After dinner is when she gets to open her birthday gifts and we all indulged in birthday cake. Luckily, Loren always got me a birthday cake all for myself. Hey! It only comes once a year and if I must turn a whole year older I want all the butter cream frosting I can eat! Last year Loren poached. He ate a slice of my birthday cake!Tomorrow, contrary to tradition we will graze: smoked salmon, crab, sashimi, peanut butter stuffed celery sticks, devilled eggs, a variety of cheeses w/ crackers and pate. Plum pudding for dessert. Likely we'll take in a movie. I hope it's THE GOOD SHEPHERD. Christmas day we eat the Big Meal: my special ham (Loren says it's the best he's ever tasted. Coming from someone who eats the finest meals due to his profession, that's something - especially as cooking isn't my forte), cheesy scalloped potatoes, sage stuffing, and brussel sprouts. Birthday cake for dessert. Who knows what Loren will scrounge for dessert because THAT BIRTHDAY CAKE IS MINE!!!! We usually reverse these meals but Loren got a wild hair and wished to do something different this year.It's said curiosity killed the cat. The poor kitty probably messed with something he shouldn't have like a moving car or a very large snake or ate too much carpet fuzz. My curiosity, I don't think, is that dangerous. I just want to know what is in those gorgeously wrapped presents addressed to me! This could drive me crazy wondering. I drive Loren bats because I'm an incorrigable package pinch. He drives me bonkers because he displays absolutely no curiosity at all! Ha! I got him one year on his birthday. He still gets hot under the collar when reminded. I laugh until tears run down my face:-) A few years ago I bought him a gorgeous black kid leather jacket. I didn't want to crease it by folding it into the box I was given at the store, so I hung the jacket in the closet of our guest bedroom and wrapped the empty box. On his Big Day I gave him his pile of gifts. He saved that box for last - and whadya know? He actually displayed some curiosity about it! It was light as a feather and didn't shake, rattle, or roll. In fact, it didn't make any sound at all. So he tore the wrapping and opened -- an empty box! The look on his face was priceless! His older brother and his wife were watching and they got a good giggle, too. Loren was the only one not gaffawing. I waited until I could see straight and then fetched his jacket.Ah, to have Superman's x-ray vision. But that would spoil the surprise . . .
Maddness of the Season
22 December 2006
The Maddness of the SeasonWow, it's getting nearly violent out there! Went about my usual errands on Wednesday. Traffic was murder - I actually got a sunburn in the car! Parking didn't exist and drivers were getting quite rude. Unusual in Hawaii where Aloha rules. Yesterday was grocery shopping day. It took all day to go to Costco and Walmart in downtown Honolulu! I was wiped when I returned and stocked everything. I'm saving Safeway til this evening. I hope calm prevails by then:-)Are you done with your Holiday shopping?Our previously crappy weather has turned gorgeous. Beginning of winter and it's in the mid 80sF. Love it. Now to nab some pool time. Movie time, too. A few flicks I'd like to take in:The Good Shepherd, Night at the Museum, The Holiday, and The Pursuit of Happiness. Loren and I saw Blood Diamond last week. Good movie.What movies are on your list to see?The rats cavorting upstairs woke me at 4:30 this morning. Good God, they sounded big enough to be cats! With all the Holiday madness I've forgotten to pick up the sound thingy that drives them away. Must do before stopping at Safeway tonight.Are all your Holiday meals planned?
The Maddness of the SeasonWow, it's getting nearly violent out there! Went about my usual errands on Wednesday. Traffic was murder - I actually got a sunburn in the car! Parking didn't exist and drivers were getting quite rude. Unusual in Hawaii where Aloha rules. Yesterday was grocery shopping day. It took all day to go to Costco and Walmart in downtown Honolulu! I was wiped when I returned and stocked everything. I'm saving Safeway til this evening. I hope calm prevails by then:-)Are you done with your Holiday shopping?Our previously crappy weather has turned gorgeous. Beginning of winter and it's in the mid 80sF. Love it. Now to nab some pool time. Movie time, too. A few flicks I'd like to take in:The Good Shepherd, Night at the Museum, The Holiday, and The Pursuit of Happiness. Loren and I saw Blood Diamond last week. Good movie.What movies are on your list to see?The rats cavorting upstairs woke me at 4:30 this morning. Good God, they sounded big enough to be cats! With all the Holiday madness I've forgotten to pick up the sound thingy that drives them away. Must do before stopping at Safeway tonight.Are all your Holiday meals planned?
Research Tips For the Early 20th Century
22 December 2006
For your reading pleasure:-) I am now a blogger on Unusual Historicals http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/From the Blog:"A handful of historical romance authors brave the wilds of unusual settings and times to create distinctive, exciting novels just outside of the mainstream. Join us as we chronicle the trials and rewards of our quest-- from research and writing to publication and establishing lasting careers."Hope you can stop by occasionally!
For your reading pleasure:-) I am now a blogger on Unusual Historicals http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/From the Blog:"A handful of historical romance authors brave the wilds of unusual settings and times to create distinctive, exciting novels just outside of the mainstream. Join us as we chronicle the trials and rewards of our quest-- from research and writing to publication and establishing lasting careers."Hope you can stop by occasionally!
Unusual Historicals
For your reading pleasure:-) I am now a blogger on Unusual Historicals http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/From the Blog:"A handful of historical romance authors brave the wilds of unusual settings and times to create distinctive, exciting novels just outside of the mainstream. Join us as we chronicle the trials and rewards of our quest-- from research and writing to publication and establishing lasting careers."Hope you can stop by occasionally!
Blogging
19 December 2006
I can't believe it's been nearly two years since my last journal entry! When writing a book anything I write in my blog is bound to be dull. Example: Wrote all day today. Princelings knocked research and manuscript onto the floor. It took an hour to put everything in order again.Riveting reading!As I haven't yet started book number four I thought I might catch up before burying my nose in another manuscript.I plan to start the next book in January. A supernatural thriller set in contemporary Scotland.The Princelings have grown into HUGE babies! Dynofelis Fergus McMouser, who sleeps on my head, is now 25 pounds. Smilodon St. John Blue, who keeps my feet warm at night, is about 18 pounds. He's the skinny boy. Not that Fergus is pudgy - just big and husky. Cats are never fat! They are merely robust.The rainy season has definitely arrived! Nothing but crappy weather for the last couple weeks. No baking in sun for me recently. I’m white as snow. The wind blew hard last week, too. We lost our power for a few hours. We’re still enduring high winds but, fortunately, no more losses of power.We attended three Christmas parties last week: A formal Chaine de Rotisseurs, international food and wine society function. Loren wore his tux and I wore a floor length black, chiffony, sparkling gown. Monday was Loren’s employee party. Loren went casual and I donned a black velvet skirt suit with silk roses sewn on it. The Club Managers Association held its annual Christmas party on Tuesday. Again, Loren was casual. My ensemble was ruffled tiered black skirt with a bright wrap around chiffon blouse. Went all out this year:-) Although we can’t put up a tree this year – the Princelings would destroy it three seconds flat – we do have some of our Christmas decorations down from the attic and have some of them up. I told Loren it looked like mice had been rooting about in the boxes. He said, “Yeah, twenty-five pound mice. I rousted your furry sons out of there a number of times today.” The fur-babies will eat anything! Carpet fuzz is a great delicacy in this house. I wish feeding Loren were as easy. But no, he insists on wine, meat, rice/potatoes, and veggies. I do try.After sorting through that box of Christmas decorations Loren brought down from the attic we discovered the rest must still be up there. So Loren, being the dutiful husband he is, climbed into that vast shadowy domain in search of the rest of our treasures. And what did he find? RATS!!!! Or at least evidence of the horrible creatures. Rat ka-ka everywhere! I admit to a mild – oh all right – an absolute neurotic phobia of rodents! The vile beasts ate my beautiful feathered Mardi Gras masks. We keep empty Royal Doulton and moving boxes up there. When we move I prefer to pack my pretties in their original boxes. Loren says these empties are rat fodder and proceeds to break them all down. Crash, boom, bang! The Princelings run on their bellies to hide in the downstairs tv room. I’m right behind them. Loren peeks in about a half an hour later telling us it’s safe to come out.Then he lets the bomb fall: he suggests letting the Princelings loose in the attic to hunt down the rats! No, no, and no! Maine Coons may be born mousers but these are the fur babies who sleep on my pillow! No way will they be exposed to rats! I suppose the alternatives are rat poison and rat traps. Oh lord, which is worse? Live rats or dead rats rotting in the Hawaiian heat?Loren has been extra busy at work this week. Lots of candlelight dinners for the members and Christmas parties. I must run errands in town tomorrow so I may stop by the club to view the decorations. Loren says they are fabulous. Actually, my ‘errands’ include picking up Loren’s Christmas gifts. Loren did his shopping yesterday and there are a couple of intriguing boxes on our coffee table. Wrapped in jewelers ribbons. The best kind of birthday/Christmas boxes!On this contemplative note I shall close the letter and wish everyone a Merry Christmas – with a sincere hope you never have to lay eyes on a rat. Live or otherwise.
I can't believe it's been nearly two years since my last journal entry! When writing a book anything I write in my blog is bound to be dull. Example: Wrote all day today. Princelings knocked research and manuscript onto the floor. It took an hour to put everything in order again.Riveting reading!As I haven't yet started book number four I thought I might catch up before burying my nose in another manuscript.I plan to start the next book in January. A supernatural thriller set in contemporary Scotland.The Princelings have grown into HUGE babies! Dynofelis Fergus McMouser, who sleeps on my head, is now 25 pounds. Smilodon St. John Blue, who keeps my feet warm at night, is about 18 pounds. He's the skinny boy. Not that Fergus is pudgy - just big and husky. Cats are never fat! They are merely robust.The rainy season has definitely arrived! Nothing but crappy weather for the last couple weeks. No baking in sun for me recently. I’m white as snow. The wind blew hard last week, too. We lost our power for a few hours. We’re still enduring high winds but, fortunately, no more losses of power.We attended three Christmas parties last week: A formal Chaine de Rotisseurs, international food and wine society function. Loren wore his tux and I wore a floor length black, chiffony, sparkling gown. Monday was Loren’s employee party. Loren went casual and I donned a black velvet skirt suit with silk roses sewn on it. The Club Managers Association held its annual Christmas party on Tuesday. Again, Loren was casual. My ensemble was ruffled tiered black skirt with a bright wrap around chiffon blouse. Went all out this year:-) Although we can’t put up a tree this year – the Princelings would destroy it three seconds flat – we do have some of our Christmas decorations down from the attic and have some of them up. I told Loren it looked like mice had been rooting about in the boxes. He said, “Yeah, twenty-five pound mice. I rousted your furry sons out of there a number of times today.” The fur-babies will eat anything! Carpet fuzz is a great delicacy in this house. I wish feeding Loren were as easy. But no, he insists on wine, meat, rice/potatoes, and veggies. I do try.After sorting through that box of Christmas decorations Loren brought down from the attic we discovered the rest must still be up there. So Loren, being the dutiful husband he is, climbed into that vast shadowy domain in search of the rest of our treasures. And what did he find? RATS!!!! Or at least evidence of the horrible creatures. Rat ka-ka everywhere! I admit to a mild – oh all right – an absolute neurotic phobia of rodents! The vile beasts ate my beautiful feathered Mardi Gras masks. We keep empty Royal Doulton and moving boxes up there. When we move I prefer to pack my pretties in their original boxes. Loren says these empties are rat fodder and proceeds to break them all down. Crash, boom, bang! The Princelings run on their bellies to hide in the downstairs tv room. I’m right behind them. Loren peeks in about a half an hour later telling us it’s safe to come out.Then he lets the bomb fall: he suggests letting the Princelings loose in the attic to hunt down the rats! No, no, and no! Maine Coons may be born mousers but these are the fur babies who sleep on my pillow! No way will they be exposed to rats! I suppose the alternatives are rat poison and rat traps. Oh lord, which is worse? Live rats or dead rats rotting in the Hawaiian heat?Loren has been extra busy at work this week. Lots of candlelight dinners for the members and Christmas parties. I must run errands in town tomorrow so I may stop by the club to view the decorations. Loren says they are fabulous. Actually, my ‘errands’ include picking up Loren’s Christmas gifts. Loren did his shopping yesterday and there are a couple of intriguing boxes on our coffee table. Wrapped in jewelers ribbons. The best kind of birthday/Christmas boxes!On this contemplative note I shall close the letter and wish everyone a Merry Christmas – with a sincere hope you never have to lay eyes on a rat. Live or otherwise.
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