Morag's Blog

Glesga Waddin'

2011-05-18T17:39:00.002-10:00

Two Glaswegians, Archie and Jimmy, are sitting in the pub discussing Jimmy's forthcoming wedding.

"Och, it's all goin' pure dead brilliant," says Jimmy. "A've got aw'thin' organised a'readies , the fluers, the Church, the caurs, the reception, the rings, the meenister, even ma stag night".

Archie nods approvingly.

"I've even bought a kilt to be married in!" continues Jimmy.

"A kilt?" exclaims Archie, "That's braw, you'll look richt smairt in that.

Whit's the tartan?"

"Och," says Jimmy, "A'd imagine she'll be in white !

HA HA -- A FUNNY!

2011-01-23T00:14:00.000-10:00

ABOUT THE WRITER
Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami Herald.

Colonoscopy Journal:

I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment
for a colonoscopy.

A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the
colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point
passing briefly through Minneapolis.

Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough,
reassuring and patient manner.

I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my
brain was shrieking, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR
BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for
a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold a
microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it
to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's
enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.

Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In
accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I
had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor.

Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder
together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water.
(For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons).
Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because
MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat spit and
urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon..

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great
sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose, watery bowel
movement may result.'

This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but,
have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep
experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the
commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to
the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when
you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of
MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the
future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.

The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not
only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing
occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I
spurt on Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and
totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a
room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little
curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital
garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on,
makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked..

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand.
Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already
lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their
MoviPrep.

At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered
what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom,
so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no
choice but to burn your house..

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where
Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the
17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I
was seriously nervous at this point.

Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began
hooking something up to the needle in my hand.

There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was
'Dancing Queen' by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that
could be playing during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' had to be
the least appropriate.

'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.

'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for
more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am
going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling
'Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,' and the next moment, I was
back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.

Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I
felt even more excellent when Andy told me that It was all over, and that my
colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an
internal organ.

On the subject of Colonoscopies...

Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite
humorous!!!!! A physician claimed that the following are actual comments
made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their
colonoscopies:

1. 'Take it easy, Doc. You're boldly going where no man has gone before!'
2. 'Find Amelia Earhart yet?'
3. 'Can you hear me NOW?'
4. 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?'
5. 'You know, in Arkansas, we're now legally married.'
6.. 'Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?'
7. 'You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out...'
8. 'Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!'
9. 'If your hand doesn't fit, you must quit!'
10. 'Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.'
11. 'You used to be an executive at Enron, didn't you?'
12. 'God, now I know why I am not gay.'
And the best one of all:

13. 'Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not up
there?'

Bucking Frilliant

2011-01-20T19:20:00.002-10:00

This was originally shown on BBC TV back in the 1970's. Ronnie Barker could say all this without a snigger ~

This is the story of Rindercella and her sugly isters.

Rindercella and her sugly isters lived in a marge lansion. Rindercella worked very hard frubbing sloors, emptying poss pits, and shivelling shot. At the end of the day, she was knucking fackered.The sugly isters were right bugly astards.. One was called Mary Hinge, and the other was called Betty Swallocks; they were really forrible huckers;they had fetty sweet and fatty swannies. The sugly isters had tickets to go to the ball, but the cotton runts would not let Rindercella go.

Suddenly there was a bucking fang, and her gairy fodmother appeared. Her name was Shairy Hithole and she was a light rucking fesbian. She turned a pumpkin and six mite wice into a hucking cuge farriage with six dandy ronkeys who had buge hollocks and dig bicks. The gairy fodmother told Rindercella to be back by dimnlight otherwise, there would be a cucking falamity.

At the ball, Rindercella was dancing with the prandsome hince when suddenly the clock struck twelve..=20 "Mist all chucking frighty!!!" said Rindercella, and she ran out tripping barse overollocks, so dropping her slass glipper. The very next day, the prandsome hince knocked on Rindercella's door and the sugly isters let him in.. Suddenly, Betty Swallocks lifted her leg and let
off a fig bart.
"Who's fust jarted?" asked the prandsome hince.. "Blame that fugly ucker over there!!" said Mary Hinge.

When the stinking brown cloud had lifted, he tried the slass glipper on both the sugly isters without success and their feet stucking funk.
Betty Swallocks was ducking fisgusted and gave the prandsome hince a knack in the kickers. This was not difficult as he had bucking fuge halls and
a hig bard on. He tried the slass glipper on Rindercella and it fitted pucking ferfectly.

Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married. The pransome hince lived his life in lucking fuxury, and Rindercella lived hers with a follen swanny!

Kitty Adventures

2011-01-11T23:26:00.005-10:00

Sinji and Fergus came stumbling in this am smelling like a still, so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'We've been to Frat House Row at the U of H Manoa.'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'We made all the Frat Bros look like wusses because we both out drank them And attracted more gir...ls. All the girls call us the Rumple Minze Bruddahs.'
'Why?'
'Cuz we're so Hot we're 100 Proof!'

Fergus and Sinji both came in soaking wet this morning and dragging a trophy behind them on a bed of thick canvas, so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'We've been to the North Shore!'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'We competed in the EDDIE AIKAU Surfing Contest. We won!!
...http://www.surfline.com/surfing-a-to-z/eddie-aikau-biography-and-photos_740/

Sinji came in this morning covered in dirt, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'All the cemetaries on the island.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Kept Oahu safe for the Halloweeners: I hunted and delivered the final death to all the local zombies!

Fergus came in this morning bloody but with his tail held high, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'The darkest, eeriest locations on the island.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Made Oahu safe for the tricker or treaters: I hunted and killed all the local vampires!'

Sinji stumbled in this morning with decidedly glassy eyes, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've, er, been to . . . Maui . . . '
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I went to the, er . . . Super CatNip Farm to bring back treats for the . . Halloweeners.'
...'Um, where is the catnip?'
'I ate it all!'

Fergus came in scruffy and smelly this morning, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to the wharf in Honolulu.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I shopped the fish market for Halloween goodies for the trick or treaters. The special tidbits I chose should be aged to perfection by... Sunday evening - and don't you even THINK of sampling them!

Fergus and Sinji came in quite proud of themselves this morning, so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'Trump is in town so we borrowed his private jet.'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you with it?'
'We took Uncle Gary and Auntie Vickie home.'

Fergus: 'I piloted the jet to the west coast through a severe thunder and lightening storm successfully.'
Sinji: 'I piloted the jet back to Honolulu. Apparently there were reports of a cat at the controls of a Lear because the Air Force scrambled and flew alongside. When the pilots recognized me they saluted and fell away.

Sinji came in showing his temper this morning so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Africa's east shore.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I hunted and annihilated the Nigerian pirates - but Interpol wouldn't let me eat them!'

Fergus came this am with a long piece of black fur clutched in his mouth, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've traveled through the Hot Tub Time Machine to early 18th century Port Royal.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Edward Teach thought he could force me to walk the plank. I tore his Blackbeard right off him and stuck him with his own cutless!'

Both Fergus and Sinji came in the am quite toffee nosed, so I asked,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'We've been to Mt. Olympus to visit the Gods.'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'We were Deified. We are now known as The Dynofelis Fergus McMouser God and the Smilodon St. John Blue God. You may kneel - after you serve us breakfast!'

Sinji came in this morning windblown, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I visited Mt. Olympus again - where I am truly treated like the God I am.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I rode Pegasus bareback. What a ride!!'

Fergus came in hungover this am, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I took another trip to Mt. Olympus - where I am truly treated like the God I am.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Partied with Dionysus and his handmaidens. No one throws a party like Dionysus. Um, you can skip my breakfast this morning . . .

Fergus came in this am with an important air, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Roswell, New Mexico.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I solved the 63 year old mystery of the aliens. They weren't huminoid, after all. They were highly sophisticated Felines bent on rescuing their Earth cousins from human domination and captivity.'
Um, your breakfast is ready - or would you rather hunt something fresh?
Fergus: You may serve it immediatly. Don't forget to warm it.

Domination and captivity my a**!

Sinji came in this am looking quite proud, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to the Bermuda Triangle.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I solved the ages old mystery of the Bermuda Triangle. It's all about magnetic variations and opposite polarities caused by a species of Marine Felines. No doubt related to the Sophisticated Space Cats Fergus met yesterday.

Both Fergus and Sinji arrived this am with silly grins on their faces, so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'We've been to SoCal to visit the Playboy Mansion!'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'We smoked fine cigars and drank the most expensive congnac with The Hef. Then we played with all the Playboy Bunnies!'

Sinji came in on unsteady paws this morning so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been in Honolulu at Zanzibars.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I bought all the girls Screaming Oragasams and Slippery Nipples and the won the Cool Cat Strut Contest!'

Fergus came in wobbly this morning so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to London to visit Stringfellows.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I bought all the girls Panty Droppers and won the Saturday Night Fever Dance Contest!'

Sinji came in bloody this am so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Spain to run with the bulls.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I shredded the matadores to bloody pulps!'

Sinji strutted into your house, his tail held high and a smile on his face. so you asked, 'kitty cat, kitty cat, where have you been?'
'I was in Oklahoma with Uncle Mike'
'Kitty cat kitty cat, what did you there?'
'After the hockey game we went to Hooters for wings and beer'

Fergus strolled in this am thoughtfully, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I took off for Washington State to visit Auntie Ruth.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Auntie Ruth is in hospital so while her furbabies distracted the nurses I slipped in to see her to bless her with my special Fergusdorphins. Then I schnuggled her so they would take effect making her pain disappear.'

Sinji and Fergus came in dishevled and shivering this a.m. so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'The North Pole. It's bloody freezing there!'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'Most of Santa's elves are out sick with the flu so we helped him load his sleigh.'

Fergus and Sinji came in this a.m. with icicles hanging in their fur so I asked them,
'Kitty cats, kitty cats where have you been?'
'The North Pole and around the world.'
'Kitty cats, kitty cats what did you there?'
'Rudolph and most of the reindeer were sick with the flu so we pulled Santa's sleigh all night!'

LOL CATS!

2010-09-25T03:31:00.001-10:00

This is hilarious!!

http://www.shmoop.com/news/2010/09/21/famous-quotes-translated-lolcat/

More Adventures of Smilodon St. John Blue and Dynofelis Fergus McMouser

2010-09-08T22:29:00.004-10:00

Fergus came in this morning looking, er, well, high. So I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'"I've been sittin' downtown in a railway station."'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'"I was was one toke over the line . . . "'

Sinji weaved his way in this morning buzzed to the whiskers, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Acapulco with Henry to see the golden keys.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Visited the man who had it growing from the ground. Tasted it, got wasted, and now I can't even see!...
*Henry lyrics http://www.nrpsmusic.com/music/lyrics/henry.html

Fergus sauntered in this am quite degage, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Honolulu to Pearl Ultra Lounge.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'The doorman said 'no cats' so I shredded him to a bloody pulp. Keeping his fate in mind, the bartender kept my premium cocktails co...ming at no charge while I danced the night away with the most beautiful women.'

Sinji came in this am a bit straggly, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been exploring the Klingon Home World.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Worf was so enamored he wanted to keep me. I used Auntie Deb's BatLeth. He's quite likeable so I only wounded him. It was imperative he... know that no one owns cats. Besides, he wouldn't have a made as good a catslave as mama

Sinji came in this am looking a bit scruffy so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to the Northshore to ride the Pipeline.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Tangled with a tiger shark. The shark lost.'

Fergus came in with an air of defiance this morning so I asked him
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been into town to visit your wireless provider.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
I cut service to your cell phone! Papa has been calling every morning when he arrives at work to send you out on er...rands ALL day every day. Sinji and I want our catslave and pillow back.

Sinji came in this am looking quite satisfied, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I prowled Wiakiki in your new ragtop.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I picked up some Hot Kitty!'

Fergus came in this am with his furr fluffed up, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Montana to visit Auntie Deb.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Montana is getting cold already so she needed me to keep her warm. I even raided a chicken coop to bring her dinner. I ate mine... raw but Auntie Deb preferred hers with a light Chardonay cream sauce.

Sinji came in this a.m. out of breath, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have to been?'
'I've been to Oklahoma to visit Uncle Michael.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'We played goalies for the Hoses and crushed the Guns 30 - zip!'

Coninued Kitty Adventures

2010-08-20T14:31:00.004-10:00

Sinji came in this am a bit straggly, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been exploring the Klingon Home World.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Worf was so enamored he wanted to keep me. I used Auntie Deb's BatLeth. He's quite likeable so I only wounded him. It was imperative he know that no one owns cats. Besides, he wouldn't have a made as good a catslave as mama.

Fergus came in this morning looking, er, well, high. So I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'"I've been sittin' downtown in a railway station."'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'"I was was one toke over the line . . . "'

Sinji toddled in this morning with decidely red eyes, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I went with Henry to Aculpulco.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'To see the man who has it growing from the ground, to tast it, and get wasted. I couldn't even see!

*Henry lyrics
http://www.nrpsmusic.com/music/lyrics/henry.html

Kitty Adventures

2010-08-17T21:17:00.004-10:00

Dynofelis Fergus McMouser and Smiladon St. John Blue

Fergus was quite disheveled this am so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to London to see the Queen.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I hunted rats along the Thames then nipped into Queen Charlotte's Larder in Bloomsbury for a pint of black and tan.'

Sinji came in this am looking, well, er, stoned. So I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to London to see Mick and the Boys.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'Keith Richards fell down and couldn't get up so I played lead guitar for the Stones.'

Fergus was acting quite regal this morning, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Egypt to see the Nile and Pyramids.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I rode wild, savage crocs bareback. After martinis and caviar for lunch I visited the temples and discovered cats used to be ...worshipped as Gods. Obviously this practice must resume! You may build my temple immediately.

Sinji came this am licking his chops so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to South America to see the Amazon.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I hunted piranha. And then I ate them.'

Fergus came in this morning in a pair of handsome boots, rapier with sash, and a rather dashing hat, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Fairy Land to see what mischief I could find.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat, what did you there?'
'I made some chap as rich as Midus and married him off to a princess. Now do be a good cat slave and clean my boots.'

Sinji came home this morning dirty with matted fur, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I fell down a bloody rabit hole!'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?
'I thrashed the Mad Hatter and wiped the grin off that obnoxious Cheshire.'

Fergus came this morning exhilerated, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Glasgow to see the Celtics and Rangers play.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I made all 10 goals for the Celtics! Go Green and White!'

Sinji came in this am with his tail held high and looking quite proud of himself, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Japan to observe Japanese baseball.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I pitched for the winning team, got drenched in champagne, rode in a limo, and had my choice of the most beautiful female cats . . .

Fergus strolled in looking quite important this morning, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Delphi.'
Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I took over for the Oracle while she vacationed at a Greek spa.'

Sinji came in this morning a bit hung over, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Greece for a wedding.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat, what did you there?'
'Discovered I wasn't father of the bride after all. Abba was fabulous, btw.'

Fergus came in this am with blood dripping from his fangs, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I took a trip through the Hot Tub Time Machine.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I hunted a T-Rex. And then I ate it.'

Sinji came in this morning with bloody scratches and patches of fur missing, so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'It was my turn to go through the Hot Tub Time Machine.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I fought trial by combat to reign as King of the ancient saber tooths.'

Fergus came in exhausted this am so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to Cornwall to tour the Jamaica Inn by full moon.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'"Them that askes no questions ain't told no lies.'"

Sinji came in this morning soaking wet so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I followed Fergus to Jamaica Inn but took a detour on the moor.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I found the sacred pool so the Lady of the Lake gave me Excaliber.'

Fergus came in exhausted this morning so I asked him,
'Kitty cat, kitty cat where have you been?'
'I've been to space to explore.'
'Kitty cat, kitty cat what did you there?'
'I found the best honky tonk on Mars and won first prize for perfoming the two step. Elvis says, 'Hey' btw.'

Today in 1949

2010-06-17T15:45:00.001-10:00

My mom and dad were married today 17 June 1949.
I'm thinking of them today.

Bog Humor

2010-06-09T14:44:00.000-10:00

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!
The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!) down with your pants and assume ' The Stance.
In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The Stance.'
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.
In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.
The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.
The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting
You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?)
You yank the paper from your shoe, plank it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your bag hanging around your neck?
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public toilets. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.
This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately.

The Fifth and Last Installment of THE FELINE MUSE: THE FREELOADER

2010-05-06T00:08:00.004-10:00

Part Five
THE FREELOADER
"Sweet, darling babies. Who are the most precious bundles of love? Why these sweet little honey - babies are! These are the dearest pets ever!"
Mephistopheles Cat and Nutmeg Cat luxuriated in the radiance that was Mama's loving voice as she made up the huge king - size bed. Mama could always be depended upon to recognize a Cat's true worth. The great orangey, white fluff ball that was Mephistopheles lounged on the window seat which overlooked the garden and deck. His sister, the lithe tabby, Nutmeg, had laid claim to a corner of the comforter still on the floor.
"Aren't these the best fur babies a Mama could have?!" Mama continued to coo as she tugged the comforter up - or tried to. "Nut - Nut sweetie may I have the cover please?" Mama gently lifted her kitty from the bedding and finished her morning chore.
Lifting her gaze, Mama noticed Mephistopheles’ nose pressed to the glass, body rigid, and the fur along his back erect. His sister joined him, making growling noises in her throat. Curious, Mama wandered over to the window.
"Why look at this! And whose beautiful Himalayan kitty are you?" Mama was quite surprised to see a long haired, seal point Siamese reposing on her deck regarding her through lazy cobalt eyes.
"Oh the poor wee thing! His ribs are showing. This skinny kitty must be starving. We must feed him at once babies. My sweet darlings wouldn't mind sharing their food would they?"
"Meeoow," objected King Cat. "Mama that is a Freeloader! He's been begging from the neighbors for weeks. Papa even chased him from inside the garage the other day. He's been getting along just fine, so please don't encourage him. Besides, he's bound to be flea ridden, mite infested, and mangy."
"Meeoow," chimed in Nutmeg Cat. "Of course I mind sharing my sustenance Mama! He's perfectly capable of catching a mouse or, or, a skunk or something. I will not share my tuna or chicken hearts with anybody."
"Don't bet on it! Remember I'm King Cat and I will eat anything I choose." Mephistopheles looked his sister straight in the eye and swished his tail.
"I seem to recall you in Mama and Papa's bad graces the other evening when you climbed up the kitchen counter to attack the box of Pounce," Nutmeg reminded him slyly.
"The point is I ate a good many of them - as many as I chose as a matter of fact," he retorted rather proudly.
"You weren't very quick for a Cat, Bumble Butt! You were caught before you could clear the scene and disdainfully deny it!" Nutmeg's green eyes sparkled as she crowed with pleasure.
This was a sore spot indeed, but before Mephistopheles could reply, a howl from outside captured his attention. The Freeloader was emboldened by Mama's sweet voice and was now pacing and wailing in anticipation of some attention, which could mean a nibble or two.
"Of course my love kittens will share their food with you, you poor ravenous darling." Mama marched away to fulfill her mission.
Nutmeg Cat followed closely on Mama's heels. She must guide Mama's hands to the least important meals such as turkey or kitty stew. In fact, the more of those given away the better. They were really much too bourgeois for a Princess's taste. Unfortunately, Mama had not been made to see this just yet.
Mama quickly prepared a water bowl and a dish of turkey with giblets. Nutmeg successful in her undertaking, unbent enough to feel just a tiny bit of sympathy for a homeless Cat and followed her Mama to the screened glass door. The Freeloader was standing on his hind legs pawing the screen.
"Oh you thoughtful sweetheart, you aren't even using your claws."
"That's because he doesn't have any," remarked Mephistopheles Cat dryly as he nudged Mama's leg. She paid no heed however, as she stepped out to the deck to set her offerings down for the delectation of the Freeloader. He promptly buried his head in the food dish.
"You need lots more don't you, you poor neglected kitty?" Mama continued to watch the hungry, scruffy creature gulp his meal.
"What's this?" Papa squeezed through the door to the deck so as not to let his Cats out. "No, no, and no," he shook his head as he comprehended the situation. "We have enough Cats! Two fur bags are annoying enough. We will not acquire a third! Take it to the Pound."
Even Mephistopheles and Nutmeg cringed and flattened their bodies on the floor at the mention of this nightmarish, bloodcurdling, chilling word. It was the Unmentionable Place. A destination so horrifying it did not bear thought. Only the most unlucky or cursed found their destiny here.
"I most certainly will not. I'm just feeding the poor famished beast. How could you refuse such a wretched creature - just look at him." Mama turned around only to find the Freeloader had abandoned his meal to cower behind her. "You've frightened him," she said in outraged tones. "Besides you love Mepher and Nut - Nut to distraction -- you can't fool me or them!"
Papa rubbed his face wearily knowing he was defeated. "He can't come in the house until he has seen the Vet. Lord only knows what he's got: Feline Leukemia, Feline Aides, fleas, or multiple infections for all we know." Papa sighed and shook his head. He noticed the stray was now placidly eating from his dish. Smart Cat indeed.
"He must have been someone's cherished pet at one time. It seems he's a purebred Himalayan sans claws." Mama remarked.
"That's something I suppose," Papa said as he entered the house. Once inside he thoughtfully inquired, "Have you asked these Snippets how they feel about welcoming an interloper into their midst?"
Mama peered through the screen. "Well, precious purr boxes? You two enjoy such a warm, cozy home, all the food you can eat, and all the love and attention you can tolerate. How about extending some of this bounty to a poor, unfortunate Cat with no home?"
"Meow," expostulated Mephistopheles Cat indignantly. "Over my fur less body! That is a Freeloader and I will not have him in my home! You can't have forgotten I am King! He will not even breathe on my cat box! In short, he is not welcome in my domain!" Mephistopheles Cat could not remember having been so agitated.
"Meow! Meeoow!" Nutmeg Cat paced to and fro before the screen protesting resentfully. "I shall not share my delicacies with this bedraggled, un-groomed, grubby vagrant. He is a derelict who belongs under the bush in which he has been living! I will not have my tranquillity and solitude intruded upon!" The Princess intensely disliked any sort of excitement and this tumultuous hubbub was almost too much for her dainty fortitude.
"Why their enthusiasm is obvious," cried Mama in delight. "They would love company! You little loves, how generous of you to open your home to a helpless and homeless Cat!"
"I believe you are misinterpreting the Snippets' reaction. They are quite perturbed and no wonder - they have been our only and very spoiled beasts for all their five years. They are rejecting him," said Papa intuitively.
But Mama did not hear him and bent down to touch her new kitty. "What shall we name you Honey - Bunny?"
The Freeloader melted under his new Mama's caress. No one had treated him with this beneficence since his former People had lost him. She was quite perceptive, too. She was aware that he was an exquisite, rare purebred seal point Himalayan who's only calling was to be spoiled and cosseted. Yes, he had chosen wisely: he would be quite happy with these People.
"He has been such a brave Cat to survive in the Wild with no claws. And weren't the Siamese considered royalty? We'll call him Pendragon after a courageous and triumphant king," declared Mama.
"Dragon breath," murmured the real King sulkily as he trotted off in search of a sufficiently forbidden activity to properly show his dissent. Perchance a plump roll of toilet paper shredded and trailed about the house. No, much too tame. This required something really special.
Ahh - hah! Just the thing! The very essence of himself strategically deposited in significant locations! Mmm, where first? Perhaps a kitchen chair...or a high heeled shoe......

Fourth Installement of the FELINE MUSE: SPOILED BEASTS

2010-05-01T22:56:00.005-10:00

Part Five
SPOILED BEASTS
"Just look at the lazy louts!" Papa exclaimed in disgust as he entered the bedroom. He peeled off his jacket and aimed it at a nearby chair.
"How adorable they are." Mama smiled as she came to a halt at the end of the bed. She crinkled the paper bag she carried just a bit. No response.
Nutmeg Cat had curled her lithe form into a ball atop her Papa's pillow. Mephistopheles Cat stretched, smearing his long orangey, white hair on his Papa's jeans, which had been thrown carelessly at the foot of the bed. Pendragon Cat alone acknowledged his Peoples' presence. Situated at the opposite end of the bed from his Nemesis, Nutmeg, he blinked sleepily and extended a welcoming paw.
"Ha! All these spoiled beasts do is eat, sleep, and sh-"
"Meeow!" Nutmeg loudly interrupted her Papa as she abandoned her pillow and dashed toward Mama. Her sensitive nose had been the first to discover the contents of the paper sack. She nosed it violently, crying "Catnip! Catnip! Oh please give to me now Mama!"
Mephistopheles, now excited by the glorious scent was demanding his share and pushing his sister out of the way. Pendragon wandered over for whiff but failed to find what the fuss was about. The palm size pillows Mama drew out smelled no more interesting than grass. Now grass was not to be neglected by any means. After all, grass was the very essence of the great, wondrous outdoors. It harbored all the Cat news one could possibly desire. Occasionally, one was even driven to eating it. But it certainly didn't merit all the agitation that these silly mongrels were exhibiting.
He watched as Mephistopheles Cat roughly buried his nose in his prize, fell over on his side still clutching it, then let loose of it only to lie on top of it, staring off into space with decidedly glassy eyes.
Nutmeg pounced on her cushion, rubbing her face it and drooling all over it. She hooked her claws in and rolled until she fell right off the bed to the floor. The ridiculous creature didn't even seem to notice, for she lay on the Persian rug with her mouth wide open and head swaying to and fro.
"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!" Pendragon Cat howled his pleasure at this ludicrous scene.
"Ha! Ha! Breeding will tell! What absurd Mongrels -"
Pendragon's diatribe was cut short by salmon and tuna treats thrust under his nose. Now this was an event worthy of animation! Pendragon Cat inhaled his delights with aplomb. As he was licking his whiskers in gratification he was annoyed by a bit of fluff toying with his ears. He raised his cobalt gaze to find his tormentor was a colorful bouquet of bright feathers attached to a stick held by Papa. The skirmish was on! He batted, he rolled, he feinted, he wrestled, he bullied, and finally just to show who was really in charge, took it between his teeth, shook it ferociously, spit it out and strutted from the room in triumph. An especially magnificent exit considering he was also leaving in his wake two Cats of dubious lineage and wit, unconscious and drooling all over themselves.
Sometime later Mephistopheles awoke from his splendorous stupor. He unsteadily gained his feet to go forth and find his People. He was needing the security of a lap. Ahh, perfect. He found Mama and Papa at the table enjoying an evening snack. He landed heavily on Mama.
"Mepher! Get down at once!" Papa was rather choosy in his dining companions: He demanded table manners and in his opinion Cats had none.
Mephistopheles continued to stare at Mama adoringly, if a bit blearily. He touched his cold, wet nose to hers.
"Pay no attention to Papa, sweetie - pie. In fact you have my permission to bite him when you are feeling a bit more energetic." Mama glanced up at Papa. "Leave him be, he's just experiencing a catnip hangover."
"You're just encouraging him to beg at the table." Papa gathered his used place setting to dispose of in the kitchen.
"He needs no encouragement." Mama fed King Cat a morsel of roast chicken from her plate. "Do you darling bunny cat?"
It was indeed a measure of Mephistopheles Cat's sedate state that his took no offense to this indignity. He savored his treat and snuggled himself deeper in Mama's lap to continue his nap. He was quite oblivious to the fact that Mama was now done and ready to move into the living room with Papa. Mama lovingly gathered her kitty and took him to his papa for deposit before cleaning the remnants of their light meal.
Slowly rising through layers of slumber, Nutmeg blinked her eyes. It was time to let Mama and Papa know how much she truly appreciated the special treat in which she had just indulged. Perhaps they might bring it home more often! Pendragon Cat was too much of a simpleton to be aware of what he was missing! She could almost feel sorry for his inability to capture the euphoria, the rapture, the bliss that was catnip! It did leave one a bit fatigued, however. Her wobbly gait took her to the kitchen where Mama was giving bedtime treats. Goodness, she had been in dreamland a good long while!
"You shouldn't give them so many, it can't be good for them." Papa had turned off the TV and was straightening the coffee table.
"But the sweet babies love them! Of course they should have lots," replied Mama giving out crab Pounces by the handful. "That's all darlings, they're all gone now."
"You don't say that when I'm eating ice cream," Papa said sulkily.
"Well you're not a precious little fur rascal are you?" Mama turned out the lights and followed Papa to the bedroom.
"Meeow," replied Papa hopefully.
"Then you won't mind sharing their kitty boxes instead of using the toilet before retiring. And dinner will be so much easier. All I will have to do is open a can of kitty stew for you," quipped Mama as she donned her nightgown.
"Very funny." Papa made himself comfortable in bed, adjusting blankets and plumping pillows. "Come to bed."
"The cats are waiting for their nightcap," Mama said over her shoulder as she headed toward the master bathroom.
Mephistopheles and Nutmeg were waiting faithfully in the bathtub for their post treat sip of water. After all, why would one drink from a bowl when Mama poured fresh from the faucet? King Cat drank greedily from the running stream of water while his sister licked drops from the side of the tub. Mmm, delicious! Mama didn't turn off the water until Mephistopheles Cat leaped to the floor. He knew he must dry himself before he took up his kingly position at the end of the bed.
Nutmeg Cat stayed to lap up every last drop. Perhaps she would even spend the night here. When the Siamese Tyrant came hunting, thinking to trounce her she would laugh at his efforts to find her from the safety of a secret hide-out.
At last Mama slipped between the sheets. "I trust the little good-for-nothings have been taken care of because you have more important things to do," whispered Papa as he purposefully drew Mama to him.
"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama you can't have forgotten Me?!"
"Oh dear, I've forgotten lay a bit of fresh litter for the Dragon. He does insist upon it at bedtime you know," Mama sighed as she climbed down from the bed. "Otherwise he'll ask for it all night."
"So ignore him." Papa flung himself back on his pillow in exasperation. "Just who is more important here anyway -- those opportunistic fur weasels or me, your hardworking, loving husband?"
"Well," Mama replied reasonably on her way to the cat boxes. "Those 'opportunistic fur weasels' vie to be the first to warm my icy feet and actually enjoy my morning breath kisses!"
"Hmph, they're welcome to them," Papa grumbled.
Mephistopheles Cat felt this complaint against the Queen required reprimand. He did this by vaulting on the bed and selecting a spot where Mama could be snuggled and Papa ignored.
"I suppose you want the bed divided into thirds too, you flea bag," commented Papa before he huffily turned his back.
It was really just as well Papa understood his position, reflected Mephistopheles Cat as he sprawled, taking at least as much room as Papa mentioned. After all, there could hardly be two Kings in this domain!

THE HOMECOMING -- Third Installment of the FELINE MUSE

2010-04-22T14:41:00.005-10:00

5463126930975028114" />

Part Three
THE HOMECOMING
Mephistopheles Cat raised his orangey white head from his paws to gaze intently at the entry door. He had a direct view from his perch at the top of the recliner. The ball of luxurious tabby fur that was his sister Nutmeg chirped at him from her nest in the seat of the recliner as they exchanged knowing glances. Both confidently resumed their morning naps. It had been a gloomy two days indeed for the Cats despite the bright sunshine filling the apartment. Their People had been absent and were sorely missed.
Pendragon Cat was licking the last of his morning munch from his whiskers when he caught a whiff of kitty intuition. "MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama and Papa are coming home today! I just know it! I'm so excited! Just think of all the hugs and kisses I'll get and all the attention! How wonderful after the depressing company you two provide." He flung a superior look in the general direction of the recliner.
"Do please spare us the hairballs you work up when you are so impassioned," drawled Mephistopheles. "We do not wished to be blamed for them."
Pendragon Cat fluffed his fur and swished his tail. "Enthusiasm is a distinguished feature bestowed upon my exalted lineage." He held his nose high in the air. "Not a quality one would expect a victim of mixed breed such as yourself to understand."
Nutmeg Cat lifted her innocent green eyes and entered the fray. "It is rather thought to be a trait of inbreeding as well."
Inbreeding? It could not possibly be true. Could it? Of course not. Such tragedies did not happen to the Noble Siamese!
"Impossible and not worthy of comment!" Pendragon declared, trotting off to his morning constitutional.
"Oh dear, I'm afraid we are in for a tantrum," Nutmeg groaned.
"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!" Pendragon Cat burst from the cat box room kicking up his hind paws with every other step. "That was the most disgusting experience of my entire life."
He shuddered delicately and settled himself before the door to await his People.
Excitement mounted as the Arrival grew closer. The Cats carefully groomed themselves to look their finest. Faces were cleaned, claws trimmed, and tails smoothed.
Pendragon stirred first, and being a volatile Cat he just could not help expelling a perfectly formed hairball in celebration of his People's Return. Quite proud of himself, he pranced about the foyer as Mama and Papa entered.
"What have you been up to you scoundrels?" Papa's voice boomed in welcome. He promptly grabbed Mephistopheles Cat from his roost to rub his belly vigorously. Papa then placed his favorite kitty around his neck. "I'll be wearing my Mephers!"
The King Cat sighed deeply. One must humor Papa -- especially after a long absence. Still, it wasn't quite as bad as the indignity of being called a bird. He had a feeling it was coming soon, too.
"What darling little love birds we have," cooed Mama. "We missed you sweeties." She eyed Mephistopheles Cat's precarious position. "Watch out for little Mephers, I don't think he's very comfortable up there."
"Little? He's a big, fat beast! And he loves it. Don't you, you purring fur weasel?" Papa did not notice the lack of response and continued to stroke the King Kitty's soft fur.
Mama bent to caress her Dragon Cat. He stretched as she played her fingers down his back.
"Yuk! Pendragon! Not another hair ball!" He watched as Mama set about cleaning up his offering. What was all the fuss about? That superlative specimen was in honor of the Homecoming! It showed how truly upset he became when Abandoned!
Nutmeg raced ahead of Mama and Papa as they hauled their big black monsters into the bedroom to unpack. Having an aversion to Flurries of Activity, she scurried under the bed. After all, one could be tripped over or trod upon. Besides the presence of a Princess was not bequeathed without sufficient begging. However, one could always be bribed with a treat.
Pendragon resented the commotion. Where was the adulation he so deserved? This was not to be endured! To show his irritation he prowled to and fro under as many feet as he could manage -- all the while wailing unceasingly.
"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama and Papa finish this nonsense at once!"
Mephistopheles simply disregarded any busyness he encountered. He purred as he twined around ankles, placed paws on knees, and rubbed his face in welcoming hands. Kings were never ignored. Mama realized this and finally picked him up for sweet snuggles. Her neck made a cozy place to bury his head while he purred ecstatically.
"Pendragon you silly cat, do be quiet," Mama shifted the warm furry bulk in her arms. "Papa has escaped to the living room, so go visit him."
"Inflict himself you mean." Papa unfolded his newspaper and opened it. "Come here you little treat bandit."
Pendragon Cat instantly forgot the poise demanded of pure seal point Himalayans and ran to the most coveted perch in the house. He leaped on his Papa's lap and rolled over on his back to gaze adoringly into his Papa's eyes. He lay dreamily making starfish feet while he enjoyed his long awaited tummy rub.
Meanwhile Mephistopheles closely monitored Mama as she attended the cat box room. After all, Royal Advice could be needed at any time. He didn't admit for one moment that he didn't want Mama out of his sight lest she disappear again for days. He followed on her heels to his favorite room where she gathered old kitty dishes to clean and prepare a new Cat Meal.
Pendragon abandoned Papa as his nose caught the scent of tuna. The savory smell even enticed Nutmeg Cat out of hiding. The Favorite was being served!
Mephistopheles left his dish after only a few bites. Mama had joined Papa on the couch. Their attention was captured by the perplexing box of light and movement. It occurred to him they would be better employed petting and playing with Cats than worshipping that silly thing every night. They really must get their priorities straight, he mused as he snuggled into his Papa's lap and hooked a possessive paw in the shirt offered. He drifted off to the first contented sleep in days. Homecoming was almost as good being King
Nutmeg soon followed her brother choosing to gift herself to Mama. She reflected on the strange smells from far away places emanating from her People, and was determined to seek out the treasures they had brought home -- tomorrow. Homecoming, a tuna supper, and a lovely lap were all the treasures she required at the moment.
After licking the last tidbit from his bowl, Pendragon was nonplussed to find both laps occupied. He glanced longingly at the nearly full dishes next to his -- his time in the Wilds was not soon forgotten. He turned his back on the precious food to climb high on the back of the couch. "After all," he reasoned, as he nestled between Mama's and Papa's heads, tickling their ears with his whiskers. "Nothing was better than Homecoming."
Except perhaps a good loud howl!

iPad

2010-04-16T21:13:00.000-10:00

Even cats are using the new iPad!
http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/93582?fp=1

The Second Installment of the FELINE MUSE: THE ABANDONMENT

2010-04-13T14:30:00.003-10:00

Part Two
THE ABANDONMENT

The great, grotesque monster lay on the bed, its hideous underbelly slit open. The yawning aperture seemed to sneer at Mephistopheles Cat as he froze in his tracks in the bedroom doorway.
His degagee attitude was quickly replaced by terror as he realized what this obscene ogre portended. Then Mama bustled out of the closet with several items of clothing slung over one arm. He watched with dread as she carefully folded the garments and placed them inside the beastly creature.
Who would watch over his subjects when they left his kingdom, the King Kitty wondered? Despair washed over him as he speculated how many days and nights he would be without warm laps, comforting cuddles, and sweet voices telling him he was a handsome, darling boy. Then of course, there were the practicalities of being deserted: stale food and a polluted kitty box. The water however, wasn't bad at all -- a few days actually gave it a bit of character.
Perhaps he could persuade Mama and Papa to stay home -- if not they would take part of him with them! With these lovely thoughts in mind he bravely bounded straight into the jaws of the Creature, his landing cushioned by a pile of neatly arranged garments. He nosed and kneaded these before raising imploring pale blue eyes to Mama.
"Mepher! Now your fur is everywhere!" Mama began brushing frantically at the orangey, white fluff now decorating her apparel.
Nutmeg Cat, grooming her sleek tabby coat in the midst of a treasured sunbeam before the living room glass door, stopped short at Mama's distressed voice. She valued a serene environment, but it usually paid to find the reason for anxiety before hiding.
Horrors! They were being Abandoned! Something must be done. Immediately. Drastic measures must be taken. She must keep Mama too busy to pack! Leaping on the bed and chirping in her most charming voice, she gave Mama insistent head-buts. "Mama you must see what an enchanting little dear I am. How can you leave me?"
Apparently, Mama wasn't as enamored as she should have been. Nutmeg was crushed when she was gently shooed. She retreated to a forbidden pillow to closely observe the un-folding drama.
"Aren't you ready yet? Hurry! What's keeping you?" Papa inquired as he entered the room.
"You know how I hate leaving the kitties. The sweet babies are helping me pack." Mama glanced affectionately at Nutmeg and stroked an ear belonging to Mephistopheles.
"Sweet babies nothing," Papa said cheerfully. "They're nothing but furry little bags of sh-."
"Don't you dare say such things in front of the darlings," interrupted Mama in an affronted voice. "I don't know how you get away with treating them so carelessly. They adore you. While I must work so hard for their affection: feeding, watering, and littering the little fur rascals."
At this Mephistopheles Cat placed a proprietary paw on Mama's hand. "And we love you for it Mama," he purred. "Nobody could take such excellent care of us as you do."
"Cute little pussy cats always love me," said Papa suggestfully as he leered at Mama. His gaze dropped to the suitcase. "Listen to the motor on that tank. Certainly matches his size."
Mephistopheles worshipped his Papa, but this irreverence was too much at such a distressing time. He treated his Papa to an indignant glare before whisking himself from the room. He headed to his favorite dining room chair to wait out the Departure. It was time for the Show of Indifference.
Pendragon was nearly knocked off his paws by Mephistopheles Cat's sudden flight. He comprehended at once what was occurring as he peered into the room. He immediately wailed his terror at being left alone. (One couldn't possibly count two cheeky mongrels as company).
"No, no please don't leave me Mama and Papa. MEEOOWW, MEEOOWW."
Why, who would give him treats at bedtime? Who would provide a warm, cozy lap? Who would scratch his chin and tell him what a gorgeous, but annoying Cat he was? He knew of course, that he wasn't really annoying. Pure seal point Himalayan Cats couldn't possibly be anything but a model of the Perfect Pet. It was just something silly Mama and Papa told him. They were always saying silly things. It was just one of those idiosyncrasies one tolerated from one's People.
"MEEOOWW. MEEOOWW."
Uncomfortable with the charged scene before her, Nutmeg Cat bounded down from her pillow to sharpen her claws on the prized Persian rug.
"Naughty, naughty, naughty cat Nutmeg." Mama made an unsuccessful grab for Nutmeg as she dived under the bed.
Pendragon was incensed that a mere Tabby Cat should steel his thunder in the middle of one of his magnificent wails. He hissed in warning.
Nutmeg peeked from her hiding place to growl right back at him. "You can't intimidate me you ridiculous creature -- you have no claws!"
Pendragon swished his tail and raised his chin. "And I survived quite nicely, too," he bragged. "I lived in the Wilds for months after my former People lost me. It's really not surprising considering my superior pedigreed intelligence." He preened himself before giving forth a triumphant yowl.
"Wilds?! The only hunting you did was choosing from which neighbor's bowl of milk to drink before Mama and Papa brought you home. And your People did not 'lose' you -- they escaped from you!"
"Why, what a jealous--."
"Out cats! We're leaving now so get out from under foot." Papa led the way to the outer door, practically dragging Mama with him. She managed a farewell before being hauled over the threshold: "I'll miss you sweeties. We'll be back soon."
Hearing the lock click into place a melancholy Mephistopheles Cat developed a sudden urge to demonstrate his Dominance. He did so by sauntering casually over to the round scratching pad and covering it with his not inconsiderable bulk. He then proceeded to groom himself as if he hadn't a care in the world. It didn't do to wear one's emotions on one's paw -- after all, he was King.
Princess or not, poor little Nutmeg Cat experienced such anxiety she could only creep behind the couch to hide. Once there, she made herself as tiny as she could manage.
And the Pendragon Cat. Ahh, the Pendragon Cat. Why, he indulged in his favorite pastime, of course: he howled and howled and howled.
The Abandonment had begun.

The First Installment of THE FELINE MUSE: THE HOWLING

2010-04-08T15:25:00.005-10:00

THE HOWLING
4 am
“Mama, my cat box is filthy!” Pendragon’s howl pierced the night’s silence. Someone,” he flicked his cobalt eyes over his shoulder resentfully. The twenty pound Mephistopheles Cat
was serenely grooming his long orangey, white fur. “Someone,” he repeated “has fouled it!”
“Do wake up please! It reeks and is much too messy for a delicate pure Siamese such as myself.”
“Bloody sod! Shut up!”
“But Mama-----” The missile hit Pendragon square in the ribs. Pendragon uttered a gasp of pure delight, the kitty box momentarily forgotten as he ecstatically buried his nose in the
pungent sock. Papa’s were the best, if one didn’t count his shoes, but those delicacies were particularly difficult to indulge in. They rivaled the best tuna supper! It was so easy to forget oneself enough to chew them a bit....well, perhaps more than just a bit. Now both Mama and Papa kept him well away from those tempting morsels. Which made the socks all the more succulent. Pendragon howled his pleasure. And howled again.
“MEEEOOWW MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!”
“Good God, is he at again? SHUT UP PENDRAGON!” Papa growled from the bed.
“Go to sleep you silly cat, it’s the middle of night. You won’t be getting anything until the alarm rings in a few hours,” Mama murmured from the bed.
Pendragon yowled again. “Mama I cannot be expected to use the box after that oaf--”
“Watch it you nat-furred little pipsqueek,” Mephistopheles purred dangerously, “you are privileged to use my facilities, be they putrid or pristine. Remember I am King in this household. Nutmeg Cat is Princess, Papa is Prince, and of course Mama is undisputed Queen. You Pendragon Cat are a flea. Supremely unimportant in this hierarchy. Now be quiet -- your caterwauling make Mama and Papa cranky and this ruins my royal muse.”
“Nat-furred---!! What defamation! What libel! Why, I am a pure seal point Himalayan!
I am in possession of the most beautiful, smooth coat that a mongrel such as yourself could only envy!”
Mephistopheles Cat was actually quite proud of his Red Point/Maine Coon heritage, but thought it beneath him respond in any way besides turning his regal back.
“After all,” he thought as climbed up the back of the recliner, “I am King.” And from this high spot Pendragon looked quite insignificant --- and in trouble judging from Papa’s angry visage as bore down on the Dragon Cat.
No sooner had the howl left Pendragon’s throat that he was lifted high in the air. “WHOA! I’m not a football, Papa! I’m an exquisite, sensitive purebred!”

Pendragon found himself ignored and ignobly deposited in the cat box room.
“No! No! Not here! Don’t leave me here. MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! The stench is too much for my delicate nose! MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!”
“Howl all you want we won’t be able to hear you in there.” Papa was already on his way back to bed. “Maybe we can still salvage some sleep,” he murmured as he crawled between the sheets.
Nutmeg Cat, oblivious to any existing tensions awoke refreshed from her nap feeling affectionate. Her green eyes glowing, the sleek, silver mackerel tabby leaped on the bed hoping to snag a snuggle. Papa gave the most delicious tummy rubs and Mama could always be counted upon to stroke the ears just so. Now... who to gift with a cold wet nose first?
“Hmph! What the--! Nutmeg! Settle yourself my girl, it not time to get up. Go back to sleep. Now.” Mama reburied herself in the pillows.
Nutmeg found herself shooed gently away. She couldn’t possibly go back to her nap when so much love was bubbling inside her begging to be let out. Perhaps a soft kneed on Papa’s chest would ease her loving feelings toward her Family. He smelled so good and was just as warm as her favorite nest by the dining room heater. The dining room was only better because food was served there. The aroma and anticipation of a possible treat was a momentous evening event. The excitement of the possible bestowal of a succulent tidbit didn’t make being pushed away quite as hurtful. Uh-oh Papa didn’t appreciate Nutmeg Cat’s avowal of undying love. She was pushed away again. How provoking, indeed! To show her irritation she prowled the bed, avoiding kicking legs before jumping off and strutting off to a corner where she could watch her People until they awoke.
Mephistopheles Cat, bored with his perch bounded down from the recliner and headed toward the bedroom to remind Mama and Papa that while it was all well and good to have silenced Pendragon Cat, one mustn’t leave a door closed in his domain. One never knew when King Cat might fancy a toddle through its portals. No, a closed door wouldn’t do at all. After vaulting up the bed he let his displeasure be known with a series of soft meows, head buts, and nose nudges. These were fail safe methods of receiving the most loving of responses: soft strokes, sweet voices, comforting cuddles. However, in this case the fail safes
failed!
“No Mepher! We are trying to sleep. Settle yourself. Go away!” Papa turned his back.
Mama fortunately was not so immune to his technique. “Damn, he’s got use his litter box.” At last Mama was up and doing Mephistopheles Cat’s bidding. It was good to be King!
As soon as the cat box room door was released Pendragon wailed his thanks. “Oh Lord,” Mama mumbled as she returned to the bedroom, “Gold fish wouldn’t keep us awake all night.”
At that Papa sat up, announcing in dire tones, “Do you hear that Cats! Your Mother wishes to replace you all with goldfish!”
Absolute silence reigned as the Cats crept to the dining room.
“You don’t really-” Pendragon stopped abruptly to clear his throat. A croaky voice wouldn’t at all do coming from one with such an unsullied pedigree as himself. He started again, more confidently this time. “ Mama wouldn’t truly replace us with - with Goldfish?” He just couldn’t help it, he let loose a bellow of fear and uncertainty, “MEEEEOOOWW!”
“Hush you dimwit!” Nutmeg Cat circled the requisite three times before nesting herself almost against the heater at the opposite end from Pendragon Cat. “She may replace you with a fish because you’re so noisy. She would never get rid of the Mephistopheles Cat or myself. Sometimes we’re not in the Mood for Them, this is just one of those times--”
At this Pendragon Cat, still nervous interjected, “Oh but, I’m always in the Mood for Mama and Papa! Always!!”
“Your brain must be as scruffy as your fur, Pendragon Cat,” Mephistopheles Cat replied scornfully. “Mama and Papa would never substitute us for fish. Even you, I’m pained to say. After all, we are the Center of their world.” With that Mephistopheles Cat lowered his head to resume grooming that part of himself which he had always secretly suspected Papa was a bit jealous of his ability to accomplish. Perhaps that was why Papa had taken him in to have parts of it removed. Oh, well, sacrifices were sometimes required.
But it was good to be King.

In Memory of Marishka

2010-03-10T22:53:00.004-10:00

My stepkitty. She belonged to my mom. She passed on Saturday, 6 March 2010. I loved her very much.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

Great New Book Coming Out!

2010-01-16T14:29:00.000-10:00

New Children of the Moon Book from Lucy Monroe

Moon Craving
Feb 2010 - Berkley Sensation
ISBN-13: 978-0425233047
Children of the Moon Book 2
If it were up to him, Talorc—laird of the Sinclair clan and leader of his werewolf pack— would never marry. But when the king orders that Talorc wed an Englishwoman, the lone wolf is shocked to find his mate in the strong-willed Abigail. And after an intensely climactic wedding night, the two fiercely independent souls sense an unbreakable bond…

Deaf since childhood, Abigail hopes to keep her affliction from Talorc as long as possible. And for his part, he has no intention of telling her about being a werewolf. But when Abigail learns that the husband she’s begun to love has deceived her, it will take all of his warrior’s strength—and his wolf’s cunning—to win his wife back. And Talorc will have to face his biggest challenge yet: the vulnerability of a man in love…

Read an Excerpt | Buy the Book

Watch the Book Trailer

As a special thank you to readers, Lucy is giving away a prize pack of pamper yourself products and paranormal romance. All you have to do to enter is send an email with Moon Craving Contest in the subject line to moon_craving at yahoo dot com before February 28th, 2010. The drawing will be held March 1st and the winner will be announced on her blog at http://www.lucymonroeblog.blogspot.com.

My Mom

2010-01-04T22:01:00.002-10:00

Cicely M. McKendrick
of Manchester, WA
Formerly of Winnipeg, MB
April 21, 1922 to
October 13, 2009

Our dearest mother passed away at age 87 at Hospice of Kitsap County of congestive heart failure.

Cicely was born and grew up in Winnipeg, Manitoba to British parents, Kate Maria (Claydon) and George Albert Tolhurst. She was graduated from Issac Newton High School in 1939. At the outbreak of WWII Cicely joined the Women’s Royal Canadian Naval Service (WRCNS). When the war ended, Cicely chose to take Canadian citizenship and moved to Vancouver, BC where she worked as a stenographer for TWA until she met her husband, Iain McKendrick of Glasgow, Scotland. They married on June 17, 1949 and made their first home in the United States in Cleveland, Ohio before moving to Bellevue, Washington in 1950. The couple both earned U.S. citizenship in 1957. Cicely and Iain relocated to Southworth, Washington in 1962, where Cicely lived until 2005 when she moved to Manchester to be near her son and his family.

In the 1950's Cicely worked for the Bank of California. The 1960's saw her taking a wide variety of classes at Olympic College and graduating nursing school. This was a very busy time in her life as she was also assisting her husband as a secretary in his business and rearing her family. She later became a Master Gardener and Master Food Preserver. She joined many organizations, including a diabetes support group, Friends of the Library, a writers club, and bible study seminars.

Cicely read widely, enjoyed cross word puzzles,
bird watching, cooking shows, traveling to the U.K., Europe, and touring North America. Cicely, an animal lover, treasured her pets and contributed regularly to the Humane Society and other animal charities. We will miss her steadfastness, support, devotion, and love for us so much. Even through her battles with diabetes complications and painful physical challenges Cicely never lost her sophisticated, dry sense of humor nor her vigorous strength of will.

Cicely is preceded in death by her husband Iain (1981), her parents, and many friends.

Survivors include her son, Harry (Rita) of Manchester, daughter, Morag (Loren) of Honolulu, and two granddaughters, Kayla and Holly.

A private ceremony to scatter Cicely’s ashes is planned for Saturday, January 30, 2010.

Memorial donations may be made to the charity of one’s choice.

The New Extensions

2009-12-05T00:26:00.002-10:00

My 21st Wedding Anniversary Tattoos!

2009-09-07T16:40:00.008-10:00

The Scopion is Loren. The Quill, me.
T6he orange rose is for my mom

My 20th Anniversary Tattoo Completed!

2008-10-24T06:07:00.003-10:00

My 20th anniversary tattoo is finally finished! Even Loren likes it now. If you look carefully you can see 4 pairs of cat eyes peeking out of the foliage. They represent our kitties who are waiting for us at the Rainbow Bridge. Cats belong in the
jungle:-)

Great Joke Videos!

2008-09-17T18:13:00.003-10:00

Spew Alert!!
Yep, watch out for Scotswomen!

Our 20th Wedding Anniversary!

2008-09-11T14:24:00.001-10:00

Today is our 20th wedding anniversary!!

The New Tattoo

2008-08-13T02:43:00.001-10:00

The New Tattoo

This is a cover up of an 8 year old tattoo of poor workmanship. This new one is a jungle/tropical flower scene. Only half of it is done and I must wait at least 6 weeks to get the other half finished. It will end up curling around my ankle with an iris on the other side.
The blob of grey/black near the bottom is rocks at the end of a water fall. More definition at the second sitting.

Before

2008-08-13T02:42:00.002-10:00

After

2008-08-13T02:40:00.006-10:00

2008-08-13T02:40:00.001-10:00

THE PRINCELINGS 4TH BIRTHDAY PARTY!

2008-07-10T18:19:00.012-10:00

The Boys actually turned 4 on 25 May but we didn't hold the Birthday Bash until 5 July. Better late than never!

FOR MOTHER'S DAY

2008-05-08T19:41:00.001-10:00

My Mom!

Thursday 13
Thirteen Posts in Honor of Mother's Day

1) A man's work is from sun to sun, but a mother's work is never done.
~Author Unknown

2) Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.
~Anne Taylor

3) There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it.
~Chinese Proverb

4) The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men--from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms.
~Oliver Wendell Holmes

5) God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers.
~Jewish Proverb

6) When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.
~Sophia Loren

7) The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh

8) All mothers are working mothers.
~Author Unknown

9) Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
~George Cooper

10) It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder and violence every single day should be avoided entirely, but the desire to beget children is a natural urge.
~Phyllis Diller

11) Women's Liberation is just a lot of foolishness. It's the men who are discriminated against. They can't bear children. And no one's likely to do anything about that.
~Golda Meir

12) Mother--that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries.
~T. DeWitt Talmage

13) All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.
~Oscar Wilde

LOST!

2008-04-14T13:40:00.003-10:00

I'm going to be an extra on LOST the movie! How fabulous! Can hardly believe it.
5am call tomorrow morning!

Wedding Photo

2008-04-02T14:23:00.000-10:00

Hubby and me on our wedding day.

THE FREELOADER

2008-03-21T13:28:00.005-10:00

Part Five
THE FREELOADER

"Sweet, darling babies. Who are the most precious bundles of love? Why these sweet little honey-babies are! These are the dearest pets ever!"

Mephistopheles Cat and Nutmeg Cat luxuriated in the radiance that was Mama's loving voice as she made up the huge king-size bed. Mama could always be depended upon to recognize a Cat's true worth. The great orangey, white fluff ball that was Mephistopheles lounged on the window seat which overlooked the garden and deck. His sister, the lithe tabby, Nutmeg, had laid claim to a corner of the comforter still on the floor.

"Aren't these the best fur babies a Mama could have?!" Mama continued to coo as she tugged the comforter up - or tried to. "Nut-Nut sweetie, may I have the cover please?" Mama gently lifted her kitty from the bedding and finished her morning chore.

Lifting her gaze, Mama noticed Mephistopheles’ nose pressed to the glass, body rigid, and the fur along his back erect. His sister joined him, making growling noises in her throat. Curious, Mama wandered over to the window.

"Why look at this! And whose beautiful Himalayan kitty are you?" Mama was quite surprised to see a long haired, seal point Siamese reposing on her deck regarding her through lazy cobalt eyes.

"Oh the poor wee thing! His ribs are showing. This skinny kitty must be starving. We must feed him at once babies. My sweet darlings wouldn't mind sharing their food would they?"

"Meeoow," objected King Cat. "Mama that is a Freeloader! He's been begging from the neighbors for weeks. Papa even chased him from inside the garage the other day. He's been getting along just fine, so please don't encourage him. Besides, he's bound to be flea ridden, mite infested, and mangy."

"Meeoow," chimed in Nutmeg Cat. "Of course I mind sharing my sustenance Mama! He's perfectly capable of catching a mouse or - or, a skunk or something. I will not share my tuna or chicken hearts with anybody."

"Don't bet on it! Remember I'm King Cat and I will eat anything I choose." Mephistopheles looked his sister straight in the eye and swished his tail.

"I seem to recall you in Mama and Papa's bad graces the other evening when you climbed up the kitchen counter to attack the box of Pounce," Nutmeg reminded him slyly.

"The point is I ate a good many of them - as many as I chose as a matter of fact," he retorted rather proudly.

"You weren't very quick for a Cat, Bumble Butt! You were caught before you could clear the scene and disdainfully deny it!" Nutmeg's green eyes sparkled as she crowed with pleasure.

This was a sore spot indeed, but before Mephistopheles could reply, a howl from outside captured his attention. The Freeloader was emboldened by Mama's sweet voice and was now pacing and wailing in anticipation of some attention, which could mean a nibble or two.

"Of course my love kittens will share their food with you, you poor ravenous darling." Mama marched away to fulfill her mission.

Nutmeg Cat followed closely on Mama's heels. She must guide Mama's hands to the least important meals such as turkey or kitty stew. In fact the more of those given away the better. They were really much too bourgeois for a Princess's taste. Unfortunately, Mama had not been made to see this just yet.

Mama quickly prepared a water bowl and a dish of turkey with giblets. Nutmeg successful in her undertaking, unbent enough to feel just a tiny bit of sympathy for a homeless Cat and followed her Mama to the screened glass door. The Freeloader was standing on his hind legs pawing the screen.
"Oh you thoughtful sweetheart, you aren't even using your claws."

"That's because he doesn't have any," remarked Mephistopheles Cat dryly as he nudged Mama's leg. She paid no heed however, as she stepped out to the deck to set her offerings down for the delectation of the Freeloader. He promptly buried his head in the food dish.

"You need lots more don't you, you poor neglected kitty?" Mama continued to watch the hungry, scruffy creature gulp his meal.

"What's this?" Papa squeezed through the door to the deck so as not to let his Cats out. "No, no, and no," he shook his head as he comprehended the situation. "We have enough Cats! Two fur bags are annoying enough. We will not acquire a third! Take it to the Pound."

Even Mephistopheles and Nutmeg cringed and flattened their bodies on the floor at the mention of this nightmarish, bloodcurdling, chilling word. It was the Unmentionable Place. A destination so horrifying it did not bear thought. Only the most unlucky or cursed found their destiny here.

"I most certainly will not. I'm just feeding the poor famished beast. How could you refuse such a wretched creature - just look at him." Mama turned around only to find the Freeloader had abandoned his meal to cower behind her. "You've frightened him," she said in outraged tones. "Besides you love Mepher and Nut-Nut to distraction -- you can't fool me or them!"

Papa rubbed his face wearily knowing he was defeated. "He can't come in the house until he has seen the Vet. Lord only knows what he's got: Feline Leukemia, Feline Aides, fleas, or multiple infections for all we know." Papa sighed and shook his head. He noticed the stray was now placidly eating from his dish. Smart Cat indeed.

"He must have been someone's cherished pet at one time. It seems he's a purebred Himalayan sans claws." Mama remarked.

"That's something I suppose," Papa said as he entered the house. Once inside he thoughtfully inquired, "Have you asked these Snippets how they feel about welcoming an interloper into their midst?"

Mama peered through the screen. "Well, precious purr boxes? You two enjoy such a warm, cozy home, all the food you can eat, and all the love and attention you can tolerate. How about extending some of this bounty to a poor, unfortunate Cat with no home?"
"Meow," expostulated Mephistopheles Cat indignantly. "Over my fur-less body! That is a Freeloader and I will not have him in my home! You can't have forgotten I am King! He will not even breathe on my cat box! In short, he is not welcome in my domain!" Mephistopheles Cat could not remember having been so agitated.

"Meow! Meeoow!" Nutmeg Cat paced to and fro before the screen protesting resentfully. "I shall not share my delicacies with this bedraggled, un-groomed, grubby vagrant. He is a derelict who belongs under the bush in which he has been living! I will not have my tranquillity and solitude intruded upon!" The Princess intensely disliked any sort of excitement and this tumultuous hubbub was almost too much for her dainty fortitude.

"Why their enthusiasm is obvious," cried Mama in delight. "They would love company! You little loves, how generous of you to open your home to a helpless and homeless Cat!"

"I believe you are misinterpreting the Snippets' reaction. They are quite perturbed and no wonder - they have been our only and very spoiled beasts for all their five years. They are rejecting him," said Papa intuitively.

But Mama did not hear him and bent down to touch her new kitty. "What shall we name you Honey-Bunny?"

The Freeloader melted under his new Mama's caress. No one had treated him with this beneficence since his former People had lost him. She was quite perceptive, too. She was aware that he was an exquisite, rare purebred seal point Himalayan who's only calling was to be spoiled and cosseted. Yes, he had chosen wisely: he would be quite happy with these People.

"He has been such a brave Cat to survive in the Wild with no claws. And weren't the Siamese considered royalty? We'll call him Pendragon after a courageous and triumphant king," declared Mama.

"Dragon breath," murmured the real King sulkily as he trotted off in search of a sufficiently forbidden activity to properly show his dissent. Perchance a plump roll of toilet paper shredded and trailed about the house. No, much too tame. This required something really special.

Ahh - hah! Just the thing! The very essence of himself strategically deposited in significant locations! Mmm, where first? Perhaps a kitchen chair...or a high heeled shoe......

SPOILED BEASTS

2008-03-14T22:43:00.002-10:00

Part Five
SPOILED BEASTS
"Just look at the lazy louts!" Papa exclaimed in disgust as he entered the bedroom. He peeled off his jacket and aimed it at a nearby chair.

"How adorable they are." Mama smiled as she came to a halt at the end of the bed. She crinkled the paper bag she carried just a bit. No response.

Nutmeg Cat had curled her lithe form into a ball atop her Papa's pillow. Mephistopheles Cat stretched, smearing his long orangey, white hair on his Papa's jeans, which had been thrown carelessly at the foot of the bed. Pendragon Cat alone acknowledged his Peoples' presence. Situated at the opposite end of the bed from his Nemesis, Nutmeg, he blinked sleepily and extended a welcoming paw.

"Ha! All these spoiled beasts do is eat, sleep, and sh-"

"Meeow!" Nutmeg loudly interrupted her Papa as she abandoned her pillow and dashed toward Mama. Her sensitive nose had been the first to discover the contents of the paper sack. She nosed it violently, crying "Catnip! Catnip! Oh please give it to me now Mama!"

Mephistopheles, now excited by the glorious scent was demanding his share and pushing his sister out of the way. Pendragon wandered over for whiff but failed to find what the fuss was about. The palm size pillows Mama drew out smelled no more interesting than grass. Now grass was not to be neglected,by any means. It harbored all the Cat news one could possibly desire. Occasionally, one was even driven to eating it. But it certainly didn't merit all the agitation that these silly mongrels were exhibiting.

He watched as Mephistopheles Cat roughly buried his nose in his prize, fell over on his side still clutching it, then let loose of it only to lie on top of it, staring off into space with decidedly glassy eyes.

Nutmeg pounced on her cushion, rubbing her face in it and drooling all over it. She hooked her claws in and rolled until she fell right off the bed to the floor. The ridiculous creature didn't even seem to notice, for she lay on the Persian rug with her mouth wide open and head swaying to and fro.

"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!" Pendragon Cat howled his pleasure at this ludicrous scene.
"Ha! Ha! Breeding will tell! What absurd Mongrels -"

Pendragon's diatribe was cut short by salmon and tuna treats thrust under his nose. Now this was an event worthy of animation! Pendragon Cat inhaled his delights with aplomb. As he was licking his whiskers in gratification he was annoyed by a bit of fluff toying with his ears. He raised his cobalt gaze to find his tormentor was a colorful bouquet of bright feathers attached to a stick held by Papa. The skirmish was on! He batted, he rolled, he feinted, he wrestled, he bullied, and finally just to show who was really in charge, took it between his teeth, shook it ferociously, spit it out and strutted from the room in triumph. An especially magnificent exit considering he was also leaving in his wake two Cats of dubious lineage and wit, unconscious and drooling all over themselves.

Sometime later Mephistopheles awoke from his splendorous stupor. He unsteadily gained his feet to go forth and find his People. He was needing the security of a lap. Ahh, perfect. He found Mama and Papa at the table enjoying an evening snack. He landed heavily on Mama.

"Mepher! Get down at once!" Papa was rather choosy in his dining companions: He demanded table manners and in his opinion, Cats had none.

Mephistopheles continued to stare at Mama adoringly, if a bit blearily. He touched his cold, wet nose to hers.

"Pay no attention to Papa, Sweetie-Pie. In fact you have my permission to bite him when you are feeling a bit more energetic." Mama glanced up at Papa. "Leave him be, he's just experiencing a catnip hangover."

"You're just encouraging him to beg at the table." Papa gathered his used place setting to dispose of in the kitchen.

"He needs no encouragement." Mama fed King Cat a morsel of roast chicken from her plate. "Do you, darling bunny cat?"

It was indeed a measure of Mephistopheles Cat's sedate state that he took no offense to this indignity. He savored his treat and snuggled himself deeper in Mama's lap to continue his nap. He was quite oblivious to the fact that Mama was now done and ready to move into the living room with Papa. Mama lovingly gathered her kitty and took him to his papa for deposit before cleaning the remnants of their light meal.

Slowly rising through layers of slumber, Nutmeg blinked her eyes. It was time to let Mama and Papa know how much she truly appreciated the special treat in which she had just indulged. Perhaps they might bring it home more often! Pendragon Cat was too much of a simpleton to be aware of what he was missing! She could almost feel sorry for his inability to capture the euphoria, the rapture, the bliss that was catnip! It did leave one a bit fatigued, however. Her wobbly gait took her to the kitchen where Mama was giving bedtime treats. Goodness, she had been in dreamland a good long while!

"You shouldn't give them so many, it can't be good for them." Papa had turned off the TV and was straightening the coffee table.

"But the sweet babies love them! Of course they should have lots," replied Mama giving out crab Pounces by the handful. "That's all darlings, they're all gone now."

"You don't say that when I'm eating ice cream," Papa said sulkily.

"Well you're not a precious little fur rascal are you?" Mama turned out the lights and followed Papa to the bedroom.

"Meeow," replied Papa hopefully.

"Then you won't mind sharing their kitty boxes instead of using the toilet before retiring. And dinner will be so much easier. All I will have to do is open a can of kitty stew for you," quipped Mama as she donned her nightgown.

"Very funny." Papa made himself comfortable in bed, adjusting blankets and plumping pillows. "Come to bed."

"The cats are waiting for their nightcap," Mama said over her shoulder as she headed toward the master bathroom.
Mephistopheles and Nutmeg were waiting faithfully in the bathtub for their post treat sip of water. After all, why would one drink from a bowl when Mama poured fresh from the faucet? King Cat drank greedily from the running stream of water while his sister licked drops from the side of the tub. Mmm, delicious! Mama didn't turn off the water until Mephistopheles Cat leaped to the floor. He knew he must dry himself before he took up his kingly position at the end of the bed.

Nutmeg Cat stayed to lap up every last drop. Perhaps she would even spend the night here. When the Siamese Tyrant came hunting, thinking to trounce her she would laugh at his efforts to find her from the safety of a secret hide-out.

At last Mama slipped between the sheets. "I trust the little good-for-nothings have been taken care of because you have more important things to do," whispered Papa as he purposefully drew Mama to him.

"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama you can't have forgotten Me?!"

"Oh dear, I've forgotten lay a bit of fresh litter for the Dragon. He does insist upon it at bedtime you know," Mama sighed as she climbed down from the bed. "Otherwise he'll ask for it all night."

"So ignore him." Papa flung himself back on his pillow in exasperation. "Just who is more important here anyway -- those opportunistic fur weasels or me, your hardworking, loving husband?"

"Well," Mama replied reasonably on her way to the cat boxes. "Those 'opportunistic fur weasels' vie to be the first to warm my icy feet and actually enjoy my morning breath kisses!"

"Hmph, they're welcome to them," Papa grumbled.

Mephistopheles Cat felt this complaint against the Queen required reprimand. He did this by vaulting on the bed and selecting a spot where Mama could be snuggled and Papa ignored.

"I suppose you want the bed divided into thirds too, you flea bag," commented Papa before he huffily turned his back.

It was really just as well Papa understood his position, reflected Mephistopheles Cat as he sprawled, taking at least as much room as Papa mentioned. After all, there could hardly be two Kings in this domain!

THE HOMECOMING

2008-03-10T17:49:00.003-10:00

Part Three
THE HOMECOMING

Mephistopheles Cat raised his orangey white head from his paws to gaze intently at the entry door. He had a direct view from his perch at the top of the recliner. The ball of luxurious tabby fur that was his sister Nutmeg chirped at him from her nest in the seat of the recliner as they exchanged knowing glances. Both confidently resumed their morning naps. It had been a gloomy two days indeed for the Cats despite the bright sunshine filling the apartment. Their People had been absent and were sorely missed.

Pendragon Cat was licking the last of his morning munch from his whiskers when he caught a whiff of kitty intuition. "MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama and Papa are coming home today! I just know it! I'm so excited! Just think of all the hugs and kisses I'll get and all the attention! How wonderful after the depressing company you two provide." He flung a superior look in the general direction of the recliner.

"Do please spare us the hairballs you work up when you are so impassioned," drawled Mephistopheles. "We do not wish to be blamed for them."

Pendragon Cat fluffed his fur and swished his tail. "Enthusiasm is a distinguished feature bestowed upon my exalted lineage." He held his nose high in the air. "Not a quality one would expect a victim of mixed breed such as yourself to understand."

Nutmeg Cat lifted her innocent green eyes and entered the fray. "It is rather thought to be a trait of inbreeding as well."

Inbreeding? It could not possibly be true. Could it? Of course not. Such tragedies did not happen to the Noble Siamese!

"Impossible and not worthy of comment!" Pendragon declared, trotting off to his morning constitutional.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid we are in for a tantrum," Nutmeg groaned.

"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!" Pendragon Cat burst from the cat box room kicking up his hind paws with every other step. "That was the most disgusting experience of my entire life."

He shuddered delicately and settled himself before the door to await his People.
Excitement mounted as the Arrival grew closer. The Cats carefully groomed themselves to look their finest. Faces were cleaned, claws trimmed, and tails smoothed.
Pendragon stirred first, and being a volatile Cat he just could not help expelling a perfectly formed hairball in celebration of his People's Return. Quite proud of himself, he pranced about the foyer as Mama and Papa entered.

"What have you been up to you scoundrels?" Papa's voice boomed in welcome. He promptly grabbed Mephistopheles Cat from his roost to rub his belly vigorously. Papa then placed his favorite kitty around his neck. "I'll be wearing my Mephers!"

The King Cat sighed deeply. One must humor Papa -- especially after a long absence. Still, it wasn't quite as bad as the indignity of being called a 'bird'. He had a feeling it was coming soon, too.

"What darling little love birds we have," cooed Mama. "We missed you sweeties." She eyed Mephistopheles Cat's precarious position. "Watch out for little Mephers, I don't think he's very comfortable up there."

"Little? He's a big, fat beast! And he loves it. Don't you, you purring fur weasel?" Papa did not notice the lack of response and continued to stroke the King Kitty's soft fur.

Mama bent to caress her Dragon Cat. He stretched as she played her fingers down his back.

"Yuk! Pendragon! Not another hair ball!" He watched as Mama set about cleaning up his offering. What was all the fuss about? That superlative specimen was in honor of the Homecoming! It showed how truly upset he became when Abandoned!

Nutmeg raced ahead of Mama and Papa as they hauled their big black monsters into the bedroom to unpack. Having an aversion to Flurries of Activity, she scurried under the bed. After all, one could be tripped over or trod upon. Besides the presence of a Princess was not bequeathed without sufficient begging. However, one could always be bribed with a treat.

Pendragon resented the commotion. Where was the adulation he so deserved? This was not to be endured! To show his irritation he prowled to and fro under as many feet as he could manage -- all the while wailing unceasingly.

"MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! Mama and Papa finish this nonsense at once!"

Mephistopheles simply disregarded any busyness he encountered. He purred as he twined around ankles, placed paws on knees, and rubbed his face in welcoming hands. Kings were never ignored. Mama realized this and finally picked him up for sweet snuggles. Her neck made a cozy place to bury his head while he purred ecstatically.

"Pendragon you silly cat, do be quiet," Mama shifted the warm furry bulk in her arms. "Papa has escaped to the living room, so go visit him."

"Inflict himself you mean." Papa unfolded his newspaper and opened it. "Come here you little treat bandit."

Pendragon Cat instantly forgot the poise demanded of pure seal point Himalayans and ran to the most coveted perch in the house. He leaped on his Papa's lap and rolled over on his back to gaze adoringly into his Papa's eyes. He lay dreamily making starfish feet while he enjoyed his long awaited tummy rub.

Meanwhile Mephistopheles closely monitored Mama as she attended the cat box room. After all, Royal Advice could be needed at any time. He didn't admit for one moment that he didn't want Mama out of his sight lest she disappear again for days. He followed on her heels to his favorite room where she gathered old kitty dishes to clean and prepare a new Cat Meal.

Pendragon abandoned Papa as his nose caught the scent of tuna. The savory smell even enticed Nutmeg Cat out of hiding. The Favorite was being served!

Mephistopheles left his dish after only a few bites. Mama had joined Papa on the couch. Their attention was captured by the perplexing box of light and movement. It occurred to him they would be better employed petting and playing with Cats than worshipping that silly thing every night. They really must get their priorities straight, he mused as he snuggled into his Papa's lap and hooked a possessive paw in the shirt offered. He drifted off to the first contented sleep in days. Homecoming was almost as good being King.

Nutmeg soon followed her brother choosing to gift herself to Mama. She reflected on the strange smells from far away places emanating from her People, and was determined to seek out the treasures they had brought home -- tomorrow. Homecoming, a tuna supper, and a lovely lap were all the treasures she required at the moment.

After licking the last tidbit from his bowl, Pendragon was nonplussed to find both laps occupied. He glanced longingly at the nearly full dishes next to his -- his time in the Wilds was not soon forgotten. He turned his back on the precious food to climb high on the back of the couch. "After all," he reasoned, as he nestled between Mama's and Papa's heads, tickling their ears with his whiskers. "Nothing was better than Homecoming."

Except perhaps a good loud howl!

2008-03-06T15:44:00.002-10:00

Part Two
THE ABANDONMENT

The great, grotesque monster lay on the bed, its hideous underbelly slit open. The yawning aperture seemed to sneer at Mephistopheles Cat as he froze in his tracks in the bedroom doorway.

His degagee attitude was quickly replaced by terror as he realized what this obscene ogre portended. Then Mama bustled out of the closet with several items of clothing slung over one arm. He watched with dread as she carefully folded the garments and placed them inside the beastly creature.

Who would watch over his subjects when they left his kingdom, the King Kitty wondered? Despair washed over him as he speculated how many days and nights he would be without warm laps, comforting cuddles, and sweet voices telling him he was a handsome, darling boy. Then of course, there were the practicalities of being deserted: stale food and a polluted kitty box. The water however, wasn't bad at all -- a few days actually gave it a bit of character.

Perhaps he could persuade Mama and Papa to stay home -- if not they would take part of him with them! With these lovely thoughts in mind he bravely bounded straight into the jaws of the Creature, his landing cushioned by a pile of neatly arranged garments. He nosed and kneaded these before raising imploring pale blue eyes to Mama.

"Mepher! Now your fur is everywhere!" Mama began brushing frantically at the orangey, white fluff now decorating her apparel.

Nutmeg Cat, grooming her sleek tabby coat in the midst of a treasured sunbeam before the living room glass door, stopped short at Mama's distressed voice. She valued a serene environ-ment, but it usually paid to find the reason for anxiety before hiding.

Horrors! They were being abandoned! Something must be done. Immediately. Drastic measures must be taken. She must keep Mama too busy to pack! Leaping on the bed and chirping in her most charming voice, she gave Mama insistent head-buts. "Mama you must see what an enchanting little dear I am. How can you leave me?"

Apparently, Mama wasn't as enamored as she should have been. Nutmeg was crushed when she was gently shooed. She retreated to a forbidden pillow to closely observe the un-folding drama.

"Aren't you ready yet? Hurry! What's keeping you?" Papa inquired as he entered the room.

"You know how I hate leaving the kitties. The sweet babies are helping me pack." Mama glanced affectionately at Nutmeg and stroked an ear belonging to Mephistopheles.

"Sweet babies nothing," Papa said cheerfully. "They're nothing but furry little bags of sh-."

"Don't you dare say such things in front of the darlings," interrupted Mama in an affronted voice. "I don't know how you get away with treating them so carelessly. They adore you. While I must work so hard for their affection: feeding, watering, and littering the little fur rascals."

At this Mephistopheles Cat placed a proprietary paw on Mama's hand. "And we love you for it Mama," he purred. "Nobody could take such excellent care of us as you do."

"Cute little pussy cats always love me," said Papa suggestfully as he leered at Mama. His gaze dropped to the suitcase. "Listen to the motor on that tank. Certainly matches his size."

Normally Mephistopheles worshipped his Papa, but this irreverence was too much at such a distressing time. He treated his Papa to an indignant glare before whisking himself from the room. He headed to his favorite dining room chair to wait out the Departure. It was time for the Show of Indifference.

Pendragon was nearly knocked off his paws by Mephistopheles Cat's sudden flight. He comprehended at once what was occurring as he peered into the room. He immediately wailed his terror at being left alone. (One couldn't possibly count two cheeky mongrels as company).

"No, no please don't leave me Mama and Papa. MEEOOWW, MEEOOWW."

Why, who would give him treats at bedtime? Who would provide a warm, cozy lap? Who would scratch his chin and tell him what a gorgeous, but annoying Cat he was? He knew of course, that he wasn't really annoying. Pure seal point Himalayan Cats couldn't possibly be anything but a model of the Perfect Pet. It was just something silly Mama and Papa told him. They were always saying silly things. It was just one of those idiosyncrasies one tolerated from one's People.

"MEEOOWW. MEEOOWW."

Uncomfortable with the charged scene before her, Nutmeg Cat bounded down from her pillow to sharpen her claws on the prized Persian rug.

"Naughty, naughty, naughty cat Nutmeg." Mama made an unsuccessful grab for Nutmeg as she dived under the bed.

Pendragon was incensed that a mere Tabby Cat should steel his thunder in the middle of one of his magnificent wails. He hissed in warning.

Nutmeg peeked from her hiding place to growl right back at him. "You can't intimidate me you ridiculous creature -- you have no claws!"

Pendragon swished his tail and raised his chin. "And I survived quite nicely, too," he bragged. "I lived in the Wilds for months after my former People lost me. It's really not surprising considering my superior pedigreed intelligence." He preened himself before giving forth a triumphant yowl.

"Wilds?! The only hunting you did was choosing from which neighbor's bowl of milk to drink before Mama and Papa brought you home. And your People did not 'lose' you -- they escaped from you!"

"Why, what a jealous--."

"Out cats! We're leaving now so get out from under foot." Papa led the way to the outer door, practically dragging Mama with him. She managed a farewell before being hauled over the threshold: "I'll miss you sweeties. We'll be back soon."

Hearing the lock click into place a melancholy Mephistopheles Cat developed a sudden urge to demonstrate his Dominance. He did so by sauntering casually over to the round scratching pad and covering it with his not inconsiderable bulk. He then proceeded to groom himself as if he hadn't a care in the world. It didn't do to wear one's emotions on one's paw -- after all, he was King.

Princess or not, poor little Nutmeg Cat experienced such anxiety she could only creep behind the couch to hide. Once there, she made herself as tiny as she could manage.

And the Pendragon Cat. Ahh, the Pendragon Cat. Why, he indulged in his favorite pastime, of course: he howled and howled and howled.

The Abandonment had begun.

The Howling

2008-03-02T17:11:00.005-10:00

4 am
“Mama, my cat box is filthy!” Pendragon’s howl pierced the night’s silence. Someone,” he flicked his cobalt eyes over his shoulder resentfully. The twenty pound Mephistopheles Cat was serenely grooming his long orangey, white fur.

“Someone,” he repeated “has fouled it!”
“Do wake up please! It reeks and is much too messy for a delicate pure Siamese such as my-self.”

“Bloody sod! Shut up!”

“But Mama-----” The missile hit Pendragon square in the ribs. Pendragon uttered a gasp of pure delight, the kitty box momentarily forgotten as he ecstatically buried his nose in the pungent sock. Papa’s were the best, if one didn’t count his shoes, but those delicacies were particularly difficult to indulge in. They rivaled the best tuna supper! It was so easy to forget oneself enough to chew them a bit....well, perhaps more than just a bit. Now both Mama and Papa kept him well away from those tempting morsels. Which made the socks all the more
succulent. Pendragon howled his pleasure. And howled again.

“MEEEOOWW MEEOOWW!

MEEOOWW!”

“Good God, is he at again? SHUT UP PENDRAGON!” Papa growled from the bed.

“Go to sleep you silly cat, it’s the middle of night. You won’t be getting anything until the alarm rings in a few hours,” Mama murmured from the bed.

Pendragon yowled again. “Mama I cannot be expected to use the box after that oaf--”

“Watch it you nat-furred little pipsqueek,” Mephistopheles purred dangerously, “ you are privileged to use my facilities, be they putrid or pristine. Remember I am King in this house-hold. Nutmeg Cat is Princess, Papa is Prince, and of course Mama is undisputed Queen. You Pendragon Cat are a flea. Supremely unimportant in this hierarchy. Now be quiet -- your caterwauling make Mama and Papa cranky and this ruins my royal muse.”

“Nat-furred---!! What defamation! What libel! Why, I am a pure seal point Himalayan! I am in possession of the most beautiful, smooth coat that a mongrel such as yourself could only envy!”

Mephistopheles Cat was actually quite proud of his Red Point/Maine Coon heritage, but thought it beneath him respond in any way besides turning his regal back.

“After all,” he thought as climbed up the back of the recliner, “I am King.” And from this high spot Pendragon looked quite insignificant --- and in trouble judging from Papa’s angry visage as bore down on the Dragon Cat.

No sooner had the howl left Pendragon’s throat that he was lifted high in the air.

“WHOA! I’m not a football, Papa! I’m an exquisite, sensitive purebred!”

Pendragon found himself ignored and ignobly deposited in the cat box room.
“No! No! Not here! Don’t leave me here. MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW! The stench is
too much for my delicate nose! MEEOOWW! MEEOOWW!”

“Howl all you want we won’t be able to hear you in there.” Papa was already on his way back to bed. “Maybe we can still salvage some sleep,” he murmured as he crawled between the sheets.

Nutmeg Cat, oblivious to any existing tensions awoke refreshed from her nap feeling affectionate. Her green eyes glowing, the sleek, silver mackerel tabby leaped on the bed hoping to snag a snuggle. Papa gave the most delicious tummy rubs and Mama could always be counted upon to stroke the ears just so. Now... who to gift with a cold wet nose first?

“Hmph! What the--! Nutmeg! Settle yourself my girl, it not time to get up. Go back to sleep. Now.” Mama reburied herself in the pillows.

Nutmeg found herself shooed gently away. She couldn’t possibly go back to her nap when so much love was bubbling inside her begging to be let out. Perhaps a soft kneed on Papa’s chest would ease her loving feelings toward her Family. He smelled so good and was just as warm as her favorite nest by the dining room heater. The dining room was only better because food was served there. The aroma and anticipation of a possible treat was a momentous evening event. The excitement of the possible bestowal of a succulent tidbit didn’t make being pushed away quite as hurtful.

Uh-oh Papa didn’t appreciate Nutmeg Cat’s avowal of undying love. She was pushed
away again. How provoking, indeed! To show her irritation she prowled the bed, avoiding kicking legs before jumping off and strutting off to a corner where she could watch her People until they awoke.

Mephistopheles Cat, bored with his perch bounded down from the recliner and headed toward the bedroom to remind Mama and Papa that while it was all well and good to have silenced Pendragon Cat, one mustn’t leave a door closed in his domain. One never knew when King Cat might fancy a toddle through its portals. No, a closed door wouldn’t do at all.

After vaulting up the bed he let his displeasure be known with a series of soft meows, head buts, and nose nudges. These were fail safe methods of receiving the most loving of reponces: soft strokes, sweet voices, comforting cuddles. However, in this case the fail safes failed!

“No Mepher! We are trying to sleep. Settle yourself. Go away!” Papa turned his back.

Mama fortunately was not so immune to his technique. “Damn, he’s got use his litter box.” At last Mama was up and doing Mephistopheles Cat’s bidding. It was good to be King!

As soon as the cat box room door was released Pendragon wailed his thanks. “Oh
Lord,” Mama mumbled as she returned to the bedroom, “Gold fish wouldn’t keep us awake all night.”

At that Papa sat up, announcing in dire tones, “Do you hear that Cats! Your
Mother wishes to replace you all with goldfish!”

Absolute silence reigned as the Cats crept to the dining room.

“You don’t really-” Pendragon stopped abruptly to clear his throat. A croaky voice wouldn’t at all do coming from one with such an unsullied pedigree as himself. He started again, more confidently this time. “ Mama wouldn’t truly replace us with - with Goldfish?”

He just couldn’t help it, he let loose a bellow of fear and uncertainty, “MEEEEOOOWW!”

“Hush you dimwit!” Nutmeg Cat circled the requisite three times before nesting herself almost against the heater at the opposite end from Pendragon Cat. “She may replace you with a fish because you’re so noisy. She would never get rid of the Mephistopheles Cat or myself. Sometimes we’re not in the Mood for Them, this is just one of those times--”

At this Pendragon Cat, still nervous interjected, “Oh but, I’m always in the Mood for Mama and Papa! Always!!”

“Your brain must be as scruffy as your fur, Pendragon Cat,” Mephistopheles Cat replied scornfully. “Mama and Papa would never substitute us for fish. Even you, I’m pained to say. After all, we are the Center of their world.” With that Mephistopheles Cat lowered his head to resume grooming that part of himself which he had always secretly suspected Papa was a bit jealous of his ability to accomplish. Perhaps that was why Papa had taken him in to have parts of it removed. Oh, well, sacrifices were sometimes required. But it was good to be King.

Thursday 13

2007-12-12T22:45:00.001-10:00

13 Things I love about the Holiday Season

1) Christmas is my birthday so I get a cake all to myself with lots of butter cream frosting!

2) The wonderful Holiday spirit

3) Christmas Carols

4) Christmas movies

5) Attending Holiday parties

6) Shopping the merchandise that comes in only for the Holidays

7) Staying in touch with family and friends

8) Sending and receiving Christmas cards

9) Indulging in candies rarely eaten outside of the Holiday Season

10) Choosing special gifts for special people

11) Decorating the house

12) Remembering Christmas past

13) Spending time with loved ones

What are your favorite things about this time of year?

A Great Review

2007-09-16T22:58:00.000-10:00

Perfidia - Elspeth McKendrick

Perfidia
Elspeth McKendrick
Dorchester

Romantic Suspense/Historical Romance

In 1937, Sophie de Havilland left England for Germany once she discovered the shocking truth about her fiancé, vowing never to return. For the past two years, she’s lived in Berlin with her Aunt Augusta, widow of a German Baron. Sophie admires the way the German government has pulled Germany out of the complete chaos that followed World War I. According to Herr Hitler, SS officers have a duty to procreate both in and out of marriage with young Aryan woman, the better to increase the Aryan race. When war is declared in September of 1939, Sophie, like many others, assumes that Germany will win quickly and that their lives will remain mostly undisturbed.

In the days leading up the declaration of open war, Aunt Augusta asks Sophie to help her leave the country. Augusta wants Sophie to come with her, but Sophie refuses. An incredibly clumsy attempt at blackmail puts Sophie in the hands of an intimidating SS officer, Karl von Richten. Karl agrees to help smuggle Augusta out of Germany, but demands payment. Sophie must move into his home, live with him, and pose as his mistress. Such arrangements carry no stigma after Hitler’s edict, but Sophie is wary. Only when Karl promises that she will be a mistress in appearance only does she agree. Karl tells Sophie in no uncertain terms to stay out of his business, but Sophie becomes curious. Her curiosity could get them both killed.

I admit that, at the outset, I wanted to shake Sophie for her incredibly naïve and myopic view of the Nazi regime. Then I realized that, as a member of the aristocracy, and as someone who enjoyed the good favor of high-ranking officials, Sophie would be mostly sheltered from the horrible realities. It’s amazing that the author manages to take this rather selfish woman and turn her into a heroine with a spine and a brain; in short, a character who is likeable. But that’s what happens here. Sometime around the midpoint of the story, I realized that I was rooting for Sophie.

The story takes place between September and November of 1939, the very early days of what would become World War II. Set in Berlin, the reader gets a rare inside glimpse of the enemy camp during this time. Even characters who are dedicated to the Nazi ideals do not come off as caricatures. They’re real people, caught up in events that are too overwhelming to comprehend. It’s obvious that quite a lot of research went into this novel, and each chapter begins with a date and the historical highlights. It’s fascinating to juxtapose what we know now to the actions and beliefs of the characters who are “living” through the events. The romance is lovely, but it’s really the historical context that makes this one a real standout.

Rating: 8
September 2007
ISBN# 978-0-505-52739-4
posted by Deborah Hern

One More Time - I Couldn't Resist

2007-09-09T11:15:00.001-10:00

Allow me to introduce you to something fresh, yet filled with nostalgia, suspense and romance. A tempting story served with a twist...something that will keep you turning those pages.
By Cerri Ellis

PERFIDIA
by Elspeth McKendrick

Sophie de Havilland fled London and her past, vowing never to return. In Germany she sought solace, with her aunt, and couldn’t help but admire how the Third Reich had reclaimed a country so near ruin. But soon the veneer crumbled. Beneath the frenetic nightlife of 1939 Berlin, the swirling parties with the dashing SS in their night-black uniforms and their beautiful dames, she saw cancer growing. Stories of an impossible nature—terrible stories, terrible crimes—she began to believe.

These Nazis were Germany’s demon lover: handsome, fearsome, faithless, murderous. Her aunt had been right to seek escape. But, was it possible? One man offered hope: a handsome half-American. But while his spicy scent and strong arms seduced her with safety, the lightning on his collar and his searing blue eyes reminded her that sometimes the handsomest faces hid perfidious intent.

McKendrick writes with a fluid style she uses to pull you into her world. Perfidia is no exception. The story is a long, dangerous curve of hidden passions; of innocence smashed under the heels of broken illusion. The romance balances on a blade's edge as suspicions fly.

The author stretches her powerful voice, flush with emotion, and enables the reader to immerse themselves safely within a frightening time in our history. The narrowed focus set against this backdrop delineates the fine character studies of her hero and heroine. Sophie's thoughts, feelings and words made it seem as though I were reading the journal of a very personal experience. Living history as opposed to a stagnant tale rehashed once more for the masses. Brilliant, Ms. McKendrick. I may have to eat my words. Please pass the ketchup.

Leisure/Lovespell • Paperback • September 2007 • ISBN-10: 0505527391, ISBN-13: 978-0505527394 • 321 pages

5 Cup Review From Coffee Time Romances

2007-09-06T21:59:00.000-10:00

PERFIDIA
Morag McKendrick Pippin
ISBN# 0505527391
September 2007
Leisure Books/Dorchester Publishing Co.
200 Madison Ave., New York, NY 10016
Paperback
$6.99
320 Pages
Historical Romantic Suspense
Rating: 5 cups

Sophia de Havilland is a young woman who fled her native England when she walked in on her betrothed having sex with another man. She lives with her aunt in Berlin, Germany. Hitler rules Germany with an iron hand and Sophia is one of his favored Aryan misses. However all is not as it seems, and when Sophia is introduced to a handsome half American SS officer, it is not long before she begins to see the light in more ways than one with his help. Her emotions regarding him are mixed, but the attraction is definitely there.

Karl Von Richten is playing a dangerous game. Embroiled deeply in SS politics and one of Hitler’s right hand men, he also helps “undesirables” escape Germany to a better life. He truly cares for Sophie almost from the beginning and tries in subtle ways to show her that Hitler and his plans for Germany are bad. In the process he falls for her hard, but feels he cannot truly have her, at least not in any permanent sense.

When Sophie’s aunt wants to escape Germany and return to England, Sophie goes to Karl for help. Karl arranges for Sophie’s aunt to get away, but in return he asks Sophie to pose as his mistress. Worried that he will want more from her than she is willing to give, at first she is unsure. However, when he assures her she will not be expected to be intimate with him, and that it will help to protect her from the SS figuring out the truth about her aunt, she goes along with it. Karl slowly but surely educates Sophie on what the Third Reich is really doing and it is only a short time before Sophie is helping him. But Karl has a greedy half-brother who wants his home, his lands and his title and who will stop at nothing to get them, even if it means turning his own brother in. Will Sophie and Karl be able to defeat this evil man?

Perfidia is an action packed book that gives a very detailed look at the Third Reich, and all the atrocities and corruption that the regime engendered. The reader is easily able to follow Sophie’s progress from supporter of Hitler to rebel and spy as the clues are laid out one by one. The author does a splendid job of showing that not all German officers agreed with Hitler. Karl is mesmerizing as the SS officer who wants his country back and who will do anything to see that goal accomplished. Historically accurate down to the last detail, this book gives a bird’s eye view into a world that unless you were actually there would be hard to understand, and yet Ms. Pippin pulls it off beautifully. I highly recommend this book both for its romance and history.

Regina
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books

5 Star Review from Cata Romance!

2007-09-05T12:10:00.001-10:00

PERFIDIA by Elspeth McKendrick
Reviews
Love Spell
Genre: historical
ISBN: 0505527391
Page Count: 320
Price: $6.99
Reviewer: Donna Zapf
Sensuality Rating: Sizzling
Star Rating: 5 Stars
Author's Website: http://www.moragmckendrickpippin.com/mainpage.html

Elspeth McKendrick, a new pen name for a favorite author, creatively weaves the atrocities of WWII Germany with a timeless romance forged by a love that is tested beyond human endurance.

Sophie de Havilland left England for good when she discovered her fiancé in a compromising position with another man. She arrived in Germany to live with her widowed aunt just as the Third Reich came into power. Sophie openly admired the social changes that appeared to revitalize Germany. But even as she enjoyed the pleasures of the aristocracy, the real evil that was the German Nazis and especially the Gestapo was reveled to her. Her aunt begs Sophie to find some way to leave Germany and it just so happens that a German SS officer is willing to help, if Sophie remains with him as his pretend lover.

Sturmbannfhrer Barron Karl von Richten is not what he seems. Sophie is mesmerized by his piercing blue eyes and his handsome face but what does he really want of her. Karl assures Sophie that he will not touch her physically and only wants a ruse to keep other women away. All officers are expected to “breed” well and often, thus women are always being pushed on them. Sophie and her friends tread a perilous existence keeping in favor with the elite of the party but what of Karl, is he capable of perfidy? He has too many secrets and they are beginning to involve Sophie.

PERFIDIA, a nail-biting, edge of your seat, romantic thriller that had me steadily turning pages and blocking out the world while I raced to the conclusion, is the debut novel of talented Elspeth McKendrick. Captivating characters and a creative storyline that just would not let me go make PERFIDIA a riveting read. Personally, stories that intertwine history with fictionalized author creations are my favorite. The author must investigate, invent and immerse her readers in order to make the story come to life and Ms. McKendrick does that to perfection. The progressively budding romance between Karl and Sophie melted my heart and had me weeping as they suffered together for what they believed, trusting each other and ultimately willing to die for each other. Elspeth McKendrick has won a loyal fan with PERFIDIA, a most fascinating book.

Release date September 2007

PERFIDIA LAUNCH PARTY!

2007-08-30T14:04:00.000-10:00

This from the Unusual Historicals Blog http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com

In lieu of regular posts this week, we're hosting a party for one of our contributors. Morag McKendrick Pippen, w/a Elspeth McKendrick, releases her novel Perfidia today! What follows is more about the book, a Q&A with Morag, and the chance to win free books...

Morag's previous two books were published by Dorchester's Leisure imprint: Blood Moon Over Bengal and Blood Moon Over Britain, a HOLT Medallion winner. Perfidia, as part of the Love Spell line, is available now from all good booksellers. Here's the Amazon link.

PERFIDIA
"To you,
my heart cries out 'Perfidia,'
for I find you, the love of my life,
in someone else's arms..."

Sophie de Havilland fled London and her past, vowing never to return. In Germany she sought solace, with her aunt, and couldn't help but admire how the Third Reich had reclaimed a country so near ruin. But soon the veneer crumbled. Beneath the frenetic nightlife of 1939 Berlin, the swirling parties with the dashing SS in their night-black uniforms and their beautiful dames, she saw cancer growing. Stories of an impossible nature—terrible stories, terrible crimes—she began to believe.

These Nazis were Germany's demon lover: handsome, fearsome, faithless, murderous. Her aunt had been right to seek escape. But, was it possible? One man offered hope: a handsome half-American. But while his spicy scent and strong arms seduced her with safety, the lightning on his collar and his searing blue eyes reminded her that sometimes the handsomest faces hid perfidious intent.

Question & Answers with Morag

What makes Perfidia different from the two other historicals you've written?
Probably more violence (from the Gestapo), no sugar coating and a more serious theme.

What was the response from your editor or agent when you proposed this novel?
He (my editor) said I surprised him and he's rarely surprised. Also, that it was a powerful story.

How did you talk them past any concerns?
He said my readers would probably overlook the violence because they'd be too addicted to the story to mind very much.

What is the most challenging part about writing 20th century historicals?
What I would find challenging is writing a contemporary, paranormal, or erotica. Early 20th century seems to come naturally to me.

What about this book in particular?
It was difficult not to be depressed writing this everyday. I don't think it's depressing to read, but I had a lot of research to to which was pretty horrific.

What advice would you give to anyone trying to write or sell 20th century historicals?
Visit antique and collectibles stores. One can learn a lot about how people lived. Go to museums with early 20th century antiquities. Watch old movies. Read books in the time period. Acquire old magazines at garage sales and antique shows/stores. Talk to people who lived in those times. Write the best story you can.

What is your favorite genre or period to read?
Early 20th century or contemporary and romantic suspense.

Favorite book from the past year?
HIDING FROM THE LIGHT by Barbara Erskine

Five books from your TBR pile?
VANISH by Karen Robards
DAUGHTERS OF FIRE by Barbara Erskine
THE MEPHISTO CLUB by Tess Gerritsen
RICOCHET by Sandra Brown
WHITE HOT by Sandra Brown

Give us a tidbit of history that surprised you when researching Perfidia.
That many Germans escaped Germany by going on workers holidays to occupied Denmark then taking the ferry to Sweden.

Tell us what part of Perfidia is your favorite: the scene or element that, when you read it, leaves you feeling most satisfied?
I can't tell you -- it would give away an important plot point!

What's up next for you?
A contemporary supernatural thriller set in Scotland (on my agent's advice).

Thanks, Morag! And good luck with this new release. For those of you living in paradise, Morag is in the midst of planning book signings in Hawaii, where she lives. More information will be posted on her website.

WIN A COPY! For every fifteen comments we receive to this post, we're giving away a signed copy of PERFIDIA. Just tell us how you heard about Unusual Historicals OR your thoughts about a romance set in 1939 Berlin. Comments close at midnight on September 4th, at which time I'll draw up to FIVE random winners and announce their names the next day. Unusual Historicals authors are ineligible to win, but we can make comments!

Go! Spread the word!

1981 and 2005

2007-08-18T04:49:00.000-10:00

1981
1. Prince Charles got married.
2. Liverpool became soccer Champions of Europe.
3. Australia lost the Ashes.
4. Pope Died.

2005
1. Prince Charles got married.
2. Liverpool became soccer Champions of Europe.
3. Australia lost the Ashes.
4. Pope Died.

Lesson Learned:
The next time Charles gets married...

Someone warn the Pope!

BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

2007-06-26T17:26:00.000-10:00

CHAPTER ONE

Calcutta, State of Bengal
1932

“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.

BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN

2007-06-16T16:53:00.000-10:00

CHAPTER ONE

London
December 1942
Some return from the fields of glory . . .
Scottish traditional song

“You don't want to go in there, guv. Bloody mess, it is.”
Alistair Fielding snapped shut his Special Branch identification holder and returned it to the breast pocket of his tweed blazer. The rank odour of stale blood brought back the memories with a merciless clarity.
“Aye, well, Sergeant, we all must do things we find distasteful nowadays,” he said and entered the bathroom. It was large, probably a redesigned dressing room, and bare. A cold radiator hugged the far wall and beside it, a deep-bowled pedestal sink, with an age spotted mirror hanging above it.
A claw foot tub occupied the centre of the room. Fielding felt his jaw clench and forced himself to keep his eyes open. Enduring four days of butchery and slaughter on the beach at Dunkirk could not inure him to human suffering. At least it didn't look as if this poor sod suffered long.
The tub was full to the rim with blood and water. A foot dangled over the end and an arm hung over the side. A vertical gash ran from the wrist to nearly the elbow, and although it no longer dripped, the evidence on the floor clearly attested that it had for some time.
Fielding skirted the pool of congealed blood and stepped to the head of the bath tub. The dead man's glassy eyes stared sightlessly at the wall opposite and his nose rested on the surface of the water. His skin was pallid, waxen. Rigour had come and gone. He'd been dead at least two days. Maybe more as the flat was ruddy cold.
“It's a suicide, guv, plain as the nose on your face.” The middle-aged sergeant still stood in the doorway, a dubious look etching his plump features. “Don't see the need for Special Branch to muck about with some poor tosser cockin' up his own toes.”
Fielding shot him a warning look. “It's not your concern why I'm here, Sargeant. Let it suffice that I am.” He tugged the victim's head backward by the hair and thumbed the eyelids fully open, examining the pupils. The motion set the water in the bath tub gently lapping at the sides, revealing the well healed stump of what remained of the man's right leg.
Shutting his own eyes and steeling himself, Fielding bent close to sniff the mouth of the corpse. He stepped back hastily, fished for the handkerchief in his pocket, and took a deep breath through it. “Who found the body and when?”
“His cousin, about an hour ago. A Miss Winterborne. She's in the sitting room now. A bit shaky, she is.”
“Did she touch anything? Did you, Sargeant ~?”
“Cummings, Sir. Shouldn't think she'd want to, and I certainly didn't.”
Probably hadn't even entered the room, Fielding thought as he bent, peering under the tub. He picked up the carving knife by the handle using his handkerchief. It was black and crusted with dried blood. “Find a bag to secure this.”
The sargeant made a choking sound and fled. He returned a moment later with a canvass shopping sack, hesitating at the threshold. Fielding dropped the knife into the sack and closed the loo door behind him. “No one enters that room, is that clear, Sargeant? Now show me the cousin.”
Cummings led him down the dark corridor and opened the door to the sitting room. Painted a cheery yellow in a bygone era, now it appeared drab and colourless in the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon. A layer of dust clung to the utility furniture and no ornaments adorned the room save for a few old hunt scenes hanging on the wall. The fireplace was empty and cold.
At first he didn't see her, and then he wondered how he could have ever missed her. She sat straight and motionless in a ladder back chair, staring out the window at the rain. The one spot of colour in the musty room, then she turned the full power of her stunning beauty toward him.
Hair, a vivid auburn, waved back from the translucent skin of her forehead in tall Victory rolls, high Nordic cheek bones, a sharply defined chin, delicate brows, and lips that looked as if they were still red and swollen from kissing her lover.
“Miss Winterborne, I'm Inspector Alistair Fielding, Scotland Yard.” Something murky in her dark blue eyes flickered, but was instantly gone. “I realise you've had a difficult day. I'll do my damnedest not to prolong it, but I have a question or two.”
She placed the plain white cup and saucer she'd been cradling in her lap on the window sill with a clatter, and turned her serene gaze on him.
Miss Winterborne was either frightened or hiding something. He wondered which it was.

* * *

Cicely turned toward the Metropolitan Police Inspector with the gravelly Scottish voice. This Scotsman had missed his calling. He could have made a fortune as a matinee idol or even a professional rugby player for that matter. He stood several inches over six feet and weighed 15 stone at least. His features were chiselled, proud, and aristocratic. Black hair quarrelled with his effort to ruthlessly slick it down. A slight cleft marked his chin. He stared at her with fathomless dark brown eyes. A poet's eyes. But a soldier's bearing. He frowned slightly and reached into his smartly tailored wool trouser pocket for his cigarettes.
Her perusal complete, she replied with a twist of her lips. “'Difficult', Inspector Fielding, is discovering a ladder in one's last pair of pre-war silk stockings. 'Difficult' is queuing for hours at the butcher's and then being turned away empty handed. 'Difficult' is a rather an anaemic word to describe my day. Harrowing is far more appropriate, Inspector.”
Standing, Cicely turned her back to him and gazed out the rain lashed window. The bitter November wind blew in through cracks in the casement and she shivered. Charcoal clouds massed on the horizon threatening a thunder and lightening storm. Her hands gripped tightly at her waist. She nearly jumped when Fielding spoke.
“Cigarette?” he offered. She hadn't heard him approach and now he towered over her, so closely she could smell his sandalwood cologne, feel his body heat, and see the individual whiskers of his late afternoon beard.
After she pulled a cigarette from the extended box, he clicked open a silver lighter. His eyes drew hers like a magnate over the flame. As soon as the tobacco caught, she stepped to the fireplace and stared into the empty grate, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“When did you last see your cousin, Miss Winterborne?” Fielding remained by the window.
“Five days ago – Friday. Graham and I took the train down from Buckinghamshire together. We work – in different departments, of course – in a supply directory in Bucks.” Cicely flicked ash from her cigarette into the grate and swung around to face him. “We decide who receives what. Usually, although not always, we stay at the Directory during the week and come down to London at the weekends. He hasn't shown up for work this week, nor answered his phone, so I arranged for a bit of leave to check on him.”
His gaze rested on her speculatively. “You and Graham were close? Maybe you are aware of his reason for taking his own life?”
Cicely threw her unfinished cigarette into the fireplace. “Just what is this bosh about, Inspector? My cousin committed suicide. What is Scotland Yard doing mucking about with some poor sod who split open his wrists? Have you nothing better to do? Able bodied men are desperately needed; you might sign up for service!”
Fielding shot her a gimlet look and snapped, “Aye lass, you see there's this wee bit of annoying shrapnel lodged in my knee, left over from an exploding bomb on the beach at Dunkirk. HMG sent me back to my former profession and sees I generate enough bumf to justify my existence.” He switched on a lamp and sat on the shabby plaid chesterfield, stretching out his left leg. “So why don't you do your patriotic duty and keep me busy tonight.”
She froze at the words she and every other young woman heard from the soldiers. Especially the oversexed, overpaid, and over here Americans at the Women's Voluntary Services dances, in the Underground, and at the shops. But Fielding wasn't even looking at her - he was rubbing his left knee.
She lifted her chin, gave her hair a quick pat and said, “My apologies, Inspector.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “You-you saw his - what remained of Graham's leg?” At his nod, she continued. “He lost it at Dunkirk. They discovered him on that bloody beach beneath a pile of dead bodies, Inspector Fielding. It was no longer an evacuation when they found him, but a recovery. For four days he lay in his own blood and that of his fellow soldiers. His entire company perished – except for him. For two and half years he's found it . . . 'difficult'”, she threw Fielding's word back at him, “to live with.”
Making her way to the opposite end of the room, Cicely opened Graham's drinks cabinet, extracted a nearly empty bottle of Hennessy VSOP and poured herself two fingers. The bottle hovered over a second glass. “Inspector?” He shook his head and she shrugged, taking a long sip. Fire slicked down to her stomach and expanded in her veins like lava, giving her courage. A fool's courage. She took another sip.
“No, we weren't particularly 'close', Mr. Fielding. Graham didn't let anyone close to him. Always a bit of a loner, he was. No siblings and his parents emigrated to Canada before the war. None of them shared a particular fondness for pen and paper. Besides my parents in Cornwall, he's the only family left to me.” She shrugged again. “He needed to feel useful after Dunkirk, so I arranged a job at my place of employment.” And if she hadn't, Cicely thought bitterly, he might still be alive. She drained her glass.
The door to the sitting room burst open bringing in a draft of chilly air and a tall, thin brunette in an Air Raid Precaution uniform. She strode straight to Cicely and engulfed her in an embrace. “Cicely! You poor thing! How frightfully dreadful! I came as soon as I received your telephone call.”
Monty's sympathy nearly threatened Cicely's hard won composure, but she hugged her back, then broke free, blinking her eyes against gathering tears.
“And you are?” Fielding's voice cut across the room like a lancet. He rose from the chesterfield.
Monty started and whirled round. Lifting a hand to her hair, she eyed him boldly. Monty loved men. Especially tall, dark, handsome men in uniform. Cicely didn't think the lack of the latter really mattered in this case.
Cicely set her empty glass on the drinks cabinet. “This is Monetary Smith, my flatmate, Inspector. This is Inspector Fielding of Scotland Yard, Monty.”
Monty extended her hand and approached Fielding with a sparkle in her eye. “So pleased to meet you, Inspector. . .” Her step faltered and her hand fell to her side when Fielding merely regarded her with a flat stare. She frowned and retraced her steps. “Why is Scotland Yard responding to a suicide?”
“Apparently we are to answer his questions, dear, not the other way. Well, Inspector,” Cicely said, a cheeky tone to her voice now the liquor was taking effect, “you must be feeling quite useful now there's two of us to keep you busy. What may we do for you?”
Monty's brows lifted in askance and Fielding frowned darkly. Cicely knew she was out of line and didn't care. She wanted out of Graham's flat. She needed someplace safe to gather her thoughts, to think what to do. But where was safe?
“You may go now, Miss Winterbourne,” Fielding said slowly. “Our conversation can wait a day or two.”
“An excellent idea.” Monty took Cicely by the arm and threw Fielding an annoyed glare over her shoulder. “Come on, old girl, we have just enough time before my shift for a nice cup of tea.”
Outside on the pavement, Cicely gathered the collar of her wool coat around her neck against an icy east wind. Thunder boomed in the distance. Nearly everybody looked apprehensively at the sky and scuttled for shelter. Except for two men across the street. Cicely spotted one, directly adjacent, dressed as a labourer, leaning against the wall of a newsagent's, leisurely smoking a fag. Catching her eye, he glanced quickly away. The other chap, sporting a mac and a trilby, half a block behind, scrutinised a toy store window.
Monty started to run. “Come on, old girl, the Underground's just around the corner,” she called. “If we hurry, we shan't be soaked.”
They boarded the train at King's Cross, and ten minutes later disembarked at Russell Square, making their way south toward the British Museum. Normally in the late afternoon, light would be glowing between the enormous pillars and students, scholars, and tourists pouring in and out. But it was wartime, a repository had been bombed two years before, and the massive building stood empty, the Empire's treasures evacuated. With blackout in effect the pillars were shrouded in shadow and surrounded by sand bags. Few people came and went now. The blackout made a winter night even longer. Only the dimmest possible illumination was allowed at dark. Otherwise cities and towns made easy targets to German bombers and enabled clear navigation for enemy pilots.
Across the street, the Museum Pub made up for the museum's lack of custom. Although it too, was piled high with sand bags and it's windows painted black, the sounds of singing and tinkling glasses leaked out, following them two doors down where they entered an arched doorway.
Just as they ducked in and mounted the wide concrete steps to their flat thunder boomed, exploding like a Jerry bombing raid. The sky opened in torrents of rain.
The second floor landing was narrow with a flat at either end and a blacked out window in the centre. Cicely slotted a key into the lock of the right flat. Inside it was dark and draughty, and after hanging their coats, the girls went straight to the kitchen.
“Brr, the Aga needs turning up.” Cicely rubbed her upper arms and headed for the bright yellow stove.
Monty pulled a ladder back chair back from their small dining table. “Sit. You've had a frightful shock. I'll feed you bikkies and tea before my shift and you can fill me in on the details – that is if you are up to it, old girl.” She filled the kettle from the tap and set in on the burner. “That Inspector chap was a nice bit of alright.” She shot Cicely a speculative look. “He didn't seem interested in me, worse luck, but I glimpsed a touch of curiosity about you.”
Cicely rolled her eyes and settled herself in the chair. “Really Monty! Don't your RAF chaps keep you busy?”
Monetary shrugged. “At this point I could likely teach the green ones to fly a Spitfire or a Hurricane - and I haven't seen the cockpit of either one. I've decided to try Americans for a change of pace. Besides, they're such fun to listen to – 'Hey Princess, aren't you just a livin' doll'. And the chocolate!” She winked. “They couldn't possibly eat all those Hershey bars by themselves.” She reached into the cupboard for the tea tin, measured out two tiny pinches, then turned around, leaning on the counter and folding her arms across her chest. “Now then, why did Graham do such an awful thing? Who did he think would find him if not you?”
Cicely propped her elbows on the table, resting her face in her hands. She kept seeing Graham as she had found him: naked, pale, and so still, in a bathtub full of blood. She wanted to block out the sight and the smell, but was afraid it would never go away, never leave her in peace. She must move past the shock. And discover just what Graham had known.
Taking a deep breath, Cicely said, “He must have reached his breaking point. I wasn't due back from Bletchley until the weekend - for three more days. Likely it occurred to him his cleaning lady might find ~” she started as the kettle screamed.
“Ballocks.” Monty turned to pour the boiling water into the teapot. “He may not have nurtured any closeness between you, but he knew bloody well if he didn't turn up for work for several days, you'd come down to London to see why.” She brought the tea and a plate of vanilla biscuits to the table. Pausing, she looked carefully at Cicely. “Might it have anything to do with . . . with your work? I'm aware ~” She swallowed and started over. “Mums the word, of course, but I know you don't ruddy well work in a supply distribution centre at Bletchley.”
Cicely froze, then lowered her tea cup. She searched her dearest friend's face. “Why would you not think I distribute supplies?” She gave a small laugh. “Goodness, you don't imagine I'm into the cloak and dagger stuff?” Monty stared at her. “Really, Monty! It's all these spy propaganda posters. My job is quite innocent, I assure you. And dull. I'm a file clerk.” That much was true, at least. But it wasn't dull and it wasn't innocent.
Monty continued to regard her with a speculative gleam over the rim of her teacup. “I'm no boffin, but I know when I hear a load of double Dutch. I realise you can't blow the gaff. We'll say no more about it.” She swallowed the last of her tea and stood. “If any hypothetical situations arise and you need to talk, you have a sympathetic – and discreet listener. Now I'm off for my shift, keeping an eye out for the Hun in the sky,” she said, lifting her hand in a playful salute.
When the door slammed behind Monty, Cicely rose from her chair, flipped off the light switch, and made her way in the gloom to the window. Very carefully she lifted the tight fitting black out blind and peered outside.
Heavy clouds and pelting rain contributed to an early darkness. The street lights were dimmed and the few vehicles out burning petrol wore shields over their lamps, allowing a mere pinprick of illumination.
Monty ran across the road, her neck hunched into her collar and her mac flying out behind her from the force of the wind. She dashed right by a man leaning against the iron spike fence surrounding the museum. He wore a trench coat and a trilby pulled low over is face.
Cicely's gaze darted in every direction. Not many ventured out in the blackout. The few who did, hurried to find shelter, or had already found it in shop doorways.
She glanced back at the man in the trench coat. He'd pushed his trilby to the back of his head and was staring up at her. Rain poured down his face, but he didn't blink. Cicely felt those eyes burn through her like red-hot daggers. Finally, he righted his hat and strode away, enveloped in blackness and a torrent of rain.
She jumped when the loud banging on her door started.

Who Are You?

2007-06-14T09:31:00.001-10:00

Check yourself out and see what kind of a person you really are......when you reach the website, click on the "one" photo that really inspires you...then wait for the next page and continue doing the same until the end and following the instructions:

http://dna.imagini.net:80/friends/

Blurb For BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN

2007-06-09T01:17:00.000-10:00

London, 1942
With the clouds of war dark and cold hanging over her, Britain is fighting the Nazis nearly alone. German U-boats are sinking homeland-bound supply ships, the Desert Fox’s panzers are winning in North Africa and the Luftwaffe is shooting the RAF out of the skies. But Britain has an ultra-secret weapon: The German Enigma Code has been broken, and agents at Bletchley Park are spending 24 hours a day decoding the messages. Hope remains.

Cicely Winterbourne works at Bletchley Park. She’s an ordinary girl, but nearly every dirty little secret of WWII passes through her hands. One may get her killed. Already two people have been murdered, and Cicely must find out who wants her dead: the Germans, the Russians, or an entity too terrifying to consider. The world hangs in the balance, and as perhaps the only person in Britain able to save her country, Cicely knows she can confide in no one – not even Alistair Fielding, dashing war hero of Dunkirk.

The first law of espionage is to never trust anyone, not even those who make you burn with desire. And especially not when there’s a

BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN

Blurb For BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

2007-06-04T21:15:00.001-10:00

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

PERFIDIA Cover!

2007-06-01T14:22:00.000-10:00

Watch for it September 1!

PERFIDIA Backcover!

2007-06-01T14:18:00.001-10:00

Click on the picture to read the blurb.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

2007-05-25T13:20:00.000-10:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE PRINCELINGS!! Sinji and Fergus are 3 years old today!!

Back Copy Blurb For BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN

2007-05-18T22:18:00.000-10:00

This is my second book. Released December, 2005.

1939 World's Fair

2007-05-18T21:15:00.000-10:00

The World's Fair of 1939 was held in Flushing Meadows in northern Queens, New York featured optimism and futurism as its theme.

Westinghouse took on the huge project of collecting items for a time capsule to be retreived 5000 years in the futue! The contents were chosen based upon how well they captured life in America in 1939. Some of these items are still considered essential today albeit more advanced:
Alarm clock
Bifocals
Can opener
Nail File
Keys
Silverware
Toothbrush

A few items in the time capsule I found telling of the early 20th century:
"Pertaining to the Grooming and Vanity of WomenWoman's hat, style of Autumn, 1938 (designed specially by Lilly Dache)
Cosmetic make-up kit (Elizabeth Arden Daytime-Cyclamen ColorHarmony Box, including two miniature boxes of face-powder, lipstick, rouge, eye shadow)
Rhinestone clip (purchased at Woolworth's)

Pertaining Principally to the Grooming, Vanity or Personal Habits of Men
Container of tobacco
Electric razor and cord (Remington-Rand Close Shaver withWestinghouse motor, General Shaver Corp.)
Package of cigarettes
Safety razor and blades (Gillette Aristocrat one-piece razor,Gillette Safety Razor Co.)
Smoking pipe (Drinkless Kaywoodie, Kaywoodie Company)
Tobacco pouch, closed with zipper (Alfred Dunhill of London)
One might think all men of 1939 did was shave and smoke!

Among other time capsule items: textiles and materials, an essay in microfilm, a newsreel, money, asbestos, toys, poker chips, seeds sealed in glass tubes, special messages from important men of the time including Albert Einstein.
Another sample of the contents of the capsule:Our Education and Educational Systems147.
Introduction148.
Education: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 7, pp. 964-1005149.
All The Children: 39th Annual Report of the Superintendent of Schools, New York City, School Year 1936-1937VIII.
Our Sciences and Techniques150.
Introduction151.Science: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 20, pp. 115-123152.
Scientific Method: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 20, pp. 127-133153.
The Story of Science, by David Dietz: Dodd, Mead: 1938154.
The Smithsonian Physical Tables: Washington: SmithsonianInstitution, Publication 3171, 1934155.
Meteorology: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 15, pp. 343-356156.
Mathematics: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 15, pp. 69-89157.
Portraits of Eminent Mathematicians, by David Eugene Smith:New York: Scripta Mathematica, portfolios 1 and 2158.
Telescopes: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 15, pp. 904-909159.
Microscopes: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 15, pp. 433-443IX.
Our Earth, Its Features and Peoples160.
Introduction161.
The World Atlas: New York: Rand McNally162.
Our Races: Introduction163.
The World's Races: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 2, pp. 41-50164.
Explanation of the Fundamental Triangulation Net of the UnitedStates (with map)165.
Methods of Surveying: Coast & Geodetic Survey booklets, Nos.502, 529, 562, 583, Spec. No. 23, Dept of Commerce166.
Geology: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 10, pp. 155-173167.
Exploring Down, by Sherwin F. Kelly, reprint from the Explosives Engineer, Sept.-Oct. 1935168.
The Earth: Chester A. Reeds, New York: The University Press,First Trade Edition 1935X.
Our Medicine, Public Health, Dentistry and Pharmacy169. Introduction170.
Frontiers of Medicine, by Dr. Morris Fishbein: Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins, June 1933
171.Men of Medicine: The March of Time, Issue No. 11, Vol. IV172.Work of the United States Public Health Service, Reprint 1447173.
Report of the Surgeon General of the United States, June 30,

1937174.Dentistry: Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 7, pp. 222-225175.1937 Year Book of Dentistry176.United States Pharmacopeia177.
X-Ray and Fluoroscopy: catalogues of the Westinghouse X-RayCompany

For more infomation go tohttp://www.nytimes.com/specials/magazine3/items.html

Boris Pickett Passes

2007-04-27T07:25:00.000-10:00

The man who gave us The Monster Mash passed yesterday.

http://bulletin.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=bulletin.read&messageID=3359078085&Mytoken=12CE7701-CB28-4C42-AB663ADDBD688E5372592251

What Type of Writer?

2007-04-23T12:49:00.000-10:00

What type of writer would you be?
It says I should be a film writer:
You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind.You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life.Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling.And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

Take the test! (P.S. I discovered this on my friend Carol Burnside's blog)http://carolburnside.blogspot.com/

http://www.blogthings.com/whattypeofwritershouldyoubequiz/

A Special Day!

2007-04-21T11:13:00.000-10:00

Today is very special! It's my mother's 85th birthday! What a milestone.

Happy Birthday Mom!!!

Questions Regarding Writing the Early 20th Century Novel

2007-04-05T02:05:00.000-10:00

A few questions I've been asked on writing an early 20th century novel ~

What made you choose the settings and time periods for your Blood Moon books?

I wanted to write romantic thrillers but felt I could never write a contemporary one because I can't keep up with everyday technology let alone the advanced equipment my characters would use. Yet I didn't want to write a historical either.I've always been fascinated by WWI, the roaring '20's and WWII. It seemed my voice matched the era: not quite modern but quite historical.

2) After Perfidia, what books do you have planned? What settings can we look forward to?

I'm planning a WWI romantic thriller, a roaring '20's paranormal, a '20's mystery novella, a couple of post WWII romantic thrillers, an early '60'sparanormal, and a late '60's thriller.

3) As writers, we hear from time to time that the historical market is in a slump. You write about an era that writers are told won't sell, yet have contracted three books withDorchester. Did you consider this at all, or did you simply write what you like to read?

While I was writing Bengal I was told the time (1932) and the place (India) would never sell. I considered quitting the book but decided I needed the practice. Afterwards I considered writing a different time period. Decided I couldn't do it so I'd have to work extra hard to get published.

4) How much research to you do before writing?

Most of it. Usually something crops up while I'm writing that I must research.

5) What tricks do you use to make the time period come alive for the reader?

I pretend I'm there:-) What would I see, smell, feel, and hear. To do this takes a bit of concentration so I keep my office door closed. I need quiet and solitude. However, purrs from the Princelings are allowed:-)

Catty Quotes

2007-04-03T13:51:00.000-10:00

"In the beginning, God created man, but seeing him so feeble, He gave him the cat."

- Warren Eckstein"

A cat is more intelligent than people believe, and can be taught any crime."

-Mark Twain Notebook, 1895"

You can keep a dog; but it is the cat who keeps people, because cats find humans useful domestic animals."

- George Mikes from How to be decadent

"Dogs come when they're called. Cats take a message and get back to you."

- Mary Bly

"Beware of people who dislike cats."

- Irish Proverb

"I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals."

- Winston Churchill

"I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior."

- Hippolyte Taine

"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."

- Unknown

"Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea."

- Unknown

"Dogs have owners, cats have staff."

- Unknown

"People who hate cats, will come back as mice in their next life."

- Faith Resnick

"I have noticed that what cats most appreciate in a human being is not the ability to produce food which they take for granted—but his or her entertainment value."

- Geoffrey Household

"As anyone who has ever been around a cat for any length of time well knows cats have enormous patience with the limitations of the human kind."

- Cleveland Amory

CALLING ALL CATS!

2007-03-29T22:12:00.000-10:00

Turn up the sound it's great!

http://dailymotion.alice.it/it/cluster/animals/featured/video/x19bkr_cats-its-oh-so-quiet

Funny Cats

www.cayton.org/misc/funny/cats/list.php

A Cat Poem

www.strangeplaces.net/weirdthings/cathaiku.html

A Purse Snatching!

2007-03-26T14:19:00.000-10:00

No, I wasn't mugged:-)

When St. John Blue exited his cat box last night, his brother Fergus pounced him. Although this is typical behavior for them it still caught Sinji unaware - so he takes up the game and runs for the hills. In this case our green leather loveseat. While sailing over it he inadvertantly harnesses himself to my suitcase-like purse and off it goes bouncing after him. He takes the merest second to glance behind him. Good God it's a monster! A monster had attached itself to him! Now he is running for dear life, his paws scrabbling and slipping on the hardwood floor. He circles the living room. The creature refuses to budge. He circles the dining room. The beast yet clings! Oh dear lord, mama and papa have abandoned him to his fate! He-he could be eaten alive or-or mauled to death!

He sprints around the kitchen island three times before shooting up the stairs, bag thudding behind him, in a flurry of fur. He heads for the office and dashes under my desk trembling in terror. When I manage to get a hold of the slippery little man my purse handle is caught tight around his neck. After losening him I was forced to lock myself in the bathroom because I was shaking in laughter and I couldn't indulge in front of my scared little kitty. Such a trauma for the poor wee lad.

Several minutes later and more in control, I go downstairs to replace my misused purse on the loveseat and discover the reason Loren hadn't heard all the palava.

He was watching the TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.
I guess the purse-monster just doesn't rate against leather face.

What Are You Reading?

2007-03-24T14:35:00.000-10:00

I'm taking this subject from my friend Tracy Goodwin's blog today http://www.tracygoodwin.net/blog/

Right now I'm reading SEE NO EVIL by Allison Brennen. Very good! But then I enjoy all of Allison's books.

Yesterday I picked up a new author, Virginia Baker. Her book, JACK KNIFE, intrigued me. I'll start reading it after EVIL. Also picked up Tami Hoag's PRIOR BAD ACTS.

Next month I'm really looking forward to SEASON OF THE WITCH, by Natasha Mostert, one of my very favorite authors.

What are you reading just now? How did you choose it? Review, recommendation, or favorite author?

Wordy Harry

2007-03-22T19:49:00.000-10:00

"I know what you're thinking, punk," hissed Wordy Harry to his new editor, "you're thinking, 'Did he use six superfluous adjectives or only five?' - and to tell the truth, I forgot myself in all this excitement; but being as this is English, the most powerful language in the world, whose subtle nuances will blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel loquacious?' - well do you, punk?"

Men in Kilts!

2007-03-10T17:40:00.000-10:00

You gotta check these out!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuXFjVAYk7Q&NR

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTKwtfJZY_s&NR

Terror and Roller Coasters

2007-03-09T16:32:00.000-10:00

When we returned from L.A. and Anaheim last week it was complete with bugs. Me with a sinus infection and Loren with laryngitis. He says his lack of voice stems from his ride on the California Screamin’ roller coaster. If that were so I would only speak with a whisper due to the Hollywood Hotel Tower of Terror. It’s his fault. He talked me into it. We were whooshing down twenty stories at the speed of light. The ride resembles a cargo elevator. We were strapped in with only seatbelts! No shoulder harnesses or other safety measures! Up we speed to the 20th floor – and down we slam. We actually left our seats! Up and down, up and down. I missed the gorgeous view at the top, of Disneyland and California Adventure Park by night because my eyes were closed. I think had they been open I’d have lost my dinner. When we made our escape Loren nearly ran to the gift shop, exclaiming, “We gotta have photos of this!” I followed meekly. Only because my legs were to shaky run! I felt drunk without the benefit of liquor.

For this event the California Adventure Park (a part of Disneyland) was closed to the public to entertain a few thousand club managers and their spouses. Lots of food, an open bar, a great band, and a few free rides and games. As usual with Loren’s conference we stayed out late. I always got to sleep in but poor Loren had to arise every day at the crack of dawn.

When we returned home our Princelings were overjoyed to see us. Then they promptly snubbed us to let us know our absence was not appreciated. After lots of treats: fish flakes, Pounce, cuttlefish, and dried anchovies) they were appeased enough to give us welcome home loves.

Southern California was cold so it’s good to have thawed out. Kona weather is arriving this weekend then back to wonderful Trade Wind weather. Kona weather is very still and humid with vog from the volcanoes on the Big Island.

Hope everyone is seeing signs of Spring!

Over Los Angeles on a Clear Day

2007-03-05T09:34:00.000-10:00

As one of the most exciting experiences on my recent trip to L.A. and Anaheim I thought this blog worthy:-)

I accompanied my husband to his world conference for club managers in Anaheim for several days this month. To keep me out of mischief (in other words to keep me out of harm's way of gorgeous shoes and designer outfits yelling my name) he asked a favor of his best friend. His friend hired a 26 year veteran LAPD helicopter pilot as the head pilot for his club. A whisper in this helpful man's ear and my friend, Kun Hwa, and I were saved from a day of epic shopping.

We were both coldly awakened from delicious dreams of Dior, Versace, Louis, waiting on our every whim, to hear we had had an hour to make ourselves presentable and speed to downtown L.A. from Anaheim. We made it but whether or not we were actually presentable is another story.

After breakfast our pilot and tactical officer presented waivers for us to sign 'just in case.'

'Um, just in case of what?' I ask.

'In case the bad guys shoot at us. In case we dive and you hit your head on the way down. That sort of thing.

''You mean we could actually get shot at for real?!

''Oh yeah. We could crash.'

Mmmm. Breakfast had been settling nicely until now.

One of the guys sent us a cocky smile. 'Sure you want to go up for 3 hours?

''You bet we do! When are we going?' Kun Hwa is a rocket. Nothing scares her.

'This way.' The pilot led the way to the roof and took his pick of several helicopters.When he opened the door I saw the back seat was really quite roomy. I had thought helicopters would be cramped. Kun Hwa and I slid into our seats, applied our earplugs, fastened our lap and shoulder straps, then fit the ear phones over our head so we could hear all communication coming and going. The tactical officer handed us sick bags which both Kun Hwa and I threw on the floor. We've always had iron tummies.

Just before take off the pilot warns us there are no potty stops. We only stop if one of the passengers can't take the ride and must debark. He adds in a slick tone that last week his macho cop friend only lasted an hour. Did we really think we'd last the full 3 hour shift?

Kun Hwa looked out the window and said, 'Isn't it about time we went?'

Off we took, going straight down. Yep, felt a little vertigo there, but then he was off roaring for the Hollywood sign. It was a bright, clear, sunny day. No clouds, smog, or mist. After hovering over the famous sign - which I hadn't seen in person since I was 5 years old - we flew over a few movie stars' mansions and Universal Studios.

As it turned out this Saturday from 11am - 2pm was slow crime wise. No murders, robberies, or car chases. Only three domestic violence calls.The LAPD helicopters provide air support to ground officers. The helicopter circles the problem site, relaying pertinent information to the ground troups. The tactical officer uses the PA and siren when needed. When they are no longer needed they fly to another call.

Sometimes SWAT calls the trusty heliptor crew. Special outside benches must be attatched so safely belted SWAT officers can target the bad guys when the helo pilot dives. Scary stuff. My hands and feet perspired heavily looking at those photos of the real thing.

We were privelegded to fly over all of Los Angeles County from the Hollywood sign to the stunningly beautiful Venice Beach. Living in Hawaii I didn't think our beaches could be beat, but Venice is as good as it gets!

Between sightseeings we learned that an LAPD officer must work traffic for 5 years before he/she may qualify to take the helicopter tactical officer test. The job of the tactical officer, who sits on the pilot's left, is to man the GPS system, so the pilot knows exactly where he/she must go. The TO takes all in coming calls, maps them, and keeps up with the 5 frequencies broadcast. After about 5 years of successful tacticals the person is looked at to be groomed for the next pilot opening.

The helicopter manuevered some serious forward and sideways dives. Better that any Disney ride! I will always remember this as a truly fabulous day.

As great as this trip was, it did come with a downside. Just before heading for the 'barn' the TO and the pilot showed us a gang controlled housing project. If one is in need of special income housing, one is not afforded a choice. One is sent to one and that's that. This (think one of the primary colors) gang controlled this project with a tight fist. The residents lived under the gang's thumb. Lots of cars, shirts, and hats of a certain bright color. Very unfortunatley, there is no way of keeping your children out of that gang.

When we landed at the end of the shift both the pilot and tactical officer praised Kun Hwa and me for being such great passengers. We were no trouble to them at all. Both officers were friendly and made us feel very welome and posed for our photos afterwards.

Hey, Kun Hwa, when are we doing this again?

Feral Princelings and Chilly Mornings

2007-02-08T22:45:00.000-10:00

I received a letter from my Uncle Harry in Dunoon, Scotland yesterday. My Aunt Thelma was so impressed with the photos I sent them of the Princelings she took the pictures to their golf club to show off our kitties! Uncle Harry told me if they ever went feral they would terrorize the surrounding countryside and residents would be out with their shotguns. He is so right! I can just see one of the neighbors aiming at them with a shotgun. The wily Fergus would dash under the shooter’s sights and take a bite out of his behind before streaking into the underbrush. Sinji, on the other hand, would turn his limpid whisky colored gaze upon the lady of the house, his paw pushing delicately on his still writhing prey, and beg the lady to fillet his gecko for him. After all, a clown prince cannot possibly be expected to prepare his own food!

Those two do lead us a lively dance. Ahem, a very lively one last week when we packed them up to visit the vet. We have the scratches to prove it. The Princelings do not care to be cooped up in pet carriers or go for car rides. However, the reception they were accorded made up for any discomfort they suffered. They were worshipped by employee and customer alike. The meds prescribed them, for possible heartworm and non-existent fleas, went over like a cabbage dinner. Sinji and Fergus are great connoisseurs of carpet fuzz, fur balls, and cockroaches but give them a p-i-l-l stuffed in a succulent flake of tuna and the p-i-l-l isn’t touched! They will consume nearly anything that hits the floor, but not, of course, something they are supposed to eat.

We are experiencing quite the cold snap. Nothing compared to anyone not living in the tropics, of course, but it is chilly for us. The other morning the temperature read 53F! I went searching for my trusty tower quartz heater I’ve had hidden in storage for such contingencies only to find it no longer worked! As we don’t have a furnace I was forced to grab a cat to keep warm.

Loren and I are anticipating our trip to L.A. and Anaheim next week. He’s looking forward to golfing at a few exclusive clubs like Bel Air Country Club, Brentwood CC, Wilshire CC and Los Angeles CC. Although Loren enjoys golf he says he wouldn’t play if he had to pay for it. In my opinion, the best place for a golf club is in the golf bag. I’m going shopping.

Questions and Answers on Writing the Early 20th Century Novel

2007-02-06T15:41:00.000-10:00

A few questions I've been asked on writing an early 20th century novel ~

1) Is it harder to write a recent time than say, a medieval or ancient book?

I think it's easier to write more recent history because I can interview eyewitnesses and people who lived during those times. I love listening to firsthand accounts! My maternal grandmother was head nanny to the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire's daughters. Did she have stories to tell! My maternal grandad was an under-butler in the same household. I always looked forward to their stories. I listened avidly to my father's war stories as well. He served in the BEF (British Expedionary Force) and was evacuated at Dunkirk. He went on to serve in Calcutta and Burma in the British Indian Army. Unfortunately, my maternal grandfather (British Army) wouldn't speak of his experiences in the Great War. My paternal granddad (also British Army) did speak a bit. He spent most of the war as a prisoner of war in Germany. If I can find anyone else to tell me their stories of the past I listen:-)

2) Must you visit the location where your book is set?

Everyone has an opinion on whether an author must visit the place he/she writes about. I don't believe that. After all, how many historical writers have been to the year they are writing about? By the same token, do murder mystery writers have to commit murder to get it totally correct?

Although I've spent a great deal of time in both England and Scotland, I've never been to India or Germany. The climax of BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN, takes place in St. Just-in-Penwith, Cornwall. I spent two weeks there and a great deal of time following the cliffpaths detailed in the book. I knew at the time those paths would find their way into a book:-) No wonder Daphne du Maurier wrote almost exclusivley of Cornwall. It's quite inspiring.

3) What inspired you to write your books?

The stories my father told me of his time in WWII India inspired BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL.

The inspiration for BLOOD MOON OVER BRITAIN came from a book I read, A MAN CALLED INTREPID. When it was released in the mid '70s it was a bombshell because it detailed espionage secrets about WWII. It's an account of the foremost Allied spy, his actions, and the German Enigma machine.

Ken Follet's and Alistair McLean's books inspired me to write PERFIDA, a thriller set inside the Third Reich.

4) What do you do if you've been away from your wip for a while or hit a dry spot while writing?

I read books set in the time period I'm writing about and period movies/dvds. Also, I make a point to read my very favorite authors when I'm working on a book.

A 20 Year Romance

2007-01-27T18:57:00.000-10:00

Two days ago my husband, Loren, and I celebrated the 20th anniversary of our first date! We went to Kitsap Golf and Country Club, the club Loren managed at the time, to watch the Superbowl, enjoying dinner afterwards at the Boatshed in East Bremerton, WA on 25 January 1987. We can’t believe it’s been twenty years already! This time we had dinner at Le Bistro, in Aina Haina, Loren’s favorite dinner house. It’s crowded every night and the food is always delicious.

Twenty years ago Loren ate halibut, this time it was onaga, a Hawaiian white fish that during the Kingdom years was exclusively reserved for royalty. On our first date I enjoyed scampi and this time it was sea bass. We drank the same champagne as on our first date: White Star. A very nostalgic and romantic evening.

BCB For PERFIDIA

2007-01-19T13:28:00.000-10:00

I'm so excited! Just received my back copy blurb for PERFIDIA, a thriller set inside the Third Reich, due out in September. Former title was Blood Moon Over Berlin.

“To you,my heart cries out ‘Perfidia,’for I find you, the love of my life,in someone else’s arms…”

PERFIDIA (logo)

Sophie de Havilland fled London and her past, vowing never to return. In Germany she sought solace, with her aunt, and couldn’t help but admire how the Third Reich had reclaimed a country so near ruin. But soon the veneer crumbled. Beneath the frenetic nightlife of 1939 Berlin, the swirling parties with the dashing SS in their night-black uniforms and their beautiful dames, she saw cancer growing. Stories of an impossible nature—terrible stories, terrible crimes—she began to believe.

These Nazis were Germany’s demon lover: handsome, fearsome, faithless, murderous. Her aunt had been right to seek escape. But, was it possible? One man offered hope: a handsome half-American. But while his spicy scent and strong arms seduced her with safety, the lightning on his collar and his searing blue eyes reminded her that sometimes the handsomest faces hid perfidious intent.

Chages Occurred Quickly During the 1920s - 1940s

2007-01-16T15:32:00.000-10:00

The '20s were the aftermath of the Great War. The world had seen nothing like it. For the first time battles were fought in the air, poison gas was used, tanks made an appearance. Many women took mens jobs until they returned from war. Women were on the battlefield as nurses. The '20's were roaring for a goodreason: Survivors of the war went crazy in celebrating life.For the first time in history (other than a high fever) women cut their hair short, hemlines went way up. Clothing for women was far less contricting: no corsets and simple roll up stockings were worn. Women took up the 'outrageous'habits of smoking and drinking - and men accepted it. Women wearing cosmetics became fashionable. Class structures - on both sides of the Atlantic - brokedown. Women got the vote. It was a wild and happening time. Divorces were now acceptable - even a little daring. The '30s, by contrast, saw the stockmarket crash and a world wide depression. As usually happens in less affluent times, conservatism took over. Hemlines went down. The fun of the '20's was considered decadent. Divorce in the middle class was looked upon as irresponsible, but still acceptable in the upper classes.When the '40's arrived the habit of women smoking, drinking, and gambling was no longer considered bold but a usual thing. A war was on - an even more advanced one than before, and again women took up male jobs and nursing on the front lines. Morals were a bit loser as one never knew how long one had to live. People lived for the moment.

Excerpt From BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL, Chapter Two

2007-01-10T03:31:00.000-10:00

CHAPTER TWO
Elizabeth slid off the wing with the help of a wide-eyed young lieutenant. It had been a long journey with many discomforts: storms at sea, delays caused by train derailments, and now by far the worst - a near plane crash. Adrenalin still fizzed in her veins. Next to her, Fiona was busy brushing the dust off her flying suit and combing her fingers through her hopelessly knotted bright red hair. Elizabeth knew she didn't look her best either and was in no mood to face a battalion of swarming men and a screaming fire engine.
The lieutenant enquired as to any injuries and been assured that they were only a bit rattled. Another, older officer strode through the gathering crowd.
How exotic looking, Elizabeth thought, and suddenly wished she wasn't so dishevelled. He had a tall, muscled physique, with very broad shoulders and was deeply tanned. Wavy black hair and a mustache graced features seemed carved from stone. His high cheekbones and aquiline nose conveyed a slightly Asian impression that was curiously belied by what were now angry blue eyes.
"Have you lost any sense you might have been born with? The airstrip is twelve miles due north. This is a military parade ground, not your private landing strip. Any number of my men could have been killed."
Instead of shrinking from his anger the lovely, delicate girl before him lifted her chin answering his challenge.
"But they weren't because the ground was empty. I chose it for that reason. Not that I was presented much choice Major-" Elizabeth caught sight of the name badge attached to his khaki uniform shirt, "Covington-Singh. The engine cut out and Miss MacKay and I were lucky to find anywhere to land safely. And aside from the harrowing experience of falling out of the sky, it's rather convenient as this is our destination. We've come to visit my father. Col. Mainwarring."
Nigel felt his stomach clench. This gorgeous creature was the daughter of the commanding officer of the regiment. He mentally shrugged his shoulders. Not that he'd be allowed near her anyway.
Stepping forward, Fiona said, "Perhaps some of your men could unstrap our baggage, Major, and escort us to the Colonel's bungalow. We're quite tired, and not at our best at the moment. Our aeroplane must be towed, of course. I'm sure a mechanic must be somewhere about to right the engine. Then you shan't have to worry about us--"
"Buggering up your precious parade ground again," finished Elizabeth with a twist of her lips.
"Ladies, I should be happy - with your permission of course, Major - to accompany you to the Colonel's quarters. Newly commissioned Capt. Woodford at your service."
"They're all yours Captain." Nigel turned and began organising the clearing of the ground.
Harry held out an arm for each girl. "Pay no attention to him Miss Mainwarring, Miss MacKay, he's endured a particularly trying week."
Elizabeth noticed the good Captain gazing at Fiona's generous chest. Men did that. Fiona was very small, barely five feet, in fact, and slender except for what Fiona termed her 'oversized bust'. The poor girl was quite self conscious about it and did what she could to hide it, but it was really quite impossible. Already she was blushing hotly.
Elizabeth unrepentantly interrupted the Captain's muse. "One would hope he's not such a boor everyday. I do hope Father received my letter. With all the delays encountered in travelling I'd not be surprised to find we had beaten it here because of our little flying short cut."
"He couldn't fail to be overjoyed at such lovely visitors. And do please call me Harry," he said, giving Fiona an especially warm look. He arranged a staff car for transportation and apologised for his lack of talent as tour guide once they were on their way.
"Just arrived m'self, you see. However, I know enough to point out this area of the cantonment as the family sector. Bachelor officers live on the other side of the regimental buildings in smaller bungalows."
The avenue was wide and paved, unlike the smaller hard packed dirt side roads. A few tamarind and palm trees bordered the road and the mostly one story houses were set well back from them on generous fenced lots. It was really quite beautiful in a foreign sort of way.
Arriving at their destination, Harry excused himself and took off in a cloud of dust.Elizabeth stood looking at her father's imposing stone bungalow with its steep eaves and large immaculately kept garden. Blooming tropical flowers and roses shared equal space and plenty of shade was provided by palm, citrus, and banana trees. It hadn't changed. But she'd been only a child when she'd seen it last. She brushed her suddenly moist palms on her flight suit.
"Oh Fi, have we done the right thing? I haven't seen him since I was 12. It's been nine years and I barely know him. I'm not sure I do want to know him. He was always so authoritarian, no room for any opinion save his own. It's no wonder Mum left him."
"You never would have forgiven yourself if you simply sailed on to New Zealand without giving your relationship with him a chance. He could be different now you are adult. He certainly can't tell you what to do anymore."
Elizabeth smiled and headed for the garden gate. "He always made fun of Uncle Charlie for dirtying his hands on a filthy sheep station. Yes, Uncle dirtied his hands alright. Right into black gold. It's just too bad neither he nor Mum lived very long to enjoy it."
"But you can." Fi followed her up the verandah stair.
The doorbell was rung and they were let in by a turbaned butler. He expressed no surprise at the unexpected arrival, merely informed them the Sahib had not arrived home for the evening and offered to show them to guest rooms and provide refreshment.
The girls revived themselves with tea and biscuits while their baths were drawn. By the time they finished bathing, their baggage arrived and they were shaking out the creases. Elizabeth chose a shimmery gold bias cut dinner frock and her mother's pearls. After applying powder, mascara, lip rouge, and a touch of her favourite Arpegé perfume she met her friend in the drawing room.
Fi was studying a collection of ivory carvings on the mantelpiece. Surveying the room, Elizabeth shook off the clinging feeling of Deja Vu. Bronze statues of Indian deities resided on carved dark wood tables and the old remembered Oriental carpets covered the teak floor. The room was smaller through adult eyes. She made straight for the drinks table and poured two sherries.
"Do let's fortify ourselves before the dragon arrives breathing fire, old girl.""I think you are making too much of it. He'll be overjoyed to see you, I'm sure. You are his daughter, after all." Fi sipped from her crystal glass and made herself comfortable on the settee.
"I'm not so sure. Mum never admitted to leaving him, but blamed the re-current malaria for sending her home to Devon. She maintained she couldn't survive another season in India and England did do wonders for her health. Father only visited once, nine years ago. They got on horribly and he left early. He may think me disloyal as well."
"That's ridiculous! You were a child! Besides, you were sent home for your schooling. You couldn't very well trot on back to India on holidays."
Elizabeth poured herself a second sherry. "Yes, well, I have mentioned that Father has rather peculiar ideas. Doesn't he keep anything stronger than sherry?"
"And what might you prefer instead, Daughter? The infamous pink gin that sends more British soldiers home in a box than malaria? Or perhaps you'd like the direction of the nearest opium den?"

A Fairy Tale

2007-01-06T06:25:00.000-10:00

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog
as she sat, contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pondin a verdant meadow near her castle.
The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals,clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so.
That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sautéed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself: I don't freaking think so.

A SOLDIER'S LOVE

2007-01-06T03:53:00.000-10:00

My friend and fellow WWII romance writer L.K. Campbell's book A SOLDIER'S LOVE was released 1 January!

A SOLDIER'S LOVE begins in the fall of 1941 just prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor and America's entry into the second world war. Ron Miller, an army officer on reserve duty while attending graduate school at the University of Maryland, is nursing a broken heart and cautious about falling in love again.
Katie McNeill, a shy but beautiful clerk at the school, harbors a crush on Ron but is bewildered by his apparent lack of interest in her. Tired of "sitting at home alone on Saturday nights," she becomes involved with a young student named Jimmy Garrett. Jimmy is a spoiled young man from a wealthy, dysfunctional family, who just happens to be sharing an apartment with Ron.
Sunday, December 7 will change all three of their lives forever when innocence is lost and the future becomes uncertain.
Available in trade paperback & ebook. For more information, visit http://soldierslove.lkcampbell.com

Not a Good Bang for the New Year!

2007-01-03T18:45:00.000-10:00

My new year came in with an unwelcome bang. Was supposed to enjoy a romantic New Years Dinner with hubby but a bout a nasea hit me out of the blue. We were going to dinner at the country club he manages. As I now couldn't go, he had to anyway to 'show the flag.' About 30 minutes after he left I threw up violently and it gave me the WORST migraine I'd had in my life. Made it upstairs to bed (couldn't take anything for it because I'd just throw it up again) but it soon became apparent this wasn't in any way usual. I actually thought I may be having a stroke, anurysim or coming down with meningitis. Now I had to get back downstairst to the phone. I was soaked in sweat and felt like I was going to pass out. When I made it to the doorway the Princelings were there meowing at me. Then they started nudging me all over and rubbing their bodies on me. Such brave kitties! Most frightened cats would have run and hidden. My babies were encouraging me. I slid down the stairs on my butt and after a few minutes called my hubby to call me an ambulance.After several hours in ER where a cat scan and spinal tap were performed - and three bags of saline, 3 doses of morphine, and two doses of anti-nasea meds - my tests finally came back normal. Thank goodness! The diagnosis: 'Just' a really extreme migraine. Doc sent me home with a large quantity of percocet and orders for bedrest. My neuro is finally back in her office today and I'm still waiting a return call re the ER visit. My hubby is still woried out of his mind. Sinji won't leave me and Fergus is quite pissed at me for worrying him. I am feeling better. The tests coming back normal is great, but I'm still wondering what caused this!

2006-12-29T18:38:00.000-10:00

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.

2006-12-29T18:35:00.000-10:00

This is Dynofelis Fergus McMouser at 25 pounds. He's 2 1/2 years old.

Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

2006-12-29T15:11:00.000-10:00

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

Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

2006-12-29T14:59:00.000-10:00

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.

Back Copy Blurb of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

2006-12-29T14:58:00.000-10:00

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

Questions on Other Blogs

2006-12-29T14:55:00.000-10:00

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?

Cat Hair

2006-12-29T14:54:00.000-10:00

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:-)

Presents, Boxes, and Rules

2006-12-29T14:52:00.000-10:00

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?

Birthday Cake and Curiosity

2006-12-29T14:51:00.000-10:00

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 . . .

Maddness of the Season

2006-12-29T14:50:00.000-10:00

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?

Research Tips For the Early 20th Century

2006-12-29T14:49:00.000-10:00

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!

Unusual Historicals

2006-12-29T14:48:00.000-10:00

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

2006-12-29T14:43:00.000-10:00

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.