CALLING ALL CATS!

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!

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?

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

"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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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!

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.

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

Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL won the Holt Medallion Award for Best Mainstream Single Title for 2005. Also, the Gold Blether Award.

Chapter OneCalcutta, State of Bengal1932

"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.

The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers."

"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"

Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."

"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."

The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."

"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."

"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."

"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.

"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."

Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.

The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.

The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"

Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender."I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"

"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.

"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."

Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"

"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."

Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."

The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"

"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."

Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead.

He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls

Excerpt of BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL

BLOOD MOON OVER BENGAL won the Holt Medallion Award for Best Mainstream Single Title for 2005. Also, the Gold Blether Award.

Chapter One

Calcutta, State of Bengal1932

"They just bloody dropped dead!" The young major's voice trembled in anger as he faced his commanding officer. Electric punkas whirred sluggishly overhead, barely stirring the stifling air in the spacious office and doing nothing to dry the sweat pouring off his body.

The Colonel leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Yes, well, they were Indians weren't they, Major? It's not like they were British officers.

"They were men! Sir! They were not disposable because they were not British. Sir!"

Colonel Mainwarring lifted his grey eyebrows, raking the soldier before him with a contemptuous glance. "The entire regiment is aware of your singular opinion on that subject, Major Covington-Singh. However, it doesn't change the fact that the British Indian Army - especially the soldiers of the 1st Rangpur Foot - must at all times be at the ready. We do not mollycoddle our men because it happens to be rather warm."

"Sir, I appreciate we are not here to enjoy the niceties of a tea party, but it was 120 degrees when those men died from heat exhaustion. More than one day is needed to recover from such a march before departing on manoeuvres again."

The Colonel leaned forward to deposit his pipe in an ashtray and reach for a legal size envelope from a corner of his massive desk. "Nonsense. Any soldier worth his salt will do whatever is required of him. In a few short weeks the summer will end and the monsoons will start. Outbreaks of cholera and malaria will soon follow. Much more efficient to get done what we can now. You can start by studying this lot," he said, handing the Major the thick brown envelope. "Another murder while you were on manoeuvres. Nasty business, and normally not our concern to muck about in civilian matters, but several," he gave Major Covington-Singh a sharp look, "highly placed Indians have caused a palava with the Commissioner and now he's dumped it in our laps. Or more precisely, yours, since you are Security Officer, Major."

"Another Brahmin woman, I see, sir. That makes two now." Major Covington-Singh frowned, flipping through the pages. "If we don't count the prostitutes in the Bustees."

"You are aware, Major, anything that may happen in the Bustees is pure conjecture. It is no man's land. No bloody use imposing law and order in that hellish warren. No, we need only worry about the Brahmins. Find the wog responsible and arrest him. Can't think why the Civils cocked it up. Likely too busy chatting up these passive resistance berks."

"And if it isn't an Indian, Colonel?" the Major asked, his voice tight.

"Are you implying an Englishman may be culpable, Major? Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's a bloody Indian. It's a simple situation, Major. Take care of it." He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. "Dismissed."

Nigel Covington-Singh saluted and performed a smart about face before departing the office. He paused a moment, shading his eyes from the unrelenting glare of the Indian sun. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing bearding the Colonel in the den he so rarely left, in an attempt to stall manoeuvres until the mercury fell below the 120 degree mark. No wonder the old man remained in ignorance of how 'warm' it truly was. Nigel wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed for the Officers' Mess. A pint of English lager was what he needed.

The lounge was dark after the brightness outside, and with several fans operating, blessedly cool. A native server dressed in a white dhoti and tunic with matching turban approached when Nigel took a seat at the bar.

The server bowed, his face impassive. "Sahib, your pleasure, please?"

Nigel answered him and turned, hearing the stool next to him scraping the floor. A man of medium height, brown hair, and captain's epaulettes sat down and nodded to the bartender.

"I say, old chap, bloody hot out! Do pour me a large gin and tonic, there's a good man." Turning to Nigel, he announced, "Just posted here two days ago. Don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. Doesn't get like this in Ireland - or in America. Spent three years there. Do you know those ridiculous Yanks have outlawed liquor! Can't go to one's club for a quiet smoke and a civilised drink. One is required to patronise an illegal 'speakeasy'. Rowdy places they are, too. And if the proper palms haven't been greased the bobbies break in and haul everyone off to the nick!" He paused to drink deeply from his sweaty glass. "I say, haven't introduced m'self yet. Harry Woodford at your service, Major -?"

"Nigel Covington-Singh," supplied Nigel.

"Heard you just lost five men on manoeuvres. Bad luck, old man!" He reached in his pocket for his Woodbines and politely offered one to the Major. After lighting both cigarettes, the Captain looked Nigel in the eye and remarked, "Damned lucky it wasn't any more in this heat."

Not wishing to discuss the sore subject, Nigel simply replied, "Quite." Taking a sip of his beer, he enquired, "What took you to America?"

"My fortune, of course. I am, unfortunately, one of those sorry creatures, a second son. Always handy to have a spare tucked away, until of course, the heir grows up healthy and produces an heir of his own. Makes one quite superfluous. M'father, the Earl of Tillinghurst, you know, sent me off to America to make my start." He gazed at the dregs in his glass forlornly before continuing. "Only trouble was I arrived a mere three months before the Crash. Lost everything, of course. Men were blowing their heads off right and centre, doncha know. Tried to make the most of it, but in the end I had to ask m'father for help. He arranged a commission, and here I am ready to cut a swath through the jungle."

Nigel smiled and ordered another round of drinks. "Instead of picking your way through the headless bodies and getting jostled about in one of your speakeasies, you'll be contending with mosquitoes the size of finches, cholera, malaria, snakes the length of this bar, and once the monsoons start, unending rain with mud every place you now see dust." He crushed out his cigarette and took possession of his new lager. "The heat is at its worst now summer is almost over."

The Captain shook his head. "Funny thing for summer to end in June." He pushed his empty glass out of the way and stirred his new one before sipping it. "I say, one can't help hearing things, and even in the short time I've been here I've heard a few about you. Isn't your father a bigwig up north somewhere?"

"You could say that, yes. He's the Maharaja of Kashmir."

Capt. Woodford's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth to speak, but his words were lost by the low droning of an engine overhead. Very close overhead. It sputtered, coughed, quit and started again in a high pitched wine. In accord, both men rushed to the doorway to witness an old Bristol Fighter more fall on the dusty parade ground several hundred yards distant, than actually land.Black smoke issued from the engine as the old flyer came to a halt. Three machine guns mountings from the Great War era swung loosely and something from the tail fell heavily into the dirt. Already the fire lorry was on the way, sirens blaring. Men poured from the surrounding regimental offices.

Approaching the growing pandemonium Nigel could see what he had thought were bombs under the wings, was in actuality luggage firmly lashed to them instead. He watched two slender figures emerge from the cockpits and onto the wings. An officer stepped forward to assist them down.

Once they were safely on the ground they reached to pull off their aviation caps, and held their audience spellbound. One revealed golden finger-waved tresses and the other, short red curls.