"There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast."

There is only so much drama one can get into a 1,000 word picture book story.  I wrote about a small boy who falls madly in love with a battered stray who wanders into his garden, then goes missing.  He, the cat, is found again, but my agent thinks the story needs more tension - but love must be established before anxiety at its loss can be described - but that's publisher; ; they want it all & at the least cost to them.  Ah, well, it's a business like any other.

Little Tiger sent me a questionaire that runs to 3 pages; I shall answer none of them except  my name and telephone number.  I will send a photo - also reguested.  I think it damned impertinent of them to want to know so much.  But perhaps it's just frustration that I can't say 'Yes' to the ocassional book signing.  At the moment the nearest town seems like a 'planet far,far away. . .'

• Do not meddle in the affairs of cats, for they are subtle and will urinate on your computer.
  I don't know who said that but it's true. Mine throws fur-balls in strange, undetectable places; the best, to date, was a bowl of pot pourri.  I use the word Best as from her point of view. 
• But enough of my cat.  My friends are not acting in the way that imagined they would. The sufferers are recovered, thankfully, but the one who recieved death threats has gone home to mother after reporting the threats to the police.  As the threats were not made, as I originally thought, by the ex-husband, but by a drunken friend, while the ex and his new girl friend giggled and tried to disuade the caller in the background, I thought the whole course of action was a bit extreme. What was even more over the top was the fact that she sent a text  telling all the facts to her fourteen year old daughter, who, the day before, began a  three week European tour with the Youth Philharmonic.  That must have reassured the daughter a lot.
• The friend who suffered an unexpected split in his marriage emailed me to say that he had joined an online dating agency and had already met two people.  'It's like getting back on a horse after a fall' he wrote -but as an ex-rider, and one who never fell off, I not so sure it's the same.  A bit like people who have never written a book but who say that writing a novel's like giving birth.  As one who has experienced both novel writing & childbirth, I feel I can say that it is not.
• But what do I know

All my friends - well, four of them anyway - seem to be having rough times.  I sit here, feeling sorry for myself & thinking what a great time everyone else is having & then discover that they are in the midst of all kinds of trouble.  One had an operation for gall stones & did well until she took the perscribed codeine; I  won't repeat the details, listening once was enough.  Another received death threats from her divorced husband when she applied to the court of payment of back child-support; one ate ice cream in Spain and was extremely ill for a week,and one was presented by an irreparable split in what he imagined to be a happy marriage.  I feel chastened.
One the other hand, an old boy friend, now on the other side of the world, rang me up for a chat.  He quite often does this.  It's cheering and flattering.
My other cat is a Jaguar. 

I have been asked to do a publicty tour - of a kind - to rouse interest in my latest book.  It's a picture book and the artitst is wonderful!  I stuck  to my original brief, which was to make the story as factual as possible, but the commissioning editor was new to the post, and wanted,I think, to make a good impression with her first book. It went through nine re-writes and from fact to fantasy - and then back to my original version; to my great relief. I was beginning to think that I'd lost my touch. But I really must practise my walking - the customers of W,H.Smith wouldn't be impressed by an author who gives the impression of a drunken duchess.
My cat sits sulking on the wall - all is as usual

"Dogs believe they are human. Cats believe they are God."
- Unknown
I love the above quote- whoever wrote it certainly knew cats. Mine sits on the wall, waiting for breakfast & occasionally throwing me a withering look.  I send one back but I'm not sure she receives it; if she does, she ignores it. 
It's seven-thirty on a bright sunny morning and after a few hectic days I've decided that this will be a day of play.  Having made this resolution I immediately think of at least six things I must do.  Books lie around, wating to be culled for the charity shop, clothes lie around waiting to be taken upstairs - the latter not a big job but as my balance is still not right I cling to two bannister railings when mounting the stairs, & in the case of taking clothes back in bulk, drag a  full plastic bin liner behind me.
A nautical friend devised a method of taking a full bag upstairs by a complicated method that invovled a washing line - it was brilliant; one stood on the landing and just hauled away - singing the ocassional shanty.   Unfortunetely, he left in a huff and took his nautical line with him.  I have never been able to remember how it was done. Ah, me. . .

Being offline is a little like being cast on a desert island; I told myself that there was lots to do, like finishing a story - but I still felt bereft.  Now I have begun another tale and feel  a bit guilty about it.  It's the first time I've ever based a story on something even remotely connected to what has happened personally and find that I am really enjoying writing it.  Well, I love writing anyway but this is something extra.  Revenge?  I have a sneaking suspicion that it might be, and revenge is something we are not supposed to seek, are we? 

I took my new small laptop to bed, along with my morning coffee.  It, the laptop, immediately said that its battery was dangerously low.  I brought its cable up and connected it to the mains, whereupon it hid every icon and subtituted an hour glass.  I waited patiently, I read a little, I sorted out some more things for the charity shop - the hour glass icon persisted.  I brought everything down, replugged, & at once it showed me everything it could do.  I no longer care. Even the flip-round screen that allows one to write notes with a special pen then turn them into a computer file if one wishes can't invite my enthusiasm at the moment.
It's warm & will become wqarmer, so my forecast says.  My cat sits on the wall, waiting for breaakfast.  I drink more coffee

Tired of smiling  to make myself and others feel better I decided to be bitchy, which led my thoughts to Eartha Kitt's wonderful song 'I want to be evil, I want to spit tacks.'  Just thinking about it made me feel better, and full of smiles. See?

But it also made me recall 'Archie & Mehitabel.'  How could I have forgotten that,Archie the cockroach, who uses his bosses typewriter at night {all but the punctuation keys, which he can't manage, and Mehitabel, the stray alley cat, played on stage by Eartha Kitt.  Mehitabel's motto was mine - and still is.
'It's cheerio my deario what sees a lady through!'

Just out of curiousity I registered with a website devoted to those us us who needed a little help - stroke victims, MS & the like.  The stories were horrific.  And the writers were often so brave, making light of the most horrendous tales.  They made my story seem like child's play - so what if I now have only two styles of walking  - A duchess who's been too much to the gin bottle {that is, upright & very regal, but only to keep myself from falling over} & a mad Balinese type, with wild ,eccentric gestures.  Well, most of the inhabitants of the village think me mad anyway; for a start, I don't have a proper job - I write & that's not like going out to work everyday at 7 a.m & returning at 6 p.m. is it?  I've lost count of the people who've told me 'I intend to write a children's book one day, but I haven't time right now.' 
But my friend Anne, a writer like me, but of crime novels, tells me that some victims - & by that I mean anyone in a distressing situation - complain constantly about their lot & this is ultimately unattractive - sad but true.  Friends rally round but are driven away by the constant moans.  So I shall try to keep up my saintly forbearance & smile in the face of adversity.
Or is that going a bit too far?

Well, Jonathan Cainer, in whom I have a sceptical but deep-seated belief, says that my situation will only improve if I continue to be brave and control my own destiny.  This came as something as a suprise as I did not realize that I was being brave; I thought I'd been struggling along in my usual haphazard manner.  But according to Jonathan, no cavalry will ride to my rescue, nor will a shining knight appear by my side.  Well, at my age I'd not expected a knight - or the cavalry either.
Come to think of it, sceptical and deep-seated cancel each other out, don't they? - but at my age one can be irrational. . .unless of course the irrationality is thought to be the first intimations of Alzheimer's.
Oh, bugger - I think I might just swallow a mouse and have done with it