Miss Missy Elocutes

Missy

Jack is busy finishing the paperwork for his town council run, so we appreciate Missy stepping in to write this week’s guest blog.

Good afternoon. My name is Missy and I am Foster Cat in Residence at Tales of the Lonesome Pine Used Books. They have invited me to live in their efficiency apartment while I sort my circumstances.

Nothing sordid, mind you, but I was living with a family of six cats and one human staff member up until November of last year, when our housekeeper’s big heart finally gave out. We were all very sad; she was such a good woman.

Of course we had no idea what was in store for us, but we were quickly split up and sent to stay with relations. My companion Smudge and I wound up here. I wouldn’t say a word against Smudge, but let me assure you, we shared nothing but the bills and housekeeping chores.

missy sittingSmudge was quickly adopted, but I’ve been here at the bookstore’s Hostel for Distressed Gentlecats about a month now. My time has not been idle. I’ve run up a pair of curtains for the windows and given the hardwood floor a good scrubbing. I’ve also improved the manners of the staff, and let me tell you, they needed some work. There seem to be four cats in permanent residence, and they had let things slide considerably. I even had to put up a fuss until a clean white towel was arranged under my food service area.

They are kind people, and I know they mean well, but the heart longs for a home of its own, does it not? I would like nothing more than to pack my (clean) ramekins and fluffy pillow, put on my good hat, and go out the door to a quieter, gentler place. While I don’t mind dogs as such, they do make quite a lot of noise. Really, I think it would be ideal for me to live in a home with a couple of younger cats. I could teach them deportment, and the finer points of life, like keeping one’s sleeping area clean, and how to brew a perfect cup of catnip tea. In the afternoon, as they dozed on the verandah, I could read them stories of a morally uplifting nature.

missy walkingAnd while a lady hesitates to discuss private matters, I am of a certain age (oh, all right, seven) and have been… {ahem} seen to down there.

So really, I’m only waiting for the right home to come along: quiet, calm, and with a housekeeper who is prepared to brush my fur at least twice a day. As I say, the people here are kind, but they do seem busy, and I really cannot abide missing a brushing. If you think you could provide these simple needs, do please stop by so we can discuss room requirements and mutual expectations. Thank you for this little chat, and I look forward to getting to know you better soon.

She was Young, Lithe, Long-tailed…

cat romanceJack’s weekly guest blog

The other morning I idly watched our two staff kittens, Owen Meany (male) and Nike (female) rolling around in a clinch (heated embrace) in front of the paperback romances. And I was struck by a thought.

We have far too many romances and are having trouble shifting them, despite every conceivable (hah!) kind of discount or clever bundling. But my wife the author is always laughing about something known as “kitten cover theory.” Basically, the fastest way to sell a book is to put a kitten on its cover.

And we know for a fact that ‘cozy’ mysteries that involve cats or kittens fly off the shelf. . .

. . . so I wonder if paperback romances involving love-struck kittens mightn’t be a sure-fire seller? Nike tends to come off worst from her encounters with Owen – frequently with a scratch or a bruise. Hickies, in essence.

Titles began to appear in my imagination. ” Catermauling Lover,” “Kitten Canoodle,”  “My Highland Wildcat” –  –  –

Then cover art with muscular toms and shapely tabbies rolling around in each other’s paws.

The blurbs on the back of romances have always amused us and so I began to write them in my mind –

“She was young, lithe, and long-tailed. He was lean, mean, a real street tough whose whiskers quivered with desire….”

Well, that will be quite enough of that.

What makes this all a bit academic, though, is that Owen Meany isn’t quite the man he used to be and Nike is, even as I write, having a small ‘procedure’ carried out by Dr. Beth. So all future clinches will be purely platonic for both of them. Perhaps that adds to the romance?