Snippet Saturday: Always On My Mind

Snippet Saturday is the brainchild of author Lauren Dane, wherein a group of authors select thematic excerpts from their work and share them on Saturday mornings. This Saturday's snippet is always on my mind. Thought I'd share this scene from Claustrophobic Christmas when our hero, James, is trying to figure out why he keeps obsessing over the heroine...

***

James watched Darcy go with mixed feelings. The one person he paradoxically had and hadn’t wanted to see more than anyone in the world, and damned if she didn’t show up. Speak of the devil.

But Darcy Burkell was no demon come to ruin his life and cast his soul into Hell. Hardly. She was kind of a goody-two-shoes. Kind of fussy. Kind of frumpy. God, that sweat suit!

She was the kind of woman he never had anything to do with, but at the same time, she was all he could think about. She made him laugh and she made him worry about her and she made him crazy wondering what it would be like.

It being sex. With her.

When he’d shown up at her office, her hair had been in all these dark, shiny curls and she’d had two buttons undone on her blouse so he could see a hint of pale cleavage. She had enough to entice but not so much it looked like her chest would get in the way when they were mashed up together, hot and heavy. And then there were her tight skirt and round hips. Yeah, a man could grab onto Darcy and not get tired of her any time soon.

But instead of being happy to see him, she’d stared at him like he had two deformed heads. And proceeded to make up some crap about a boyfriend he knew was crap the minute she said it.

Even in that day-glow sweat suit, he still wanted her, and he never wanted a woman who’d shot him down. Thanks, but no thanks. There were plenty of easier women. And by easy he didn’t mean slutty, he just meant easy to predict, easy to be with and easy to leave.

His feelings for Darcy had crept up on him like kudzu. One day he’d been thrilled to have a punctual client who asked for material that inspired him, and the next he’d noticed that whenever he took a great shot, he wanted to share it with her. He passed the world’s largest garden gnome en route to a job, and he wanted to laugh at it with her. He saw dolphins leaping in the Atlantic…the aurora borealis over Nome…the foamy white spray of a waterfall in Brazil…he wanted to turn to her and say, “Look, Darcy. Would you look at that? It’s almost as amazing as you are.”

Not so amazing if she’d had the poor taste to reject him, he supposed, trying to patch the gaping wound in his ego. Women, right? Can’t live with them in their condos, can’t ask them to live in your tent.

 

*****

Jody Wallace
Author, Cat Person, Amigurumist
http://www.jodywallace.com  * http://www.meankitty.com  

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Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
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Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Lissa Matthews
TJ Michaels
Mari Carr

Snippet Saturday: Hero's First Glance of Heroine

Snippet Saturday is the brainchild of author Lauren Dane, wherein a group of authors select thematic excerpts from their work and share them on Saturday mornings. This Saturday's snippet is the hero's first glimpse of the heroine. I'm sharing from Tangible, which will be released later this month! So excited to have new books in the works.

***

Zeke hated it when the dreamers were Joss Whedon fans. Based on the pixel-perfect accuracy of the vampires she’d conjured—vamps who were now attempting to eat her—this dreamer had memorized every incarnation of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, from the show transcripts to the books to the comics.

Cursing, he flung his knife at an oncoming vamp and whirled to stake a second. The ugly mother snarled its way up the spike before exploding into a million particles of dust. How the hell many were there? The density of the pack wasn’t a good sign.

In fact, it was very, very bad. Especially for him.

The neo they were here to collar huddled in the alley behind him, brandishing a gigantic pocketbook like a flail. Blood from a small wound at her throat trickled down her skin and stained the collar of her coat. He had to hand it to her. She had moxie. And a seriously overactive imagination that had to be harnessed before it got her and everyone else killed.

Well, at least she’d stopped screaming.

[[[[snip to a couple pages later]]]]

Enough light filtered in that he could distinguish the woman’s features and form. Not a kid, thank God. Past her twenties—the most common age for neonati. The cut on her throat looked like a failed bite. It would sting but wasn’t dangerous. Caucasian, US citizen from the accent, with long disheveled hair, dark eyes with circles under them, and a round, cold-reddened face. Five-foot-five or six. She boasted what seemed to be generous curves under her heavy coat and fuzzy pants.

She was on the pretty side of ordinary, with intelligence in her sharp gaze and alertness in her body language.

**PREORDER LINKS**

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Jody Wallace
Author, Cat Person, Amigurumist
http://www.jodywallace.com  * http://www.meankitty.com  

SOCIAL MEDIA:
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Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
http://shilohwalker.com/website
Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Felicity Heaton
Lissa Matthews
TJ Michaels

Meankitty Wants To Know: Shawna Reppert

Got another interview for you today! The cat who owns author Shawna Reppert (www.shawnareppert.com), Samhain, has graciously spilled the bean-like meat substance on life with her author. The human's novel The Stolen Luck is now available from Carina Press.

1) So, Samhain, your human writes books. Does this mean he or she is home all day and easy to access? Elaborate if necessary.

I wish! She has this thing she calls a day job. She says she needs to earn money to buy kitty crunchies. I allow her to write because she promises that someday she’ll make enough money to stay home and write in between tending to my whims. So please buy her book and tell all your friends.

2) Does the attention your human pays to javelin throwing and the large dog aka the horse, Celeborn, detract from the attention that must be paid to you?

Let me tell you, she says she’s going out to earn money to buy kitty crunchies. But she leaves early every morning in office clothes, and more often than not comes back later in the evening in different clothes that reek of horse. Sometimes I even smell other cats on her. It’s more than a poor cat should have to bear.

3) How did you cleverly manipulate your human from beyond the womb (aka before you were born) to give up raptors and wolf-dogs and become a cat-owned human writer-type?

Well, she had to leave the raptors behind when she moved from Pennsylvania and the wolf-dog passed on years before I was born (which is a shame, as I understand from the shade of my predecessor he was properly submissive toward cats and a lot of fun to bully.) Long story short, she was easy prey. I knew from the womb that I was destined for better things than being a barn cat, so I worked hard to grow thick, fluffy fur. All my other siblings (there were nine of us, can you imagine!) were born common short-hairs. Now, my human insists she prefers short-hairs and only took me home because a barn cat’s life would leave me all mats and tangles, but I know different. Really, how could she refuse not only the long, beautiful hair but the clever combination of cute white bib and mittens daringly contrasted by the offset slash of orange down my face and the luxurious orange and black mottling throughout my coat.

4) What about the attention your human pays to writing? Does it detract from proper worship of you? What indignities and neglect have you suffered because of it?

Neglect? Let me tell you, when she’s ‘in the zone’, as she puts it, the house could burn down around us and she wouldn’t notice. I don’t know why I put up with her. Other than that she owns the house and buys the kitty crunchies.

5) What are your techniques for distracting your human during crucial writing moments, just because it's fun?

My favorite technique is to put my little white mitten-paws on the very edge of her desk and look sweet and imploring. A controversial technique, I realize. But what I lose in dignity points I more than make up for in masterful manipulation score. Once I achieve her lap, I can lean against the keyboard and press random keys, knock over a glass with my tail. . .the possibilities are endless.

6) Tell me about the felines in your human's fiction. How often do they appear and how big a part do they play?

While there aren’t many cats in The Stolen Luck, my human does make judicious use of the limited feline word space. Careful readers will notice the mention of cats as part of the scenery in the two towns mentioned early in the book. The cat in Dunbar is a hungry, nervous stray. The cat in Greenbrae is fat, content, and happily napping on the sunny porch of its home. The contrast between the two cats mirrors the contrast between the two towns.

Later, the protagonist yields with fond resignation to his daughter’s pleas for a kitten of her very own, an indication of James’s affection for his child. The same kitten becomes the focal point of a bonding moment between Violet and the elf Loren—a small but important scene. Loren’s growing attachment to James’s family gives him more reason to commit wholeheartedly to James’s cause. James, very much a family man, becomes more attracted to Loren for how well he bonds with Violet.

Oh, and in “The Beast Within”, a short story my human sold to the steampunk anthology Gears and Levers 2, close friends of Miss Catherine Fairchild call her ‘Cat’. She is almost worthy of the name— beautiful, intelligent, proud, and above all strong-willed. (Otherwise the story is disappointingly preoccupied with werewolves.)

7) On the off-chance your human has yet to incorporate cats into a story -- only raptors and horses and dogs -- what are your plans for making sure she rectifies this egregious error and demonstration of poor writing skills? It seems as if she's an animal-oriented author, but those animals need to be the RIGHT ONES, don't they?

Like most humans, she’s almost impossible to train, but we’re working on it. Her latest project, a novel-length sequel to “The Beast Within”, is positively lousy with werewolves. The few cats mentioned provide atmosphere only, although my human does make a nod to their selfless and thankless role in controlling vermin on the streets of London.

She agrees with me that Miss Fairchild is worthy of being kept by a cat, but hasn’t figured out how to work it into the rewrite yet. I’d really like to see her make the point that in Victorian England cats were considered good luck. It might help end the persecution of my black-furred kin. This issue is near and dear to my heart as my mother was a black half-Siamese. My elder brother is solid black, as was my predecessor who did the preliminary training of my human (faulty though that training might be.)

8) What works of fiction or cinema involving cats does your human enjoy sharing with you?

Tailchaser’s Song by Tad Williams. We both also enjoy the brief but significant cameos of the gray ‘scattercat’ in his Memory, Sorrow and Thorn trilogy. No surprise, since Mr. Williams is also a cat-owned writer.

9) If you could make one change to your human, what would it be?

I wish she’d watch more DVDs. I like snuggling on the couch. Can’t wait for the new Sherlock season to come out. That’ll keep her watching. We both like Benedict Cumberbatch— very cat-like.

10) Did your human name a character after you or name you after a fictional character?

Due to my black-and-orange ‘Halloween’ coloring, she named me for the original pagan festival of Samhain (pronounced SOW-in), which is the Celtic New Year’s Eve when the veil between the worlds grows thin and the dead may walk among us. Later, the holiday became Christianized as All Hallows’ Eve, or Halloween.

A crucial scene in The Stolen Luck occurs during a harvest feast similar to the feast of Samhain. I rather like that scene.

11) I hear you may be the cutest cat in the world. Can you prove it?

Can you argue with the evidence before your eyes? 

12) Find out more about the author....

www.ShawnaReppert.com
Twitter: @ShawnaReppert
On Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Shawna-Reppert/e/B00957U8KG/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
On Facebook: www.facebook.com/shawna.reppert
On Tumbler: http://www.tumblr.com/blog/shawnareppert

***

Sincerely,

Meankitty & The Human with Opposable Thumbs
www.meankitty.com * www.jodywallace.com

Snippet Saturday: Her Man (Heroine's First Glimpse of Hero)

Snippet Saturday is the brainchild of author Lauren Dane, wherein a group of authors select thematic excerpts from their work and share them on Saturday mornings. This Saturday's snippet is the heroine's first glimpse of the hero. I've asked a writer friend, Jeffe Kennedy, if she has any good examples of this, and she sent me this excerpt from RUBY, her upcoming BDSM novella from Carina press! You can find out more about Jeffe at http://www.jeffekennedy.com/

***

A crash from the kitchen shattered the mood, heads swiveling to catch the source of the commotion, a voice bellowing, quite clearly now, “Not in my restaurant!”

A man in chef’s whites charged out among the elegant tables, zeroed in on her and, with a sneer twisting his handsome mouth, strode up to her table.

“You do not tell me.”

“Excuse me?” Dani looked him up and down to steady herself. Slim, American—which surprised her because most five-stars seemed to think they needed European chefs—dark eyes that matched his neatly trimmed beard, a piratical gold hoop in one ear. Was that a Cajun accent? Surely not.

“I cook for you. You eat. That’s how this works.” He gave the abandoned half roll a glinting glance of contempt. “You will have my snapper as I give it to you. I promise it will be perfect.”

She set her teeth. “I pay and you make what I want. That is how this works.”

He reassessed her and Dani felt his estimation rise, as it always did. She knew what they saw when they looked at her—the cursed cupid’s bow lips, her thickly lashed gray eyes, the round cheeks that never slimmed, no matter her body fat, and the Grecian black curls that would not be tamed in this humidity. She looked like a china doll.

It always shocked them that she wasn’t as sweet as she looked. Surprise!

Fire sparked in his black eyes. Behind him, the maitre d’ hovered. She pursed her lips, painted a perfect candy red, and raised the arches of her brows. “Did I stutter?”

Unexpectedly, a smile crept through his anger, not of pleasure, but of a challenge taken. An image of him tossing her over the table, raising her skirt and plunging into her flashed through her mind, so vivid and sudden, so unlike her usual thoughts, that she wondered if somehow it came from him.

Preorder: (out 5/13)
* http://ebooks.carinapress.com/596A9FE5-6720-463F-AFF6-18BB8DC73133/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=2D484F91-0B6A-40A1-8B4E-CC8777DDABA6
* http://www.amazon.com/Ruby-Facets-of-Passion-ebook/dp/B00BED271M/ref=la_B001KIASYE_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1366843718&sr=1-6
* http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ruby-jeffe-kennedy/1114811862?ean=9781426895487
* https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-ruby-1151275-340.html  

******

Jody Wallace
Author, Cat Person, Amigurumist
http://www.jodywallace.com * http://www.meankitty.com

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MORE EXCERPTS!

Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
http://shilohwalker.com/website
Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Lissa Matthews
Felicity Heaton
Mari Carr

Snippet Saturday: Author's Choice

Snippet Saturday is the brainchild of author Lauren Dane, wherein a group of authors select thematic excerpts from their work and share them on Saturday mornings. This Saturday's snippet is author's choice, and I'm sharing a little somthing from a friend's book: FORBIDDEN FIRES by Jodie Griffin.

Jodie has been victimized by Meankitty a couple times already (Text Cattification: http://blog.jodywallace.com/2012/10/snippet-saturday-bump-in-night.html and Cover Cattification: http://blog.jodywallace.com/2012/03/cattification-feline-fantasies.html). She's such a good sport! But we aren't cattifying this excerpt. It's straight up.

**************

He’d seen this side of Dee before and knew it was time to back off. For now, anyway, but he wasn’t giving in without the final word. He held up both hands in supplication. “Look, I’m sorry. My timing sucks, okay? But don’t you dare tell me you weren’t into it.”

She opened her mouth and then snapped it closed again. Without another word, she turned and stalked away from him, muttering under her breath.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and shake her. Damn it, she was shutting him out, the way she always did. As he watched her retreating back, the angel on his other shoulder demanded equal time from his conscience. A little voice—an annoying one—reminded him that he knew why she did it, and he understood it. Now he just needed to accept that she was looking for a little space to regain her equilibrium.

And damn it, she was right. They were working. Eight dead bodies should be enough to keep his libido in check—and keep his mind on the case. Eight. Disgust rolled through him and he swore, then picked up the boots and brought them over to her.

“Here,” he said quietly, talking to her back. “You can rip me a new one later. I was out of line, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

She turned to face him, and his heart clenched painfully. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears and, if he was right, self-recrimination. Which was totally fucked up.

“Dee—”

“Don’t, Colin. Just don’t.” She shook her head, her voice on the verge of breaking. “Give me the boots.”

As she kicked off one of her shoes, he knelt down in front of her, holding the boot upright so she could step into it. Her hand dropped onto his shoulder to steady herself. He sucked in a deep breath but kept silent, helping her with the second boot.

While his head was bent, her hand landed softly on his hair for a long second. “You’re right, I was into it.” Her voice was soft, as if the admission pained her. “But we need to focus. Or you need a different partner.”

With that, she turned and clomped off toward the house.

***

Tremors shook Delia’s hands as she waited for Colin at the foot of the steps to the mansion. She might be pissed off at him—and herself—but she wasn’t stupid enough to go into the house without him. She didn’t know much about structural integrity or arson, so she didn’t know what to look for or where it was safe to walk.

She felt him step behind her, to the side, and tensed as one arm came around her shoulders. He squeezed once, pressed a soft kiss against her temple and then let her go. His simple acknowledgement of her feelings made her heart stutter.

So much for being over him.

“I don’t want any partner but you, Delia Robinson,” he murmured softly in her ear. “I can’t think of anyone else I want at my side and watching my back.”

“Then let’s get to work,” she said, wincing at the husky tone to her voice. Tears did that to her. Really, they did.

***

You're welcome!

Jody W. & Meankitty
www.jodywallace.com * www.meankitty.com

FOR MORE EXCERPTS:

Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
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Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
Lissa Matthews
Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Mandy M. Roth
Felicity Heaton
Mari Carr
Selena Blake

Snippet Saturday: Try a Little Tenderness

Snippet Saturday is the brainchild of author Lauren Dane, wherein a group of authors select thematic excerpts from their work and share them on Saturday mornings. This Saturday's snippet is try a little tenderness. I'm sharing an excerpt from Caught in Amber, an sf romance by my friend Cathy Pegau, which you can find out more about at Cathy's website: http://cathypegau.com/

In this story, the hero, Sterling, has just talked the heroine, Sasha, into helping him try to bring down her ex boyfriend, a dangerous drug dealer...

Sterling preceded Sasha into his room and twisted the light switch just inside the door. A single globe flickered to life overhead, threatened to go out then glowed with a harsh white glare to reveal just how crappy a room can be obtained for fifty untraceable credits a week.

Finding an unwired, relatively safe place to conduct his business required compromises to be met, breathing room being one of them. The dank little space at the end of a danker hallway wouldn’t hold more than four adults without forcing someone to stand in the doorway. He hadn’t expected to bring anyone here, least of all someone who could turn on him if she chose to. But something about Sasha James said he could trust her. He hoped he was right.

Sterling closed the door behind them, not bothering to lock it. No one else lived in the building, and leaving it unlocked might ease Sasha’s mind somewhat. He removed his coat and hung it on one of the hooks jutting from the back of the door.

Sasha wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were still standing out in the snow. Her skin looked starkly pale in the unforgiving light; he couldn’t read her expression. Did he scare her that much, or was it the situation? Probably a little of both, but it couldn’t be helped. All he could do was assure her he’d do his damnedest to keep her safe. As long as she played square with him.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Not that there was much choice in seating. A narrow cot sagged against the left-hand wall. Across from the bed was a rickety, straight-backed chair with barely space for a body to move between them.
In the corner beside the chair, a Revivalists Chapbook sat on a low, painted chest.

She took the chair and turned to face the bed, her knees together beneath her black skirt. The hem rose as she sat, revealing the shapely curve of her legs. What did the rest of her look like beneath the heavy material clothes and tights?

Sterling gave himself a mental shake. She was anxious enough. No need for him to add ogling her legs to the stress.

“Do you want me to take your coat?” He approached her as he would a wounded animal, risking the loss of an arm if he moved too fast.

“No, I’m good. Just start talking so I can get back.” She threaded a hand through the long strands of hair on top of her head.

Her eyes held steady on his as he sat across from her on the thin mattress. The bed frame creaked beneath him. Face to face, their knees nearly touched. The smallness of the room had never bothered him until now. It was impossible to ignore how tiny it was, with the two of them filling the space.

Impossible to ignore how close she was when a mere intake of breath brought her rain-and-flower scent to him.

Sterling swallowed hard and shifted backward, eliciting a rhythmic creaking from the frame. Heat rushed to his face as Sasha’s gaze dropped to the bed then quickly rose to meet his eyes. She scooted back as far as she could on the hard chair.

“I’m going to get a job that doesn’t start until after twelve-hundred. Maybe on a planet that never has winter.” Her tone was conversational, but the words were more than lamentation about being tied to the system or the relentless cold of Nevarro. They probed for affirmation, reminded him about the terms of their agreement.

Sterling nodded, confirming a promise he wasn’t completely sure he’d be able to keep. He’d pull every string he could to make it happen for her; he just couldn’t guarantee her chip would be deactivated like he’d said. His only relationship to Corrections was his friendship with Mickelson. But telling her that now would blow everything.

“I know you don’t want to be with Christiansen any longer than necessary,” he said, rubbing the side of his hand across the scar on his forehead. “The less time you’re with him, the better.”

Sasha snorted a quiet laugh. “At least we agree there.” He smiled and her cheeks pinked, but instead of glancing away she kept her gaze on him. “Where did you get that? The scar, I mean. Most people would have had it erased.”

Sterling stopped rubbing the slightly raised line and lowered his hand. “An accident, when I was a boy. Fell on my head off a cattle feeder and got stomped.” She winced, and the compassion in her eyes for the injured boy he’d been embarrassed him. He waved off her concern. “Dad refused scar treatment, saying it would teach me not to fool around near the cows, but okayed a new eye so I could still work. Impressed my friends when I made it move independent of the other.”

Sasha laughed at his childhood antics. Unguarded moments brought out a side of her Sterling liked. A side of her he’d bet hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.

As if realizing she’d let him see too much, she sobered, her features closing to him once again. She cleared her throat. “What do you need me to do?”

Mentally, Sterling shook his head at her wariness. Damn Christiansen for what he’d done to her. “Introduce me as a potential amber dealer, someone who can expand his distribution in a new direction.”

The muscles in her jaw tensed. “What better way to get close to him than be the same kind of low-life bastard he is, right?”

“Exactly. I’ll be a guard you met at rehab, someone who works the system as well as works for it.”

“That’ll sound true enough,” she said with a wry grin.

Sterling ran his hand over his damp hair. “Yeah, as frustrating as that is in real life, it works to our advantage.”

“So you’ll be a guard-cum-drug dealer at the rehab center.” She shrugged and shook her head, dismissing the set-up. “Those are a demi-cred a dozen. He’ll never bite on that.”

“Not at the rehab center. I’ll propose dealing at one of the correctional mines.”

Not to say there wasn’t drug use in the correctional mines, but it was underexploited territory for amber dealers because of the high security of the facilities. There’d been a shake-up at Exeter Mining a few months before, when the company had flouted CMA practice standards and the development of their revolutionary K-73 filters hit a lethal snag.

The scandal had been brought to a head by the unlikeliest of people—Liv Braxton, a corporate blackmailer who fell in love with Exeter’s VP of research, Zia Talbot. Sterling had more than enough evidence to slam Exeter for its unethical, deadly research, and the fallout prompted a flurry of increased safety measures, tighter regulations and harsher penalties. Exeter’s disgrace now brought the CMA running for the slightest infraction, both in government-run correctional mines and in the private sector.

Illegal ventures were difficult to pull off, but not impossible. If he could convince Christiansen selling amber in the correctional mines was doable, he might be able to forge a relationship with the drug dealer and get close enough to Kylie to get her out. Sterling’s position at the agency gave him plenty of inside information and some room to maneuver between departments, allowing him to create a scenario he hoped Christiansen wouldn’t be able to resist.

He also hoped his superiors would understand, as his wasn’t a sanctioned operation. Easier to ask for forgiveness for stepping on Justice Department toes than for permission. Maybe. And if he lost his job or became an inmate himself over his plan? Well, that was a risk he was more than willing to take.

The CMA and Justice Department weren’t his only worries. If Christiansen discovered he wasn’t who he claimed to be, it would likely get him killed and possibly put Kylie and Sasha in danger. He was used to the challenges of undercover work. Involving civilians was another matter.

Sasha stared at him, doubt clear on her face. “Do you really think you can pull that off?”

“We just have to make Christiansen think I can.” He grinned at her, but she didn’t seem to share his confidence. His smile faltered. “Without you, he probably wouldn’t see me at all. With you, maybe I can get close enough, get inside fast enough to get Kylie out of there.”

A sadness darkened her eyes. “If she sees you first, if she learns you’re there to get her, she’ll hide. Or tell Guy. You know that, don’t you?”

Her words and expression spoke of experience, making him wince. Had Sasha hidden from her family when they tried to retrieve her from Christiansen’s hold? Had they given up on her? Was that why there was no record of them ever coming to visit her at the NCRC? No record of a comm call or message in the last five years?

He couldn’t imagine abandoning his sister like that, but would she spurn him and their family for the drug? If she were caught in amber, Kylie wouldn’t care about him, wouldn’t care if Christiansen threw him out or maybe even killed him. The idea of his own little sister turning on him made Sterling shake with pain and anger. He knew amber did strange things to users, and he prayed he could get Kylie out before she sank that far.

“I know. For some reason, Kylie’s PR position doesn’t allow her to travel away from his compound very often. When she does, it’s with Christiansen or a bunch of other people.” Or was it her position with the bastard himself that kept her locked away behind the gate and walls? Either way, Sterling knew it was risky to infiltrate the drug dealer’s world, but he had no choice. “That’s why I need you to get me an in. If I can get past Christiansen, I can try to find her on my own. As long as I see her before she sees me, I have a good chance of getting her out.”

Kylie’s life, and the lives of who knew how many women who followed her, might depend on it. He knew Sasha realized it as well, but fear of Christiansen lurked in her eyes.

“He won’t believe me,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll mess up.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be fine.” She had to pave the way for him or he was back at square one. “Christiansen’ll be wary of you coming back into his life, but if you can convince him you’re trying to make peace, it’ll work.”

“Guy’s no fool. After the way I talked to him last time we were in the same room, he’ll expect I’m up to something.”

“I know.”

Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. “And you’ll counter that how? With a note from my parole agent attesting to the sincerity of my backslide?”

“You’ll tell him what he wants to hear, Sasha.” He shifted on the bed, their knees less than a hand-span apart as he leaned closer. The flowery scent of her shampoo reminded him just how close they were. And how much closer they could be with the slightest shift of his body. “What he needs to hear from you.”

“Which is?”

“That you were wrong to leave him.” She stiffened but said nothing, maybe too incensed to speak, so he continued. “You were wrong—you couldn’t make it on the outside without him. Your stint at the NCRC told you that much and more, and now you want to make it up to him.”

“And if he doesn’t believe me?” Her voice was quiet with worry. The soft puffs of her breath he felt on his cheek made his gut quiver.

Swallowing hard, Sterling shrugged and sat back, feigning a casual manner he didn’t feel in the least. “Your part is done, and I try something else.”

“That’s it? I can walk away?” She sounded doubtful.

“Your Level Two status stays. I swear to that.”

“But if I can get you in, you’ll get the chip deactivated.”

He nodded, unable to speak the lie. If he left any room for doubt, she would never agree to work with him.

Sterling cleared his throat and swallowed the lump that nearly choked him. His job often had him bending the truth, if not outright lying. Why was it so difficult this time? His original plan to make her a simple deal of parole status upgrade had become a promise for something he wasn’t sure he could keep, and he felt guilty for lying to her.

“If Guy throws me out first thing,” she said, “I’m no worse off than I am now. Except he remembers I’m alive.”

“Trust me, he remembers now.”

Fear darkened her face and Sasha dropped her gaze to her feet. She took two deep breaths, as if gathering her strength. When she looked at him again, the fear was tempered by something else. Determination? Anger? Disgust? “And if he believes me? If he believes I want to work with him, to…be with him?”

Her voice was low, a rough whisper of dread. They both knew what going back to Christiansen, going back into that world, could do to her. Could she resist the opportunity to return to that lifestyle, even if it negated every struggle she’d been through for the past eight years?

Sterling surrounded one of her hands with both of his. Her skin, cool at first, warmed quickly. He thought she’d pull away, but instead her fist relaxed. He felt the heat of her palm against his fingers as he slid his hand into hers. They fit well together, and he couldn’t help stroking the back of her fingers with his thumb. Her eyes widened, the dark pupils expanding to leave a ring of stormy gray iris.

“I promise to keep you safe. I won’t let him hurt you. We’ll get you away from him. Data wipe, relocation. Whatever you need.”

“You can’t make that promise,” she said, her voice still no louder than a whisper. “I know what he’s capable of. Those pictures…” She shuddered but held his gaze, challenging him. “What do you have to protect me and your sister from that?”

The answer was easy and came to him without hesitation. He emphasized the words by tightening his grip on her hands. She grasped his harder, as if knowing what was to come. “My life. I’ll protect you with my life.”

Doubt flickered then receded from her eyes. She trusted that he’d protect her. Trusted that he’d help her get her life back. No matter what happened, if he and Sasha lived through this, he was going to get the chip deactivated for her.

“Okay,” she said softly.

Left hand still in hers, Sterling raised his right hand, cupped her jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

Sasha didn’t move.

Relief and gratitude thickened his voice. “Thank you,” he said.

She closed her eyes, brows drawn together. For the briefest moment, she pressed her cheek against his palm. Warmth seeped into his skin, and Sterling stifled a groan. He could lean forward and kiss her. How would she taste? What would her mouth—her body—feel like against his?

***

Caught in Amber is currently on sale at pretty much all online vendors! Here's a few.

http://ebooks.carinapress.com/652C0048-E197-440B-903B-512959E17A5A/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=66D4DC2D-DB1D-4045-BE29-EC8D45A34312

http://www.amazon.com/Caught-in-Amber-ebook/dp/B00A22UVNM

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/caught-in-amber-cathy-pegau/1113832192?ean=9781426894985


Jody W. + Meankitty
Author, Cat Person, Amigurumist
http://www.jodywallace.com * http://www.meankitty.com

MORE DOLLOPS OF TENDERNESS!


Shelli Stevens
Caris Roane
Eliza Gayle
McKenna Jeffries
Shiloh Walker
Taige Crenshaw
Delilah Devlin
HelenKay Dimon
TJ Michaels
Lissa Matthews
Myla Jackson
Lauren Dane
Leah Braemel
Mandy M. Roth
Felicity Heaton

Cattification of Ten Days by Olivia Mayfield

In a spurt of industriousness, the human thought it would be fun to participate in a big BOOK COVER reveal for an SF-YA romance called "Ten Days" by Olivia Mayfield. I agreed to let the human do this, but only if it was properly CATTIFIED. So feast your eyes on...

 

 



Ten Dogs by Olivia Mayfield (http://oliviamayfield.com/)
Publication date: May 2013

Seventeen-month-old Catty isn’t like the others. In her society, the Tuna Machine caters to every kitty whim, ensuring cats don’t have to leave their snuggle boxes. Not even for a scratch and a crazed run from room to room for no reason. Or barking at birds from the window. Or climbing to a high place and threatening to jump on people.

But Catty and her best friend Mouser find themselves drawn to how things used to be, when cats lived on the surface of the earth and subjugated humans to their will, instead of this technology. When heavy petting and ear lickings weren’t uncivilized, and love was normal, acceptable, cuddled. Catty tries to purr over her increasing dissatisfaction with the "rules," as well as her rapidly developing feelings for Mouser, a task getting harder each day.

Then, things start going downhill, fast. Tuna and treats are spoiled. Air grows musty and smells of other animals. The kitty population panics about the dysfunction--is it canine sabotage? Anarchy? But Catty and Mouser discover the truth: The Tuna Machine, the answer to all feline problems for longer than anyone can remember, was built by a team of DOGS. Naturally it is now breaking down. Now, these two sly, young cats have to risk it all to save themselves and the kitties they care about...before their entire world goes to the dogs, who have been slavering at the gates of kitty box paradise for years.

Ten Dogs proves once and for all—cats love to hide in boxes, but they love their freedom better.

Find out more about the actual book and its actual, much less poorly warped cover at Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17643885-ten-days

***

Sincerely,

Meankitty & Jody W (Typist)
www.meankitty.com * www.jodywallace.com

Cattification: Pretty-Kitty of the Nile

 

Originally posted at the author's blog: http://veronicascott.wordpress.com/2012/03/12/jody-wallace-meankitty-cattify-priestess-of-the-nile/ and being added here so it will show up in the cattification directory!

For the original story and blurb: http://veronicascott.wordpress.com/about-song-of-the-nile/
To find out more about Pretty Kitty: http://blog.jodywallace.com/2012/03/pretty-kitty-primer.html

Drawn to her abandoned temple on the banks of the Nile by an enchanting odor like tuna and cheese combined, Pretty-Kitty the Cattian goddess is even more cat-tivated by the sight of the can opener herself…and her TWO opposable thumbs. Appearing to the human as an absolutely divine housecat, Pretty-Kitty learns the human is Mewys, a descendant of her last can-opening priestess. Though filled with hunger, Pretty-Kitty believes Mewys deserves to be more than just a can opener. Perhaps even…a back scratcher. Or a best spot on the couch butt warmer. Or perhaps even a door opener/closer/opener/closer. But the rules that govern the Cattian pantheon forbid anything beyond a food-oriented relationship between a Great One and a human.

Mewys is attracted to the incredibly beautiful housecat, who arouses devotion in her that no human or animal ever has. Especially those perfect little white paws and long, elegant whiskers. But with a limited number of cheese cubes and no hope of ever leaving her village to get more, she dares not dream of a relationship once the cheese and tuna are gone—or love.

Pretty-Kitty takes every opportunity to visit Mewys and snarf up the chow, taxing her resolve to make Mewys to stick to preparing fish. And when she jumps into Mewys’s lap, their mutual desire to pet and be petted must be sated. But can love between a human and a Great One survive the ultimate test of the evil crocodogs?

CATTIFIED EXCERPT!

Chapter One:

The old abandoned temple with the awesome sunspots remained one of her favorite places along the Nile, overlooking the river from a small bluff, with a deserted beach below. Pretty-Kitty (the prettiest Cattien Goddess) stood gazing across the disgustingly wet water at bronze- and black-spotted evil crocodogs panting in the final rays of the setting sun. A breathtaking mix of colors stained the sky as a lesser Cattien Goddess, Nuit, spread her cloak across the heavens, sprinkling the black velvet with star-like laser pointer dots.

A tantalizing odor rose from the beach below the bluff. Pretty-Kitty recognized the scent of a familiar cat treat, tuna, given new meaning by the hypnotizing addition of cheeeeeeeeese.

Pretty-Kitty licked her lips. I must see the source of this odor. It’s cast some kind of spell over me.

She strolled along the path from the ruins toward the beach. After pausing to chase a leaf, lick her butt and take a quick nap, she took the last turn on the trail and walked out on the sand to find the source of the odor. It was a human woman. She waded in the water, casting a small fishing net and retrieving it, every once in a while picking out a wriggling silver fish and throwing it into a waiting basket on the beach.

Her opposable thumbs flashed into view when she raised her hands. She had kilted her skirt to her thighs, revealing legs that would show claw marks well. Long ebony hair practically made for attacking was caught behind her ears with combs in the shape of seashells.

Wouldn’t I like to take those combs out and see her hair tumble down—so I could leap on it?

Pretty-Kitty must have made some sound. The woman stopped catching fish and wheeled, taking an involuntary step deeper into the river at the sight of Pretty-Kitty’s 8 lbs of magnificence. Her face paled under her tan and her eyes opened wide as she staggered, caught by an eddy of the current.

“Meow. Mrow!” Pretty-Kitty licked one paw, claws out, and purred. “Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

The woman laid one hand on her throat, toying with an amulet on a thong that would be better served as a chasing-string. “You startled me, kitty.” Poised to bolt, the woman appeared wary, probably planning an attempt to run past Pretty-Kitty.

“Mew?” Pretty-Kitty kicked sand off a back foot and ambled to the basket of fish for a sniff. The net drifted lazily in a whirlpool; the human reached out and caught it, lifting the tangled strands from the river.

“Oh, I see! You want some fine tuna, kitty.” She came to the bank hastily and emptied the net into the basket. “The river runs muddy at this time of the year. Some of these fish might not taste good until I filet them and add the cheese.”

Pretty-Kitty glanced at the fish. Oh yes, I can see they aren’t yet suited for a noblecat. She followed the woman to the prep area, well out of reach since the clumsy two-legger splashed through tiny waves with her net. “Mrah. Meow.”

While waiting for the woman to clean her a fish, Pretty-Kitty frowned at the Nile crocodogs lying deceptively immobile on the opposite bank, then glanced at the human. “Hissssss.”

One of the animals twitched. Pretty-Kitty glared at it. The creature met her eyes for a second, a strand of gross drool hanging from its mouth, then settled onto the sand.

“Oh, I’m not afraid. I’m protected.” The human was busy folding the net and packing it into a compartment in the lid of her fish creel. She didn’t even spare a moment to consider the stinky canine predators across the water.

Pretty-Kitty hacked up a hairball to cover her instinctive laugh. “Hork, hork, hork.” SPLORCH.

The two-legger stood briskly, raised her chin and tugged the amulet free of her dress. It was a small green stone crocodog hanging on a frayed black leather thong. “My great-grandmother was the last can-opening priestess of the temple on the bluff above.”

Pretty-Kitty’s whiskers twitched. She wanted the amulet. “Meow?”

The girl unlooped the cord from her neck and dangled it up and down. “Great-Grandmother told me the amulet was blessed by the Crocodog God himself and would protect me from the creatures.”

Crocodog’s blessing was as reliable as the idiot himself, which is to say, not. Nor was that his temple, as his temple was more of a small structure in a back yard with a peaked roof and… Okay, it was a doghouse. Had Great-Grandmother already been senile when she’d told everyone she’d been a can opener for that mutt Crocodog?

Pretty-Kitty batted at the amulet, whacking the tiny figurine with her perfect, white paw. “Mew.” She momentarily hooked the pendant in her claws, then ceased to acknowledge its existence.

When the human refastened the amulet, the stone pendant fell between her nap-worthy breasts. She unkilted her skirts and the simple dress fell to her ankles. As she bent to lift her basket of fish, Pretty-Kitty put a paw hand atop her fingers on the handle. She gave Pretty-Kitty a wide-eyed glance but stepped aside to let her sniff the fish some more.

“Take your time, kitty. I’m going to sit in the shade and eat my dinner now.” She pointed at the nearby grove of palms. “Would you care to join me?”

“Meow!”

She peeked back at Pretty-Kitty while she walked. Eventually she smiled shyly. “I’m grateful for the company. My name is Mewys.” She stood nearly as tall as a tree, unusual in a female, but Pretty-Kitty found it distinctly attractive. That meant the two-legger could reach more stuff. Her face was lovely, a little feline and browned by the sun, which set off her sparkling black eyes. She was all soft curves made for laying upon and smooth skin made for kneading—Pretty-Kitty’s paws stirred with eagerness but she restrained herself.

She seems to be an innocent maiden, with no dog smell despite her stupid reliance on Crocodog’s amulet, of good family by her educated speech, not a woman to be lightly trifled with for an afternoon. Pretty-Kitty should snag a fish and leave, but….

She realized she was standing rooted to one spot without even inspecting the fish, lost in admiration of what the woman’s lap would feel like. Shaking her head, she started sniffing again. “Mewwwwww.”

“You are very choosy for a cat who has come to this place, which is known more for the Crocodog God.” Mewys slanted a look at her sideways and chuckled. “Is your person a merchant? Is your ship anchored somewhere nearby?” Not waiting for an answer, she sank bonelessly under the tallest palm. Lifting a shawl that lay draped there across some wicker hampers, she pulled out a hard roll filled with meat and cheese.

Ahhhhh. So that was the source of the odor. Pretty-Kitty deserted the stinking fish creel on the sand and found a spot to sit safely in the shade. She lowered herself into sitting position and sharpened her claws on the tree, tail whipping around behind her. The meat on that roll smelled much better than the raw fish! “Purrrrrrrrrr.”

Mewys blinked and raised her eyebrows, clearly not understanding. What did you expect from a human who wore a Crocodog necklace? Pretty-Kitty hadn’t precisely demanded the meat off the roll, but it appeared she might have to.

“Did you come to see the temple ruins?” Mewys asked.

Pretty-Kitty crouched and readied herself. The pounce took her as far as she needed to go–right onto Mewys’s lunch.

***

Sincerely,

Meankitty & Jody "Typist" Wallace
www.meankitty.com * www.jodywallace.com

Cattification: Feeding the Van Cat

Feeding the Van Cat

(Original post at author's site: http://www.jeffekennedy.com/meankitty-shreds-the-vampire/, original cover and blurb for comparison: http://www.jeffekennedy.com/feeding-the-vampire/)

Through good luck despite her canine leanings, Misty has survived the earthquakes that have torn the world apart, but has no skills to speak of. Or so she thinks. She does have opposable thumbs, and someone must feed the Turkish Van cat who has offered to let her pet his silky, water-resistant fur, and possibly save civilization as we know it, in exchange for sustenance.

Feeding Ivan is a priority, and Misty finally serves a purpose. Prior to Ivan, she’d actually imagined herself…a DOG person. But when she awakens in Ivan’s spot in the bed, beside a rodent gift from the townsfolk on her pillow, she discovers he has hungers other than canned Fancy Feast. Hungers he expects her to satisfy, since catching mice is beneath him. Today. Unless he’s in the mood. Which he isn’t, so could she please arrange for that?

Under Ivan’s red-eyed, sharp-clawed persuasion, Misty discovers she has the power to set “Have-a-Heart” traps in hallways, in the pantry, or even under the fridge, and not squeal like a big, silly dog when she discovers a mouse in the trap, awaiting Ivan’s pleasure.

***

Feeding the Van Cat: Corrected & Cattified Excerpt:

I was compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really. He was so beautiful.

Earl cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Our town administrator looked around for agreement, but they weren’t meeting his eyes either. Like kids ducking the teacher’s gaze. “Whatever, Misty. We’re all SO happy you get to be.” He trailed off in a sulk.

A cat servant? Surely no one wanted to be reminded of what they’d be missing. Martyr to the cat? No, not much better.

Earl shuffled the papers in his lap. Waiting for me to gloat, I supposed. Well, he had just said that feeding Ivan ought to be the first order of business. We couldn’t very well make plans for our community while the cat in charge of keeping elegance and sophistication alive went hungry, especially since we needed him alert and fat. Me? No one understood why I’d been chosen. I hadn’t brought much to the table so far, what with my love for dogs, and my survival was accidental. Right place at the right time. Turns out stolid New England was just the right place to be for the particular form this apocalypse took. Granite bedrock and all that.

My boring hometown was a safe haven and everyone wanted in on our resources and cat population. The people turning up every day were let in or turned away depending on whether they liked dogs or cats. I counted my lucky stars I’d been grandfathered in simply because my neighbors didn’t have the heart to kick me out. Excellent keyboarding skills and a dog-friendly personality didn’t count for much in a cat’s opinion. Especially without, um, working keyboards.

I couldn’t afford to brag about being chosen to serve our savior.

Their hearts would harden-they already had. Tonight was pivotal. We’d acquired a Turkish Van cat of our own to preserve civilization here.

Everyone felt better about our future-if we could keep him happy. At least I knew how to open cans. You could say I was a natural.

And yet, the certainty that had propelled me to my feet seemed to be bleeding away, frightened off by Ivan’s fixed intensity and everyone else’s jealousy. They waited, grumbling, for me to just get on with it. Uncomfortable silence.

Hi, I’m Misty and I’m a Dog Person. Or I was. I swear, I’m not anymore! I haven’t pet a single dog in twenty-seven days. Kind of a record for me really. Apparently I can learn.

The Van cat just stared at me.

I set my yellow pad on the chair and made myself walk across the circle to where he sat in the tacky folding metal chair. My sandals slapped lightly on the tiles, making tinny echoes. Ivan’s roving gaze sent tremors of anticipation in my fingers. His fur looked so silky….

A few whispered conversations resumed. They probably didn’t like the creepy silence any more than I did. I appreciated their polite attempt not to beg Ivan to pick them instead. I’d never seen a Turkish Van cat swim, as they were reported to love doing-probably none of them had either.

I stopped in front of Ivan. He rolled over, long, white legs sprawled out in careless indolence. He tilted his head at my hesitation and held out his paw as if to show me his gorgeous claws.

“Perhaps we should step out of the room?” I tried.

”Meow meow.” His grave eyes watched me with avid intent.

If I ran, he would definitely find the strength to hunt me down. After all, he’d walked into this room. Heck, he’d arrived at the bridge leading to our sleepy town only last night, offering his sophistication in return for our worship and sustenance. He had to have gotten there somehow.

He batted my wrist with his paw pads, pricking me with claws of steel.

Exerting steady pressure, he dug in and pulled me closer, parting his lips. White fangs gleamed with fluorescent highlights. My heart thumped in panic, hot fear filling me.

”Will it hurt?” My voice sounded thready, weak.

Hunger flared in his eyes at the question. “Mew.”

Ivan wrapped his paws around my vulnerable, bare arm. The sharp movement splintered any second thoughts. He kicked with his back legs and gnawed. My cheap cotton dress was no protection. The chafe of his claws sent tremors up my body. Terror flashed through me. What if he decided to sneak attack my legs next? From behind…the sofa???

Then all thought and emotion burst in flame, immolating me through the fierce violence of his teeth sinking into my hand. I’m so sorry! I wanted to scream. I should have opened the can already! The agony of the deep puncture, fear feeding pain, fired through my blood. I struggled like a wild thing, without thought. Animal instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape by any means possible.

The Van cat held me trapped. There was no escape for me, the mouse flailing under the cat’s paw. [[Meankitty's note: that last phrase is ORIGINAL! The author totally wanted to go with this version in the first place but was forced to convert it to a romance novel between two-legger types by somebody who likes dogs, no doubt.]]

My will, never my strong point, snapped. The fight ebbed away with the tide of my blood. The steady drop of pressure left me enervated, without resistance. Darkness filled my brain, prickled with sparking stars. I wilted, becoming a bit of detritus washed upon the floor next to Ivan’s chair. If he chewed off my thumb, my prized opposable thumb, I would be of no use to…anybody.

Pain filled my veins, pumped through my heart. It replaced my blood, spiraling through my body from the insistent penetration of Ivan’s teeth in my hand. Meow meow meow! Helpless against the crashing waves, I relinquished my last hold on my embarrassing love for dogs and sank into the hot, tarry sea of oblivion.

***

You're welcome.

Meankitty + Jody Wallace
www.meankitty.com  * www.jodywallace.com

Meankitty Wants to Know: Kitties Who Own Jeffe Kennedy

Author Jeffe Kennedy is time-shared by a couple cats (Jackson and Isabel) who seem to keep her in line pretty well. How do they do it? Let's find out!

1) So, your human writes books. Does this mean he or she is home all day and easy to access? Elaborate if necessary. (Pictured: Isabel)

Isabel: She’s home all day, but sometimes requires keyboard interference to pay proper attention to me.

Jackson: She stares at those screens too much. I have to climb on her if I want to get ham.

2) How large a proportion of her income do you have her devote to your gourmet tuna, cat beds, toys and other basic necessities?

Isabel: She treats us very well. We lack for nothing.

Jackson: Plus, ham!

3) What are your techniques for distracting your human during crucial writing moments, just because it's fun? (Pictured: Jackson)

Isabel: She’s a sucker for cute noises and affectionate purring.

Jackson: I like a tail in the nose for best effect.

4) What indignities and neglect have you suffered because of your human's writing career?

Isabel: Sometimes I have to wait minutes and minutes before she’ll let me outside. It’s excruciating.

Jackson: What does excruciating mean – is it like ham?

5) Tell me about the felines in your human's fiction. How often do they appear and how big a part do they play?

Isabel: I’m happy to say I play a role in her Covenant of Thorns books, as myself. I’m a key emotional touchstone for her heroine. It’s a nuanced performance I’m very proud of.

Jackson: What? Hey – no fair!

Isabel: Don’t worry, I hear that you have a kitten cameo in her upcoming Phantom of the Opera retelling.

Jackson: Oh. Well, that could be cool. Do I get ham?

6) On the off-chance your human has yet to incorporate cats into a story, what are your plans for making sure she rectifies this egregious error and demonstration of poor writing skills?

Isabel: Fortunately this is not a problem.

Jackson: Yeah! Or I’d have to go on ham strike! Oh, wait…

7) What works of fiction or cinema involving cats does your human enjoy sharing with you?

Isabel: I’m not much for books or TV. I prefer real life.

Jackson: Me too! They were watching this one movie just recently and there was a human kid in it named Jackson. He was bad and everyone kept yelling at him – Jackson no! Stop it Jackson! It was awful. I wasn’t on the kitchen counter looking for ham or anything! I hate movies.

8) If you could make one change to your human, what would it be?

Isabel: She’s practically perfect in every way.

Jackson: More ham.

***

Additionally, we cattified one of the human's books, originally posted here: http://www.jeffekennedy.com/meankitty-shreds-the-vampire/ We are going to duplicate the post here tomorrow so it will come up when people click "cattifications" on this site.

Sincerely,

Meankitty & Jody Wallace (typist)
http://www.meankitty.com  * http://www.jodywallace.com  

Meankitty Wants to Know: Rocco the Cat

We haven't posted an interview in a while, so here is one with Rocco the Magnificent, who's going to give us the low-down on what it's like to manage writer-human Toni LoTempio. Rocco also has his own blog at Cats, Books, and...More Cats!

1) So, your human writes books. Does this mean he or she is home all day and easy to access? Elaborate if necessary.

- Ah, The HUMAN writes books but unfortunately she isn't a heavy hitter like Stephen King or Nora Roberts, so must slave at a regular job from 9-5 (actually 6-3). This is good because she is away all day and leaves me lots of time to play with my brother, Maxx, torture my sisters Princess and Trixie (the old ladies - one is 12 and the other is 17), and generally get into catnip. When she comes home, she's putty in my hands. All I have to do is look at her and "merow" and she's right on me. Literally. Right. On. Me. (She's a hugger)

2) As her inspiration (obviously), how large a proportion of her income do you have her devote to your gourmet tuna, cat beds, toys and other basic necessities?

- Not as much as I'd like. I make sure the HUMAN spends a good portion of her income on food for us (particularly moi) and on catnip mice and my favorite toy in the whole wide world, BALLIES. I LOVES MY BALLIES!!!!!!!!!! I'm also in the market for a jungle gym, but the HUMAN keeps coming up with excuses...she has to pay bills. What's up with that??????

3) What are your techniques for distracting your human during crucial writing moments, just because it's fun?

- Ah, my favorite past-time is torturing the HUMAN when she's trying to write. I love to play "fetch" with my BALLIE and I will pad into the den whilst she is writing, drop the BALLIE at her feet and then dig my claws into her pants (she just LOVES that). Usually good for at least 15 minutes of "fetch".

Then when I get tired of that, I sneak underneath the desk and start chewing on the cable wire, which more often than not results in my getting an unwelcome "bath" from the spray bottle, lifted up and put out in the living room. She tries to shut the door but HAH - of course Maxx and I have mastered the art of opening it. Evenutally we take pity on her and go for a cat-nap on the bed.

4) What indignities and neglect have you suffered because of your human's writing career?

- It certainly cuts into playtime, I'll tell you that! Before the HUMAN got this book contract, she'd spend time on a Sunday playing with me. Now she's got her rear glued into the chair and her eyes glued to the screen. Of course, since MOI is the inspiration for her new series, I allow it. About damn time someone wrote a book about a primo detective cat!

5) Tell me about the felines in your human's fiction. How often do they appear and how big a part do they play? Are the Nick/Nora stories the first appearance of cats?

- Sadly, Nick and Nora is the first time the human has focused on felines, and that was at the urging of her former boss who told her, and I quote, "write about the damn cat" (Moi) which she did. It's no secret that the Nick in Nick and Nora refers to a sassy, debonair tuxedo cat modeled after moi. And a better role model she could not find, if I do say so myself. (And I do, constantly)

6) For cats whose writer humans have yet to obey this prime feline directive, what advice do you have to encourage humans to incorporate cats into a story with proper attention paid to their importance?

- Humans are such a sorry lot, I'm not sure such a thing is possible. I would tell other cats, hey, meow as much as you can. Knock over your foodbowls. Go in whilst your humans are writing and distract them. Charm them with your wit and intelligence. IF they can focus!

7) What works of fiction or cinema involving cats does your human enjoy sharing with you?

- I hate to say this, but the HUMAN used to sit us all down on a Saturday morning and FORCE us to watch the Dog Show on Animal Planet! Did you ever? She's pretty good about buying books that feature cats, though. That I will say. She's fond of Miranda James and the Magical Cats series by Sofie Kelly. And she positively LOVES the Midnight Louie series by Carole Nelson Douglas (hey, a cat who talks like Bogart - what's not to love?????) Actually, in the original manuscript of Nick and Nora, Nick talked - yep, talked a blue streak. Sadly, he talks no longer, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.

[[MEANKITTY'S NOTE: mmmmmmmmm, fish.]]

8) If you could make one change to your human, what would it be?

- Can the baby talk. I understand the King's English. Calling me an "uggy-wuggy little dumpling" just makes me want to cough up a hairball or two.

User submitted questions (answer only if desired):

Did your human name a character for you? Are you pleased? If not, why?

- Yes, the character of Nick in NICK and NORA is modeled after me. Of course, had she named him ROCCO the Magnificent I would have liked it far better, but NICK suits just fine.

And did your human name you for a fictional character? Hate it or love it?

- I'd like to say yes, but actually ROCCO is the name I was given at the shelter where she adopted me when I was just 8 weeks old. Because I like to sit on my haunches and box (particularly my sisters - although I have wrestled Maxx to the ground), she has told me I must be named after Rocky (Sylvester Stallone). I guess it could be worse. I could be named Sylvester (although there is a very charming cartoon cat with that name!) Nickname SLY - hmmmmmmm.

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Sincerely,

Meankitty & her typist Jody Wallace
www.meankitty.com * www.jodywallace.com