The Cat and The Novel and the Writer’s Moon

And We Also Pimp Readers!

So, if you’re wondering why in holy Bezell I didn’t put up the Molluscs listing of your books yesterday, the answer is simple: I forgot.  Not that it was Saturday (I think) but that… oh, okay fine.  I forgot it was Saturday.

But there is a reason!

So this is the week I almost broke down sobbing and had a nervous breakdown.  Why you ask?

Well, it started, as it so often does, with a cat.  Miranda cat.  As I’ve said here (right?) she has a heart condition.  The problem is that she’s also REALLY high strung.  (Me, to husband “Why does our most high strung cat have to have a cardiac condition?”  Him “Do you listen to yourself?”)  Anyway, so, pilling her is impossible.  She has cheek pouches.  She will spit the pills out in your shoes HOURS later.  Giving her drops is not MUCH better.  So…

So we had this cream to rub in her ear.  Either we rubbed to hard, or she worried at it afterwards.  She got an hematoma.  Because Miranda is a Cornish Rex, she’s ALL ears.  When her ear puffed out it was really obvious, and she scratched it a lot.

So, in we go.  They didn’t want to risk surgery.  At first they put her in the collar of shame, and told us it would go down on its own.  It didn’t.  Then they tried leeches.  Only Miranda didn’t like leeches.  (Can you blame her?) So she shook her head so hard it tore of a patch of her skin and sent the leech flying.  So, they had to do surgery…

And then they sent her home with instructions to remove any scab that formed, and MILK the bubble out of it.  Every hour or so.

It started okay, only I don’t SEE well enough to get the scab amid the sutures, particularly when she moved her head.  (I’m 51, okay?)

Then Miranda started SCREAMING when I touched her and even Robert couldn’t hold her still.

By the fourth day I couldn’t do anything but FEAR doing the stuff to her ear.

So, Thursday, I packed her and her meds, took her to the vet and said “Will you board her and do the scab thing till Monday?  I’ll pay!”

I hated paying because we had a ton other emergencies this month (car, flooded basement, and now soon stove.  Long story.)  BUT d*mn it, it wasn’t even worrying about it.  I was on the verge of curling up under my desk and crying.  It was bad enough doing painful things to the kids when they SORT of understood (when we had to do treatments that hurt) but Miranda had no clue, and she thought I hated her.  I mean, she jumped in the carrier of her own free will.

I wish I could report that Friday was wonderful for writing, but I still felt jittery inside.  Also, there was stuff going on with #1 son which I might or might not report in the future — as it’s his stuff, not mine.  Those who follow him on FB know, of course.  Nothing bad, truly, but VERY nerve wracking.  For all of us.  Because it’s not immediately obvious what the outcome will be and we seem to have little power to influence it, which goes against our inclinations and also against reason.

Yesterday I did get some writing done, and today I’m hoping to do more, after I bank some posts.  I think that I need to make some more adjustments to my schedule, but that is a post for another day.

Meanwhile, below, are Monsieur Half-Shell’s carefully collected links, and I shall have a chapter of Elf Blood up at Mad Genius Club in an hour or so.



Hail, well met, good morning, salutations, greetings, and other such truck. Look upon our books, ye mighty, and despair spend money! As always, future entries can be sent to my email. Happy reading!
The Free Range Oyster

Alma Boykin

Schree’s Rest (A Cat Among Dragons)

Schree's Rest
When a half-hover crashes in the woods and no one sees it, does it make a noise?

It does if the co-pilot is a great lord’s son. Rada Ni Drako travels to the edge of the Azdhag throneworld to investigate a training accident and lands in the middle of a fight dating back to the Great Relocation. Can she find the truth before a border dispute turns into a lineage war?

Elizabeth of Starland

Elizabeth of Starland
The first of the Colplatschki novels is now available on Kobo!

Stubborn as a mule? No, stubborn AND her mule.

Colonial Plantation LTD. abandoned ColPlat XI, writing the planet off as a tax loss after a series of severe Carrington-type events. Now, four hundred years later, Laurence V of Frankonia wants to write Elizabeth von Sarmas out of his kingdom, but like her Lander ancestors, Elizabeth refuses to roll over and die.

Richard Alan Chandler


Alex Sanderson doesn’t like much of anything, but of all the things he hates, getting locked up in an alien prison on trumped-up charges tops the list. All he wants is a fair hearing and he’s sure he can get out. His cellmate on the other hand, she has different plans for Alex….

Note: This story contains profanity, some violence, and sexual situations, although not especially graphic, they may be offensive to some readers.

Stephen Wachtel


The product of a 23rd century experiment gone haywire, ADAM KOOP is an elegant seven-footer, human in appearance but having the strength of four men, the mind of an Einstein and the scruples of a killer. Koop is the first Quf-Man, the alpha male who shatters the bonds of servitude and leads his fellow human-anthropoid hybrids to dominance of an entire planet.

Light years away on Planet Earth, JONATHAN FELS is a dropout with a history of poor academic performance and a rap sheet for illegal prospecting. Fels joins the Marine Corps and qualifies for a surgical makeover that provides exceptional strength, cat-like reflexes and a cerebral-computer interface.

When Koop and his hordes attack a colonized moon, Fels and his cybernetic marines deploy to rescue a cult of human females. Earth’s future hangs in the balance.

19 thoughts on “The Cat and The Novel and the Writer’s Moon

  1. My household’s sympathies on Miranda-cat. You have just explained better than ever I could hope to why, when our last resident feline passed, I declared no more cats in the house, no matter how I miss them. Taking my (then and now) current age and adding a cat’s lifespan to it convinced me I would be too old to do right by such a family member when time, as inevitably it would, came.

  2. You have my sympathies as well – I do miss NOT having a cat in the house, but the hubby decreed that since I couldn’t clean litter boxes it wouldn’t be fair to either him, me, or the cat. Same with a dog *sigh. I miss having pets even with the issues.

    Good luck to you and your household.

  3. The very young, the very old and animals are always the most difficult to treat. So much treatment is uncomfortable, counterintuitive, painful or all at once. The inability to reach an understanding on necessity stresses the patient, the caregiver and probably anyone in earshot. Deep sympathies and commiserations.

    As to choices regarding companion animals: I respect everyone’s decisions in their own lives, so no lectures or unsolicited advice here, please take no offense. Recognizing concomitant responsibilities, there is some interesting research out there, nascent as far as I know, regarding the myriad health and psychological benefits of fuzzy friends. Observable physiological and psychological modifications have been reported with even the temporary introduction of friendly fur. In my own family, some complicated decisions have been necessary recently in order to maintain a companion animal relationship despite hardships. In this case the hardships are not the animal per se, but the complication of her presence. Anyroad, the notion is much on my mind, lately. So I thought I’d share some vague ideas, perhaps sparking others.


    1. Miranda is only 13. I say that because our cats live normally to their early twenties. She’s also doing well and improving on the heart. We got MUCH better at giving her drops. But the ear, I could not do. We should get her back tomorrow, stitches removed.
      BTW, her condition means when she goes if it’s from that, it will be sudden. There seems no point ending her life early. We’ve had to do that twice. Once I SWEAR he asked us to — Pixie — and was compliant with it. The other, she was starving to death, her jaw fused with jaw cancer, and she didn’t WANT to go. She knew what we were doing and slapped the needle out of the doctor’s hand twice.
      My hope is that when I meet her again — well, if there ain’t cats, I ain’t going — she’ll have forgiven me.

      1. Sitting in the Indian restaurant waiting on our to-go order I could not help overhearing conversation in the booth back of me (I tried, but I am getting old now and can no longer easily shut out the world while I read) discussing MRI experiments with cats. According to these unknown persons, researchers had learned how to tell when cats looked upon “cats” and “not-cats.” The MRI results indicated that they thing of humans as “big cats.”

        While I very much doubt the abilities of scientists to reach such conclusions, it tickles my vanity to believe them true.

        1. Explains why A.T. Cat keeps giving me the “gads, you are SOOooooo stupid!” look when I fail to properly read her mind.

      2. When you meet her again (I’m with you: no cats, no dogs, no me) perspective will be available. I’m betting on warm greetings and lots of purrs.

        I read my earlier post and it seems unnecessarily vague. Some decisions had to be made to ensure my 96 year old grandmother would be able to stay with her constant companion corgi. Some family argued that increasing dementia meant she would soon forget she even had a dog. I have pointed out that regardless of where her mind is, she’s frequently asking where her dog is. So, hardships and minor inconveniences for some of us, but my grandmother and her dog remain together.

        A fair portion of my stubborn nature came from her, so it’s only fitting I use it on her behalf.

  4. For those who are wondering: Kobo is where the ePub version of my (Alma Boykin) books are. I don’t have the short stories there yet, aside from “Hairballs.”

  5. I will always have cats. There’s no predicting how long either of us will last, and trying to time it one way or the other will just result in there being a time of no cats when I will need them the most. Actually, I try not to think about that.

    A fun thing I tried last night was Googling my ASIN to see where it turned up. And one of the nicer surprises is it’s at the end of the list of “Customers who bought this also bought” on the page of Sabrina Chase’s The Bureau of Substandards Annual Report.

    1. I’m making adjustments so I can join in this fun stuff 😉
      Thank you, Mary, for running this.
      And btw, the count for today (I should have a page for this) is three miles and 4k words.

      1. Calmer Half got an hour-twenty in at the treadmill desk, but it was all editing. I know that limp he’s doing; it’s almost like I do after a hard day’s shift.

  6. One weekend, a few years ago, found me in the emergency veterinary clinic with one of my cats. Thought he’d gotten into a fight and ripped open his mouth. Several hundred dollars later, it turned out that he’d gotten a squirrel vertebrae stuck on his teeth and cut the inside of his mouth.
    That was money that I couldn’t afford to spend (I ate ramen for two weeks) but I’d made promises to my cats and I did my best to live up to them.

    1. There is a reason my car is seventeen years old and we buy our clothes from the thrift store. Oh, okay, it’s partly that this house is more house than we should have bought (we didn’t know wages would freeze and food increase.) BUT it’s also that, yes, we have obligations to the cats. In return for their not running around free, having litters, we promised them long and comfortable lives. And we follow through. And his injury sounds like the sort of thing Pixie (Best cat evah) used to get.

  7. I understand completely. Our oldest cat is 16 years and a handful of months, has a heart murmur and thyroid disorder. He looks at me with dread every night when I come over to his chair because he knows it is time for his medicine. At least it is a compound and not a pill.

    Anyway, I hope that Miranda gets better soon, or at least the ear does.

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