C is for Cat
Of course! Anyone who has visited my blog in the past will know I have a bit of a fondness for fur-balls. If I can sneak a picture of one into a blog post, you can be sure I will. How can I baffle you with cat facts? Well, did you know they've been stalking the earth for over 35 million years and in all that time have barely changed in appearance or behaviour? We all know they were revered in Ancient Egypt but did you also know that if you hurt or killed one, you could be put to death? Or that a blind cat uses its whiskers in the same way a blind man uses his white cane? And did you know that a cat's hearing is better than a dog's and three times that of human hearing? How about this one: the collective noun for a group of kittens is kindle.
It's hardly surprising that cats keep creeping into my stories. They're never there at the planning stages but
when my back is turned one will invariably sneak in. I know I shouldn't have favourite's but I do have a bit of a soft spot for Bessie, who is Emma's tortoiseshell moggy in Shopping for Love and who is based on my own cat.
Thistle from In Loving Hate is perhaps the most unobtrusive cat. She belongs to the housekeeper but adopts the heroine, Lyssa in the way cats often decide to do. Mr Minniver, in Killing Jenna Crane is perhaps the most sinister cat. He's responsible for bringing Ellis and Chloe together but may not always be what he seems. One thing all three cats have in common, however, is their greed! Bessie (Shopping for Love) becomes a bit of a daredevil whenever a bowl of tuna is mentioned.
“Come on, Bessie, let’s get you that tuna,” she said, turning towards the worktop next to the sink and reaching for the can opener.
“Mrawrr,” Bessie said again, more urgently this time and brushed even harder against her legs. Emma blinked back her tears and tamped her nose with the back of her index finger as though taking in snuff. She hoped the wet, sniffing sound would not be audible.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” Bailey asked, coming up behind her and enclosing her in his arms.
“Don’t!” Emma ordered, brandishing the can opener at him. “Just leave your key and go back to Russia.”
“Mongolia, not Russia,” he corrected, shuffling the length of his body against hers and attempting to nuzzle her neck where he knew she liked it, just below her left ear.
Emma pushed him away angrily and reached for a saucer to decant the tuna for the now frantic Bessie who was risking life and limb weaving in and out between both pairs of legs. Once done, she placed the saucer on the floor in the corner of the kitchen and the cat began gulping it down with shameless greed.