Hello, Kitty

Please welcome guest blogger, prolific novelist, and TLC commenter extraordinaire Laurie Moore

HELLO, KITTY

Take it from me—a feeding syringe is not the answer if your cat takes the Mahatma Gandhi approach to food. My ancient blue point Siamese rescue kitty, Ling, has been refusing to eat. The kitchen looks like I shot Silly String all over it, Ling is now known throughout the house as “Dammit Ling,” and my honorary certificate from Little Miss Debutante is in danger of being recalled.

Woman Strangled—News at Ten is my eighth published novel. When I worked a stray black cat into the book just for fun, I derived inspiration from the cats I know: my Siamese, Ling Mai (Thai translation: “Silk Monkey”); my daughter’s cat, Ben; and a cat named Caesar that I co-own with an ex-boyfriend. My protagonist, Aspen Wicklow, an investigative reporter at WBFD, the worst ranked TV station in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, named this tom Midnight—or, rather, Dammit Midnight. Between Ling, Ben and Caesar, I’ve accumulated tons of great cat stories, so Midnight can have a bigger role in future “News at Ten” installments.

Upon liberating Ling from the rescue place (read: internment camp), I appointed him Director of Homeland Security. He needed an office so he commandeered my daughter’s unused bedroom for naps when he wasn’t patrolling the house, or looking for cat cotton candy to eat (read: cobwebs). I soon discovered I had  a real Romeo on my hands. Friends no longer visit. I’ve never seen a cat’s eyes glaze over the way lover boy’s do when he ogles large-breasted women. Seriously, if Ling were human, he’d be a registered sex offender. I suspect Midnight will demonstrate Ling’s off-putting traits in the next book.

As much as I like whipping up pet personalities for a story, I enjoy creating colorful characters. Occasionally, I’m asked if unsavory characters are patterned after people I know. What? Are you nuts? There’s a reason disclaimers appear in works of fiction. And let’s face it—who’d publically admit to being that cretin in your book, especially if you gave the antagonist a pinky-sized penis?

The animal personalities are real, though: Animals don’t sue. Since I’m a former police officer, turned District Attorney investigator, turned reserve deputy constable, turned lawyer, I think about this stuff. Quelle surprise!

I became something of an authority on cats fifteen years ago, when I sensed my then-boyfriend was about to dump me. To demonstrate a “no hard feelings” attitude, I gave him a seal point Siamese kitten for his birthday and headed off into the sunset. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. But for the lucky insiders of the Lipstick Chronicles, here’s the Paul Harvey rest of the story:

I’ve seen my fair share of distraught people arrested for criminal mischief after pitching a conniption fit and destroying an ex’s belongings when the relationship went sour. And since my pink English skin doesn’t go with the neon orange of an inmate jumpsuit—not to mention me being an officer of the court, ahem—I divined a hands-off way (read: alibi) to preserve my dignity and simultaneously wreak havoc in absentia.

With the Trojan birthday cat firmly entrenched, a coup ensued, followed by a feline dictatorship. As part of the new regime, the seal point rendered the ex’s clothes into mohair. Eventually, Caesar accomplished what I couldn’t—tore up stuff (read: shredded furniture), customized blinds (read: chewed random holes he could poke his head through), and shredded the man’s garments (read: not enough fabric for a cleaning rag). The place looked like a scene out of Saving Private Ryan. As Caesar grew, so did the rips in the curtains…from pinpricks to buttonholes, and finally, hammock-like swags in cloth that could no longer bear the weight of a full-grown cat. The ex paid for the damage and put up a whopping pet deposit, but the real payoff came the day he thanked me for giving him the greatest present ever—Caese the Siamese. My work here is done.

I worked other fun things into Woman Strangled—News at Ten: a middle-age assistant with hot flashes, cutthroat cameramen, and a clever, small-town sheriff who singlehandedly takes on the overcrowded Texas prison system. Not that I actually know people like this…nosirree. Not me. If I’m writing about an unfamiliar topic (TV broadcast industry), I do the research. In the case of Woman Strangled—News at Ten, interviewing two investigative reporters kept me on-track.

Bottom line, I had so much fun writing this book that I wrote a spinoff, Deb on Arrival—Live at Five: A Debutante Detective Mystery (July, 2010). Stay tuned.

Laurie

p.s. Does anyone have any destructive pet stories to share? and What's your favorite "get even" story?

 

Comments

[Peg H]

Siamese are wonderful I had one for 21 years. Hell, yes they can be destructive if/when they want to be.

I own Bull Terrors. And no, I didn't misspell that. They are terrors. I've had and rescued these strange dogs for 28 years.

One dog ate the entire back off our sofa from inside a locked crate that was 3 feet away from it--you figure it out we never did. How do we know she did it? All the shredded material was inside the crate with her. Don't use it because I already have in one of my books.

Another one ate a three by five foot square of linoleum flooring--now you know why we have a ceramic tile floor in the kitchen. Yep, I've used that one too.

Then there's bentwood rocker that another one turned into sawdust...used it.

And I have dozens more.

Unfortunately, I can't think of a single get even story...my brain seized up. Must be time for me to go to bed.

[Laurie Moore]

Peg H - I'll have to remember that particular dog breed. When I brought my Welsh corgi home, I didn't have a fence so the first time I had to leave the house, I locked her in the laundry room. A mile down the road, the cell phone rang. It was the burglar alarm company telling me they had a "broken glass" alarm. I told them to re-set it, that I'd just left and all was well.

Three miles down the road, they called back with another broken glass alarm. I turned around and drove home, only to find that Jezebel (street name: Pumpkin) had eaten the molding, a door, two chairs and a table leg. As for the broken glass, that was her high-pitched bark.

Now she has a crate.

BTW, Ling is still not eating. I'm down to Gerber baby lamb, veal and ham. Does anyone have a sure-fire way to get a cat to eat without destroying your house?

[Kathy Sweeney]

Laurie! How great to see you above the fold!

I don't have pets (allergies) so I find these stories truly horrifying.

The closest I can come to your dilemma was the period when my daughter would only eat chicken nuggets, fruit and macaroni & cheese. And cereal. Thank heaven for fortified cereal. I remember the pediatrician saying: if you can get one full meal in her over the course of the day, she'll be fine. He was right. Can you leave out some kind of fortified cat snack for Ling to eat during the day?

Thanks for a great blog!

[Karen in Ohio]

I know as much about cats as I know about being an astronaut, so sorry Laurie. But I would never put up with canine crime or feline felonies, not for anything. Can you tell we've not had pets here for a long time? And when we did they lived outside. Allergies. Mine.

The only get even story I have is confidential, but someday I'm using part of it in a book. It's too good not to. Mostly, though, I'm in favor of the motto "living well is the best revenge". And then flaunting it in their damned faces, thank you very much.

The book sounds like great fun. As soon as I plow through some of the three dozen novels I bought at the library's used book sale yesterday I'll look for your series.

[Laurie Moore]

It's hard to believe that I got Ling from the Siamese rescue, from a woman caretaker who didn't want to adopt him out. It's not like she didn't have 150 other Siamese to choose from. I remember standing there with a checkbook and a pen thinking, "Homeless cat, woman with home ready to pay for him..." and this crazy woman saying, "I'm not letting this one go to just anybody!"

Karen in Ohio - so very sorry you can't share the get-even story, as I collect them (just in case I need to implement them) but totally understand about putting something out in the domain that could end up a bestseller.

[Laurie Moore]

Karen in Ohio - "I would never put up with canine crimes of feline felonies..." Living with these two animals is just another type of domestic abuse.

[carol nati]

Laurie,
I just love your cat story and love your books even more. My cats are "purrrrrfect" so I don't have any feline felonies to report.
Keep writing.... U are a joy!

[Rie Sheridan Rose]

The new book sounds fantastic, Laurie -- as always. :)

I hate to say it, but I think that cat needs a trip to the vet...when our grande dame started acting like that, we took her in and found out that if we had waited a day or two longer, it might have been too late. She was having kidney problems that led to the removal of one. She's an entirely different cat again since the surgery. Just sayin'...

Maybe we can have coffee or something when I am in Dallas for FenCon in September...you are in Dallas...right? ;)

[Harley]

First, apologies to all because I was in charge of posting this blog and Laurie has the most fantastic book cover, but I couldn't get it to adhere to the blog (something about a MIME format blah blah blah) but please do check out her books.

My best cat story: Annabelle, our rescued stray, in my childhood, had a bad case of worms. The vet de-wormed her for $60, which was a lot back in my childhood (the Dark Ages) and the fact that I recall the exact amount tells you how traumatic it was for my mom to write that check.

The minute we brought her home, she jumped out of the car, ran up a telephone pole, electrocuted herself, and came tumbling down like a white flag. HORRORS! I was devastated. My mom, even more devastated, said, "She couldn't have done that before we went to the vet?!"

[Harley]

Oh: the revenge story.

A certain former paramour, who shall remain nameless, had exited my life, leaving behind, among other things, a t-shirt. Or maybe I confiscated it; I'm not sure. Anyhow, I was saving it, planning all sorts of ritualistic torture (knives, scissors, bonfire, spells & curses) but my shrink at the time gently suggested I return it. "How come?" I wailed.

"Because it's not yours."

It took a few weeks, but then I took her advice. It doesn't make for an interesting story, but in the end she was right. She kept steering me away from the acts of destruction that at the time seemed absolutely logical and appropriate, watching out for my long term mental health. Yay for shrinks. But yay too for those wild impulses, which make for better novels.

[Laurie Moore]

Yikes, Harley! That's terrible about the cat electrocution. Really like the T-shirt idea, though, and it does make for good book material. If you still have it, you could dress Bob in it!

Rie - "I think that cat needs a trip to the vet." I've taken him twice and it cost more than my doctor bills when I contracted "the other white" flu two months ago. It's a known fact that my pets get better health care than I do.

Thanks for the comment on my book cover, Harley, as we all know a bad cover can kill a book (see: The Wild Orchid Society, which was among my best work). When I got the cover, I almost pitched over. Nothing like having a book out where you have to bring your own brown bag in order to carry it up to the cashier.

[Laurie Moore]

Rie - You're on when you come to FenCon. I'm not in Dallas, though. I'm in the anti-Dallas. Which is to say Fort Worth, "Where the West Begins"...

Quick comment about Ling. When I became his guardian, I thought I was getting a five year old cat. That's what she said. When I took him to the vet recently, I found out he's closer to eighteen.

[hollygee]

Harley, I think returning the t-shirt was probably a good thing; but since we are talking Revenge of the Pets, why couldn't you have returned it with a healthy dose of cat pee in it?

When my 22 yo cat, Fitch, was getting thin and raunchy and suddenly picky about food, we tried everything, including $16/lb wild-caught, poached (the cooking not the catching procedure) salmon. He was ready to go and he was making his own preparations.

[Laurie Moore]

Thanks, hollygee, I haven't tried that. Amazing that cats are finicky for the expensive stuff, isn't it?

When I took Ling in for his first bath with the groomer, I told the vet not to give him a sedative if he smarted out and didn't cooperate because he was too old. She acted as if I'd lost my mind, said they'd already finished and that he acted like a sultan the entire time. I guess this wasn't his first day at the cat spa and his previous owner spoiled him. What a let-down living with me...

[Maryann Miller]

LOL, Laurie. Your opening paragraph had me spitting coffee on my monitor screen. Despite having numerous pets throughout my life, and quite a few now, I'm not sure I can top that.

[Jennifer in California]

Laurie, I had to laugh out loud when I read about Ling ogling your buxom girlfriends. I'm picturing a real Lothario, in a smoking jacket. puffing through a gold-tipped cigarette holder. Seriously though, I hope your kitty gets his appetite back.

Now you might not think "pet" when you think "goat", but when I was a kid (no pun intended) we had a few nubian goats (the ones with the long ears) that we raised, bred, and sold their milk for extra income. My two older sisters and I were given the nightly duty of milking them, and trust me, when you spend that much time squeezing something's udders you start to feel connected. Ling would have loved those goats.

I remember my Mom and SIsters and I coming home one afternoon to find the front door wide open. We never locked the door, totally unnecessary there, especially in those days, and when we stepped inside we found Flicker and Licorice happily chomping away on houseplants, telephone cords, and everything else. They had been in there for a bit, so you can imagine how much they had gotten into, and they will eat absolutely anything. Industrious and clever, they had managed to find a way out of the pasteur and work the doorknob to get inside. It was a real disaster, but got funnier once we had restored order.

[Heather Mauricio]

Laurie, Babe, I love ya and I love all your crazy stories. You tell them with such passion. I always look forward to your new stories when we see you. You crack me up. I want you to know that if I ever need serious revenge, I am coming to you for ideas. Not only do you have the best but I am pretty sure you can keep me from getting into trouble.

[Laurie Moore]

Maryann, I'd rather be wiping up coffee spewings. Feeding a cat that doesn't want to be fed requires the same uniform it takes to put a cat in the cat crate: hockey mask, bullet proof vest, level-four bio-hazard containment suit, elbow-length lobster mitts from kitchen...They're independent thinkers.

Oh, oh, oh! For the Pennsylvania ladies, I should've mentioned that one of the two investigative reporters I interviewed while writing Woman Strangled - News at Ten was your own Marty Griffin (KDKA-TV, Pittsburgh). He used to work in the DFW metroplex and was quite popular.

[Laurie Moore]

Jennifer in California - Ling is the David Niven of cats. Re: "We found Flicker and Licorice happily chomping away on house plants..." Reminds me of the time I (stupidly) tried to raise a lamb for 4-H, and moi being a city girl. Came home from school to find Guinevere in the dead roach position with her legs in the air and her stomach bloated. She'd eaten the entire oleander bush in her pen. Well how was I supposed to know they were poisonous? She lived to place 3rd in the county fair, though. Okay, okay, I know they had to give out ribbons to every child and third place was the lowest one could get. It was like a failing grade for livestock raisers.

[Laurie Moore]

Heather M.- "...if I ever need serious revenge, I'm coming to you for ideas..." Yes, I'm the go-to girl for many things, but I'm not sure I can get you out of trouble if I'm your accomplice. Hopefully, you know a good lawyer. Muahahahahaha (evil laugh).

[hollygee]

Ah Jennifer, you bring back memories. We lived up in hills above Montecito (now sadly burnt to the ground). My folks got goats to keep the brush down, unfortunately, after they took care of that they debarked the eucalyptus trees which then died and had to be felled. They also got out of the pen just before a visit by the garden club -- not a rose left.
I used to walk our little white nubian on a leash, people would drive by thinking I had a poodle, and then do a doubletake (not good on a mountain road). I then took Bitsy with me on the stage at Santa Barbara Youth Theatre, she appeared in Mr. Roberts, and Teahouse of the August Moon. My brother or I did her off-stage baaing as she wasn't always up on her cues.

[Doc in CA]

I have no cat stories due to my terrible allergy to kitties.

But DOG stories? Oy, have I got dog stories.

Our old Bagel Hound (basset/beagle), Roscoe, was a pretty mellow old boy, but had a real fetish about taking my dirty socks and hiding them in the most difficult to find places.

He also, despite being pretty well house trained, decided that he liked peeing on one corner of the moulding in the living room. Not much pee, mind you, but enough to keep it damp. Eventually, after he died at age 15, we had to remove that moulding and some of the drywall.

Of our current two hounds, Winker, the One Eyed Basset Queen, just loves to hide uneaten treats or yucky spit soaked rawhide chews in places where we will eventually find them. Like, under my side of the bed...or among a pile of dirty clothes awaiting washing...or between cushions in chairs...or in my shoes.

Our other dog, a hound of unknown breed, is Lucy. Poor Lucy spent much of her life crated up for most of the day and so has socialization problems. as in, she's scared of almost everything. She's getting better, but she still has some separation anxiety that results in her trashing the house once in awhile. Nothing too bad, mostly overturned wastebaskets and consumed loaves of bread.

Still, as naughty as they can be sometimes, it could be worse...they could be human teenagers.

[Laurie Moore]

Oh, hollygee, that's a wonderful story, and for both hollygee and Jennifer in CA, different people in the church I grew up in were always approaching my parents to see if they could give my sister and me a pet. Stock answer: "Not only no, but hell no." So one day a church lady came to the house with a baby goat. While my father was standing at the front door reminding her we were not in the goat business, my sister and I were out the back, around the house and naming it. Jenna Lynn Goat lived with us until she was huge, climbed the fence, stripped all the leaves off the old lady next door's mulberry tree and devoured her plants. The old battleaxe called code enforcement and they told us to get rid of the goat. My parents said okay. My sister and I said no. The next time code enforcment came, my folks got a citation. The afternoon Jenna Lynn went to live on my granddaddy's farm, I made mud pies...

and dumped them on the old crone's back porch.

[Laurie Moore]

Doc in CA - "...spent much of her life crated up for most of the day and so has socialization problems..." Does my heart go out to you (and Lucy). I (stupidly) found Jezebel (street name "Pumpkin") on the internet. She looked so pretty in front of a red backdrop that I asked the owner if he'd swiped that picture from a calendar. He said he was a photographer. So I drove to Arkansas, bought her, only to find she'd been raised in a kennel and had all kinds of socialization problems. Or in this case, one man's socialization problem is another man's instigator. Or so the vet techs are quick to point out when Jezebel arrives at doggie day care.

But we'd pay the ransom for them, wouldn't we? And the life-or-death surgeries, too. That's why I have a credit card.

[Jennifer in California]

Hollygee and Laurie-- I love knowing that someone else has childhood goat stories too, and although mine never took to the stage, they were pretty integral to my existence between the ages of 4 and 6. I used to spend most of my time running around the pasteur and climbing trees to bend branches for them to nibble as they balanced on their hind legs. My Gram's favorite story (who I grew up next door to) about me has to do with the goats. I would sometimes walk up the road with them to her house and back, who knows why, except that they were willing to follow me like dogs ("The Goat Whisperer"). She said that one day she looked out the window to see me lilting down the road with some flowing green chiffon thing on my head surrounded by about 4 or 5 goats. She said it was so funny because I looked like a little shepherd with a flock. BTW, did either of you ever happen to have the "Be a kid again, drink goat's milk!" t-shirt by any chance?