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Another wet week…

Forget making quilts, I’m starting to wonder if I ought to be working out how to build an ark and then try to persuade creatures to go into it two by two and without anyone eating anyone else because we've now got two storms to look forward to. Today (I’m writing this on Friday) we have the delights of Storm Olivia, and tomorrow Storm Kathleen comes along, so I can quite see why the cats are so firmly indoors.


Have you ever wondered what it is with cats and baskets and boxes? It doesn’t matter how big it is, or where it is, because any empty box has to be sampled and snoozed in. My black and white cat Willow, and I do so love the American description of him as a tuxedo cat because he’s always ready for dinner, is a perfect example of this. As I type this, he’s trying to fit himself in a ten inch square wicker basket that I plan to put my sewing in when the weather improves enough for me to be able to go out in the garden. He is not a small cat. He’s not a fat one either, but he’s not going to be able to fit in that basket, not least because it’s lying on its side in what I should have guessed was a forlorn attempt to make it harder for him to get inside it. What’s more, it’s on top of another box and oops, I’ve got the tense wrong. Cat and basket are now on the floor, and I am being given a stare that says that if I so much as mention that this has happened then there will be dead mice in my shoe every single morning for weeks.


So, of course, I haven’t said a word. I’ve typed it instead, and he’s now snuggled up beside me and being the perfect example of a loving indoor pussy cat who would never, ever do anything wrong. Presumably, then, those packets of cat treats that fell down when the tin I keep them in mysteriously came off the shelf and the lid came off were nothing to do with him.


And all this leaves me wondering about whether I am his pet or he is mine. Because, you see, both he and his mum, the beautiful Catling and his adopted sister LucyFurr Morningstar are seriously bright. They’re also seriously spoilt because why else would I be picking them up and carrying them across puddles. (Apart, of course, because I didn’t have the sense to buy flooring with a pattern of cat paw prints on it. I’m sure there’d be a big market for it, and dog paw prints too…)


By now, I expect you’re gathering that not much is going on. Only that’s not quite right because I’ve started on the Christmas anthology, which has been inspired by all the wonderful people who’ve been kind enough to ask me what happened to characters at the end of books. That is the most incredible compliment, because it means that you didn’t want to say goodbye to them any more than I did.


So I have Christmas music playing. I’ll cook a Christmas lunch on Sunday (Not hard because it’s my family’s favourite meal.) And in my mind, I’m not bored with being stuck indoors. I’m getting ready for Christmas and catching up with people that I haven’t seen for a while, or filling in gaps in their stories. I quite often have to do that because I’m very character driven as a writer so once I know my characters I just have to sit back and let them talk inside my head.


This means that I can be the first to wish you ‘Happy Christmas 2024’ and if there are any characters you’d like to know more about then let me know via the message function here.


Today’s picture is of Lord Willow himself. He is doing the only sensible thing that you can in this weather and conserving energy while he waits for better times. So may I hope that we all have those, wherever we are and whatever we're doing.




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