Goodbye, old friend.

In March 1998, my Husband and I paid a visit to a local cat shelter in Cambridge. I had it in my head that I had to have a ginger cat. I'd had one before and I fell in love with his waywardness. We spent a long time at the shelter and there weren't any that fit the bill. I had said that I didn't want a long-haired cat. Having exhausted just about every possibility, the exasperated worker said.."Look, I know you said you didn't want a long-haired cat but have a look at this one." She led us into a kennel and this orange and white ball of fluff skittered down the little ramp and wound itself around my legs. Her tail was absurd, like a squirrel's, like a fox's brush.

All my reservations about long-haired cats melted away. She had adopted us.

On the way home we talked about names. We'd just lost a cat called Homer and it seemed right to stick with The Simpsons theme. We opted for Maggie and Maggie she stayed. Under all that fluff was a tiny little cat. We discovered how tiny she was when we got her back to the house and she promptly disappeared, squeezing into a three-inch gap between the washing machine and kitchen cabinet.

Once she'd spent the recommended two weeks indoors we let her out and that's when we discovered her true vocation. Little Maggie was a Big Hunter. When we moved to a remote village in Cumbria, we were surrounded by farm fields and Maggie was in her element. Almost every morning, we would open the back door and find a rodent offering, placed carefully in the same corner of the same patio stone ... every damn time. The local field vole population took a serious hit. Once, we saw her struggle into the garden with a young rabbit in her mouth. It wasn't a baby, in fact, it was about half her size. She struggled gamely with it for a while, trying to dispatch it but, in the end, even Maggie had to admit defeat.

Once or twice, we discovered that Maggie brought us live rodents too. Peter moved the fridge one day and found a family of mice living behind it. While he and Chloe, our dog, dispatched the mice, Maggie sat calmly in the doorway watching the show.

But, no matter how far she roamed during her hunts, I had only to stand at the back door and call her name and she would streak across the fields, a flash of brilliant orange and white fur and wrap herself around my legs.

She was also a cat for carrying a grudge.

Peter sat on her eleven years ago and she, finally, forgave him about six months ago. Likewise, our son, he made the mistake of pulling her tail ten years ago, and she forgave him about the same time.

She took the transatlantic move very well. She loved to sleep in the back yard, in some shady corner but, always, she would come when I called. Her tail held high.

In the end, she only showed her symptoms for a few days. Up until a week or so ago, she was first in line for the evening cat treats, standing in front of Peter with that tail up in the air, a hopeful look on her face. She hoovered the treats up much quicker than the two, much younger, males.

Now, she's gone. It wasn't a hard decision to make. I could tell she was tired of life, tired of fighting to breathe. She just wanted to sleep. We watched her leave us, swiftly, quietly. It's hard to witness, yet it's comforting too because I know that, somewhere in a dusk-shadowed field, a small orange and white cat is out hunting underneath the summer stars.

I love you Maggie. Happy hunting.

Of Farts and False Prophets - Nano Teaser

Well....here it is, 10 days into NaNoWriMo and I've reached 25k words! I'm enjoying this book immensely. It's fun to write something completely different. I'm working my way slowly to a pivotal scene. I'd like to get there quicker, but little plot twists keep getting in the way, which is all good.

As for this scene...well, poor Ellie. She's been abducted and her abductors are...you'll see.

Again, apologies for the lack of polish. When I'm done, this book is going to need an industrial strength spit and polish.

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

“Who the hell did that? It stinks in here.”

“Did what?”

“Let one off. I gotta open the window.”

Ellie felt a cool rush of air. It touched her face. She smelled rain and pines.

“Oh, grow up. We’re nearly there. You can breathe all the fresh air you like.”

“What happens to her?”

“The Prophet says he’s putting her to work the soil…after she’s sent the message.”

“The garden?”

“Come on, Jeremiah, they’re hardly going to marry her off, are they? She’s twenty years too old for a start and not a virgin.”

“So they’re going to keep her alive?”

“She’s no good to anyone dead.”

Ellie allowed herself a small sigh of relief. If she were allowed to live, she would find a way out. No matter what they did to her, she would make it. She closed her eyes while her captors squabbled about the sins of eating bean burritos and the inevitable after-effects. She would’ve laughed if she didn’t hurt so much. She christened them the Three Stooges, it made her feel better to think of them of stupid buffoons whose intellectual depth extended only as far as discussing farts and Mexican food. She hoped they had bought the offending food from the little taco stand on the main road. They’d be doing more than passing gas before the night was through. The thought gave her some comfort while the van bounced over a bumpy road. Ellie heard the crunch of gravel, when the van took a sharp turn. It slowed and the Three Stooges fell silent.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

“Take her to Obidiah’s house. He’s got a place in the basement for her.”

“She’s lucky.”

“The Prophet doesn’t want her hurt.”

“You’d better come up with a good reason why you cracked her on the cheek, then.”

The van slowed to a halt, the clang of gates echoed in the cool, night air. The van edged forward and the gates rattled behind them. Ellie remained still, hating that she couldn’t see anything. Gravel crackled under the tires and a damp breeze crept into the back of van. Ellie smelled rain. Eventually, even the crackling ceased. Her three captors slid out of the front and, moments later, the rear doors swung open, admitting a welcome chill. Ellie made herself limp, determined to make the stooges work to sort her out. One of them climbed in beside her and pulled her into a sitting position. The rope tickled her wrists when he untied her. He eased the tape from her mouth while one of the others unbound her ankles.

“Which one of you bastards hit me?” She spat, flexing her wrists.

None of them answered.

Ellie scooted forward, until her legs swung over the edge of the van. “No, I didn’t think any of you would have the balls to fess up to hitting a woman. I hope I have a really big, purple bruise.” She stood up and glared at them, their bland faces pale in the fickle moonlight. They all looked the same to her, long beards, short hair. Like rednecks gone a little crazy. “Assholes.” She smiled as they stepped away from her. Knowing that they wouldn’t kill her helped.

“What’s going on out there?” A man’s voice echoed into the night.

Ellie realized that they were no longer in darkness, that a brilliant light illuminated the scene. Three witless stooges scarcely out of their teens, trying to look like hard men in black clothes. She glanced over her shoulder at the house the van was parked in front of. It was massive, one of half a dozen equally large houses spread out along a broad gravel road. A large man stood on the porch, the light turned his long, white hair to a madwoman’s wedding veil. A long beard gave lie to the illusion.

“Is this our guest?”

One of the stooges nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Well, don’t leave her standing out here. It’s cold.”

Ellie shivered. She was so used to the humid warm nights of the desert monsoon, that this place felt like the frozen north. She ignored her captors and walked towards the wide, brightly lit porch and the man with the long, white hair. “Who are you?” She didn’t feel inclined to wait for formal introductions, especially as the stooges seemed mute in the man’s presence.

To her surprise, he bowed and smiled. “Obidiah Worthington. You’re to be a guest in my home.”

“Um…thanks. I’d rather be in my own home, I’m sure you understand.”

He took her arm, his grip firm. “I do, Mrs. Freeman. Don’t worry, I think you’ll find things here quite comfortable, considering the circumstances.”

Ellie thought she was seeing things. He seemed genuinely apologetic but his eyes were sharp. “What happened here?” His hand moved towards her cheek.

She stepped back. “Don’t touch.” She looked over her shoulder at the stooges who stood beside the van.

Beneath the froth of beard, Worthington’s mouth was set in a hard, thin line. “Did one of them hit you?” His voice was low, the bonhomie of welcome gone.

“Yes.”

“She wouldn’t cooperate.” The voice that answered had lost its bravado. Ellie wondered if the bean burritos were beginning to take effect.

“They wrecked my back door, my garden and they dragged me out of my house. I was hardly going to go without a fight.”

The Prophet won’t be happy, you know that don’t you. I won’t trouble him with it tonight but I suggest you use the night wisely and come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t lock you all up.” Worthington took Ellie’s arm once more.

The stooges clambered into the van, started the engine and turned away from the long, broad road, disappearing into the darkness beyond the pool of light.

A bit of NaNo stuff - rough as old boots and rude in places

Well, I took the plunge this year and decided to have a go at NaNoWriMo. I've been kicking an idea around for a dystopic type thingie, set in a town not unlike the one I live in, about 12 years in the future. In this future, the US never climbed out of the recession. Ellie is a Federal Employee who's been receiving some unpleasant threats on the 'phone. There are some rude bits.

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

The old station had burned down in an arson attack five years before. The ‘new’ station was an old modular standing in the middle of the parking lot of the old one. The Chief’s car was parked in its usual place, beneath a stand of mesquite. His secretary’s car was parked right next to it and the two squad cars were gone.

“Horny bastard.” Ellie knew exactly where to find him. She didn’t care what she interrupted when she walked into the small lobby. The warped floorboards creaked beneath the worn, water-stained carpet. She rang the bell but no one answered. The unmistakable howls of a woman in the throes of orgasm drifted along the shadowy corridor.

Ellie followed the hall to the Chief’s office. She tried the door handle and smiled to herself. “Gotcha.” As Maria’s howls of pleasure faded to whimpers, Ellie pushed the door open.

It was not a pleasant sight. Maria, the Chief’s secretary, sprawled across the conference table while her partner sprang to his feet and fumbled for the trousers that had puddled around his ankles..

“Screwing on the tax-payers’ time, very nice.” Ellie wondered how any woman could get off on the shriveled appendage that dangled between the Chief’s legs. She’d seen bigger Vienna sausages.

“You could’ve knocked.”

“You could’ve answered your damn phone.”

“Ellie, what’s the emergency? What the hell made you bust in like that? Haven’t you got any damn manners?”

“Not when I get threats, nah, I kinda forget about manners.”

“What kind of threats?” He wrestled with his belt buckle. Maria shot Ellie a venomous glance and hurried back into her clothes before scuttling away. Her angry footsteps receded down the corridor, and were cut short by a slamming door.

“Time’s up, bitch.”

“That’s all? You busted into my office, invaded my privacy and ruined a good fuck, to tell me that? It’s hardly explicit, is it?”

“Seems pretty clear-cut to me.” Ellie folded her arms across her chest to stop her hands from trembling.

The Chief sank into his chair and rubbed his hand down his face. “Ellie, honey, I’m sorry. I know you’re scared but I told you there’s nothing I can do. My guys are run ragged as it is. I can’t spare anyone.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She sighed and bit back sudden tears. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Chief?”

“Did you get a gun like I told you to?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t like guns.”

“Well, you’d better start liking them.” He pulled a drawer open and placed a small handgun on the table. “This belonged to Marcy. I don’t know why I still keep it. She left years ago. Take it. Get over your dislike real quick and take the damn gun.” He pushed it towards her. “Do you know how to use one?”

She opened the chamber and checked it. “Yes, Mike taught me. He had a gun in the house. When he died, I gave it away.”

“Well, that’s something.” He handed her a box of bullets. “Keep it with you all the time. Take it into the shower if you have to.” His eyes were sad. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I wish I could do more, I really could.”

Ellie put the gun and bullets in her purse. “I know.” She felt like she was carrying a bomb in her handbag. He’d broken the law by giving the gun to her and that meant more than any empty promise or apology. She managed a smile. “Thanks. I promise I’ll keep it with me.”

He's not a bad lad, really. - Teaser Tuesday

Another bit from the Western/Mongrel. I'll be setting this aside for a few weeks while I dive into the annual madness of NaNoWriMo...my first time. The story I have in mind for NaNo is completely different from anything I've written before. I think it will be nice to have a 'break' from my usual stuff.

In the meantime, here's Kristian showing that he isn't such a bad lad after all. Tessie has been bitten by a rattlesnake. This is towards the end of the chapter.

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

The Priest’s visit marked the last moment of peace that Tessie was to know for some time. In spite of his assurances that she would be fine, the effects of the bite refused to leave her. Sleep was next to impossible because, no sooner would she lapse into unconsciousness than the pain would snatch her back to a place where every, slight, movement caused an unspeakable torment that had her screaming. Her hand swelled to an unrecognizable mass of bruised and torn tissue that throbbed with every beat of her heart. She was aware of Kristian’s presence, his touch gentle as he dabbed at the wounds with a whiskey-soaked cloth. She watched him through half-closed eyes as he bent to his ministrations, dark circles under his eyes, his face all planes and shadows in the restless firelight. She wished that she could speak, but she was reduced to a helpless bundle of hurt and drifting consciousness, while he fought for her. The day brought no relief, in the light, Tessie could see that the swelling had crept towards her wrist. The sun hurt her eyes and she was sick again. She wept, weary of her uselessness and weakly tried to wave Kristian away as he wiped her face and whispered words of comfort that she could scarcely hear. She let him hold her and his words were lost in the haze of restless agony that she could not escape until exhaustion claimed her and she was allowed to rest for a while. Then, time slipped and lost all meaning or sense as fever claimed her and infection raged through her body like a wild, summer storm.

Kristian didn’t know how much time had passed or how tired he really was. Now and again, Salim offered to take over but he waved him away, “No, this is my fault. I need to do this,”

“It is nobody’s fault,” Salim replied, “It was an unfortunate accident, now let me help. You are exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine, once I know she’s getting better, then I’ll rest.”

“You cannot help her if you’re half dead yourself.”

Kristian looked him. “Just let me do this, Salim.”

Salim shrugged, “As you wish, “

After what seemed like an eternity, Tess appeared to fall quiet, and her skin, over the course of a few hours finally began to cool. Exhaustion crept into Kristian, leaving him limp and drained, but satisfied. He gingerly touched her wounded hand and saw that the swelling was beginning to recede along with the fever. The battle was won. He rose, stiff and aching and looked at Salim, “Now you can take over, it’s finished. She’ll live now.” He went to his saddle bag, rummaged through until he found his axe, “There’s just one thing left to do.”

He found the snake, coiled in sleep, beneath the jutting lip of a boulder on the river bank. It slept on in the heat of the day and hardly had time to raise its rattle, before he raised the axe and relieved it of its head. He picked up the bleeding remains and carried the snake to the fire, reckoning, as it uncoiled in death, that it was at least five feet long, “Killed the bastard,” he told Salim as he dropped the carcass into the whispering, pale daylight flames of the fire, “So, I guess we’re even.” With that, he dropped the axe, took a long draw of water, lay down on his blanket and slept.

If this is Springer, it must be Tuesday

This is from the western, which I've dug out of the trunk. I've spent the last couple of days, pasting all the chapters into one document and have started sweeping out the excess adverbs, stray commas and purple prose. It's been an interesting exercise because I wrote this three years ago and I'd like to think my 'style' has progressed since then. I've been applying what I've learned and re-learned from being on AW to this book.

In this bit, Tessie, Kristian and Salim have arrived in Springer, New Mexico.

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

The heavy rain held off long enough for the travelers to grab a hasty supper in the saloon. It was a crowded, smoky place where one or two card games were already in progress. Tessie tried not to stare at the loose women who watched the games with avid interest, as they plied the players with whiskey and displayed large, pale expanses of bosom. One or two of the whores took more than a passing interest in her companions. A red-haired piece leaned provocatively across Kristian to pour his whiskey. Tessie heard her murmur something in his ear but he smiled, patted Tessie’s hand and said, “No thanks, M’am, my wife here will do just fine.”

The women regarded Tessie. “Are you sure?” she purred. “There don’t seem much there to grab onto.”

Tessie surveyed her calmly, taking in the raddled cheeks and the hard, hollow eyes, “Quite sure.” She replied, sweetly.

Kristian chuckled. “M’am, you really don’t want to make my wife mad. She has a terrible, short temper.”

The woman appraised Tessie coldly. “And not much else, I warrant.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He said. “Mrs. Laidlaw is much more than just a pretty face and a quick shot.” His hand strayed to Tessie’s shoulder as he played the role of protective husband to the hilt. “Now I’ll thank you to leave us in peace.”

With a shrug of rounded, over-powdered shoulders, the red-head flounced away. Tessie watched her go, surprised at her own fierce reaction to the flirtation.

“Nice work, Tess.” Her ‘Husband’ remarked as Tessie returned to her stew. “You really are an endless source of amazement. Did you really lead such a sheltered life?”

Time is passing way too quickly-Tuesday already??

Back to the recently completed 'Through the Mist'. It's about to go sleepy-byes for a little while before I start mucking it out at revision time.

This takes place the Christmas after Katya has returned from her adventures on the Silk Road. It's a transitional chapter and I'm hoping that the leap between Katya at 17 on her adventures in China and Pakistan, and Katya the WAAF typist during WW2 is not too big a leap.

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

Katya set down the tree bauble and sank onto the settee. The wireless was playing Christmas carols and it seemed right to be decorating the Christmas tree. She was supposed to finish dressing the tree before Aunt Olga, Uncle Nils and Irina arrived for Christmas Eve dinner. Good, promising smells were drifting through the open door from the kitchen. Katya had spent the morning in the kitchen peeling and chopping vegetables at her mother’s direction. Christmas Eve dinner was always a polyglot of English and Russian dishes, zakuski, mushroom soup, fish pate, roast beef with vegetables, kasha, noodles, poppy seed cake for afters, or mince pies. There was scarcely room on the table for plates and cutlery.

Katya looked at the writing on the package, written by a confident hand in black ink. The postmark was a blur, obscuring even the stamp and the country of origin. She opened it carefully, the brown paper falling away to reveal a clump of newspaper, covered in closely printed Chinese characters. Katya peeled away the newspaper, layer after layer, like an onion, until her fingers were smeared with newsprint. Beneath the newspaper a bolt of dark blue silk, embroidered with dancing golden dragons was wrapped with great care around a small, bulky object. The silk, itself was beautiful and, unfolded, turned out to be several yards long, enough for a dress. It made Katya think of the evening sky in Baltit, after the sun had slid beyond the jagged rim of the mountains and just before the stars came out. Katya folded it and laid it on her lap. She looked at the little white jade pony with tears in her eyes. It was small enough to fit perfectly into the curve of her palm, curled up and sleeping Its stubby head rested on one folded foreleg - its bristly mane was defined by finely scored lines and its long tail curled around plump hindquarters. She set the pony down and searched through the crumpled Chinese newspaper for a letter or a note, but there was nothing. Then, again, no note was needed. It was enough that he remembered her and that, somewhere, in China, he had bought a little jade pony and wrapped it in silk to send to her. She picked up the pony again, comforted by the weight of it and by the knowledge that Andrew had chosen it for her.

Another one from the Trunk

Since it went down so well last week, here's another bit from the soon-to-be-untrunked western/historical/whatever-it-is.

Tessie, Kristian and Salim have arrived in Las Vegas, New Mexico. There ain't a lot of room at the Inn

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

The innkeeper’s directions led them down a maze of streets of one-story adobe houses, crammed together. The narrow, dusty streets were populated with grubby children and chickens which Mule took exception to. He pinned his ears back and lowered his head towards any chicken stupid enough to stray too close.

“What is it with that horse?” Kristian asked, “I can’t say I’ve ever known a horse who has such a dislike of chickens, I swear he’d kill them if he could catch ‘em.”

Tessie snatched up the geldings reins as he bared his teeth at one, particularly courageous rooster, “I have no idea, but it’s a nuisance.”

“It’s damn funny, that’s for sure, though I’d hate to see what would happen if he actually got hold of one.”

The street gradually widened and the hotel appeared before them. Tessie was not heartened by her first glimpse of the two story building, she took in the broken plaster that was crumbling away from the bricks and the dirty, cracked window panes. She hoped that it was better inside. She reluctantly dismounted and held both horses while Kristian ran up the front steps and into the hotel. He returned moments later, grinning, “There’s one room left, “ he told them, “so I guess we’re going have to share. The good news, Tess, is that there’s a bath and they’re sending up the hot water right now.”

While Salim and Kristian saw to the horses, Tessie let herself be led up a dark and creaking staircase. She prayed that the one remaining room held more promise of comfort than the shadowy corridor and the rickety stairs but the door opened onto a large, clean room where a tin tub sat before the redundant fireplace. The window was open and a vague breeze whispered through the drapes. She cautiously pulled back the bed linen and was comforted by the fact that it was, indeed clean and the mattress yielded easily under her hand. A maid brought water and a screen was placed around the tub. With no sign of her companions, Tess undressed and slid gratefully into the water. She scrubbed away at the weeks of trail dust and grime until she emerged clean and glowing. She sat beside the open window and let the warm breeze dry her hair until her companions arrived, intruding on her peace.

“Is that water still warm?” Kristian asked.

“Yes, I believe so, although it’s not altogether clean.”

“I don’t care, Salim and I tossed for it, I’m first. You’d best cover your eyes.”

She turned her gaze, resolutely, to the window and tried not to remember the stable in Springer, “Don’t worry, I shan’t peek.”

Salim sank down, wearily, in the other chair and pulled off his boots, “It is good to sit in a chair for a change but I do not think I shall toss coins with Kristian again, he always wins, I think he is cheating.”

“I heard that”, there was an indignant splash from behind the screen, “You’re just sore because I got the girl and the bath.”

“You have not got the girl,” Tessie snapped, “It’s pretend, remember?”

”It ain’t pretend tonight, sweetheart, Salim has to sleep on the floor.”

“…and so do you.”

“Oh no, Princess, we share.”

She heard water dripping as he emerged from the tub and regarded her, with sharp, brown eyes, over the top of the screen, “We’re sharing.”

“I can’t sleep in the same bed as you!”

“Of course you can, you really don’t think I’d try anything do you, with Salim here to protect your honor? Hell, if I so much as touched you he’d run me through with that dagger he carries in his boot.”

Tessie looked at Salim, “You would?”

“Kristian is my friend but, he would be a very bad man to take advantage of you. We promised Mrs. Clooney that we would protect you and that is my intention.”

What alarmed Tessie was that the usual gleam of good humor was gone from Salim’s eyes, she realized that he was quite serious. “It’s all right, “ she ventured to touch his arm, “I can take care of myself, don’t worry. I believe that your friend here is having a joke at our expense. It’s best not to encourage that sort of humor.”

“Perhaps you are right.” He rose, “Now it is my turn for the bath?”