Mollie Hunt's Blog, page 6
January 5, 2025
BEGINNINGS
I’ve been trying to decide what would be an appropriate blogpost for the first day of the first month of the new year. As you can see, it took me a while to come up with a plan, and now it’s already a week into the month, but since I am not a fan of deadlines (or New Year’s resolutions, for that matter) her we go.
In 2024, I published three books, a cozy mystery in each of my two series and a nonfiction about senior cat care. I expect to publish at least one cozy in 2025, and hopefully two, but I have other projects in various stages of development, so the new plan is to finish some of those as well.
Just for fun, and to organize my own mind, I’m giving you the first paragraphs of these coming works.
Camelia and her ghost cat Soji are drawn into a web of secrets when a girl is murdered in the old, abandoned house on the hill.
Chapter 1: The Ghost of Ida Jacks
The ghost cat twirled in the middle of the carpet. Around and around she went, not so much a cat chasing her tail but a small, white tornado. Every so often she would slow to utter a single cryptic sentence: She is not what she seems. After that, the whirling would begin again.
Camelia Collins watched the antics from her couch. At first, she’d been concerned. She’d asked the little ghost cat what was wrong, what was bothering her, but she’d got no response and gave up. Soji was an enigma, an entity unto herself, and if she didn’t want to communicate in any other way than her macabre dance, there was nothing Camelia could do about it.
Still, the septuagenarian couldn’t quite manage to go about her usual business—not with a ghost cat whirling in her living room.
What would the world be like if there were no more cats? Rinn, proprietor of a small cat shelter, never thought she would have to find out. But this spring the kennels are silent; the kittens linger in a coma-like state. No one knows the cause or cure.
Chapter 1. The End
“They’re dying.”
The tall woman continued to pack her instruments into her case. “I don’t know why. Could be anything—a virus, bacteria, even a toxin in the water. I’ll get some lab work done and maybe we’ll know more. I’ve given them fluids to avoid dehydration, but I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time.”
The doctor touched Rinn’s arm. “I know it’s sad but face it—it’s kitten season. Soon enough you’ll be overrun with little critters. One fertile female and her offspring can produce four-hundred-thousand cats in seven years, you know.”
Rinn sighed. “I know. But that’s just it. This isn’t just happening at my shelter. It’s everywhere. I’ve talked to the humane society, the Feral Cat Coalition, Ally Cat Allies—you name it. Everyone’s saying the same thing. The new kittens are fine through their first month, then they begin to fail. They get sickly and drop into this coma-thing.” Rinn gestured helplessly toward the ominously silent kennels where the small figures lay still as death. “So far none have been revived.”
“Yes, but so far,” the vet countered, slinging the wide strap of her medical bag over her shoulder and heading for the door, “none have actually died, either.”
“But what if they do?” Rinn blurted. “What if they all do? What if it’s a plague, and the cat population is wiped out?”
The doctor gave a nervous snicker. “It’s not. They won’t.”
Rinn felt the sting of tears. “I can’t imagine a world without cats.”
Lorett Glass inherits fifty-million dollars and is diagnosed with fatal brain cancer on the same day. Taking her life in a new direction, she becomes the person she’s always wanted to be—Cat Storm.
Chapter One: The Beginning
The day I learned I was the sole beneficiary of the vast estate of a wild-ass uncle I’d never met was the same day I was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer. The inheritance came first, then the diagnosis. Strangely, my thought upon hearing my life was soon to be over was, I’m rich now. I can buy them off. But who was them? God? The fates? The tiny little wayward cells that decided to take a wrong turn in my head? None of those things could be bought, and I knew it. Not fair! sprang to mind with a plethora of expletives.
I was dead. That was all there was to it.
I walked out of the doctor’s office feeling like a zombie. Had to make a plan. Had to get things in order. I had to find someone to care for my cats!
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash
There are more in the TBD file, but if I finish these three, it will be an accomplishment.
Have a great year, friends, and “don’t take yourself too darned seriously.”
December 23, 2024
WRITING IN MAZATLÁN
Margaritas on the beach, dancing till dawn, playing in the ocean, riding the banana boat or going up in a parasail?
How about lounging in my suite, working on my new book, resting in the shade by the pool, eating lots of good food, and watching quiet sunsets. No, it isn’t the way I would have done it twenty years ago, but I so enjoyed it now.
My husband and I are just back from two weeks in sunny Mazatlán. The weather was perfect: not too hot, not too cold. It can get cool this time of year. It’s nothing compared with a Portland winter, but the difference is none of the hotels have heat. The inside temperature is the same as outside, and that can feel chilly. I remember one trip we spent huddled up in blankets trying to stay warm. After that, I always brought warm clothes and a fuzzy bathrobe, just in case.
This trip, there were a few days of rain, when all the locals shivered in their overcoats and tried to stay inside. I stayed in most of the time as well, but with a covered balcony and a view right over the ocean, I didn’t need to get wet to enjoy myself.
While Jim was fishing and kayaking and roaming around getting us food, I wrote and read and relaxed. With my Long COVID, even the trip on the plane left me exhausted. I did manage two longish walks which I enjoyed, but my third time out, I got dizzy and had to take a Pulmonia* back to the resort.
“Pulmonia Taxis are unique to Mazatlán. Pulmonias are gas-powered open-air taxis that look like supped-up golf carts! Most have stereos and drive around with the music volume cranked up! The majority of Pulmonias are stripped down Volkswagens with custom fiberglass bodies on them.” —Mazatlánvisit.com
I only saw one cat the entire time, a tiny tabby in a Christmas hat being lovingly carried on a pillow in a box like a queen. Jim saw another cat on the beach in front of a house. Everybody seemed to know her, and she was well cared for. We used to go visit the Mazatlán Humane Society, Los Amigos de Animales, but I wasn’t up to the trip this time. The little shelter has come a long way since I first began visiting. They fight an uphill battle in a society that ties up dogs to guard property and sees cats as pests, not pets. But things are changing, just as they have changed here, and there are many people driving a force for humane treatment of all animals which includes vet care and a TNR group.
In my two weeks away, I managed to do a revision on Part One of Ghost Cat and the Haunted House and move on to the first draft of Part Two. I don’t know if I wrote more than I do normally at home, but I enjoyed it as a different way to visualize my work. I believe writing in new places produces alternate dimensions. I’ll see what I think when the book is finished.
I also came up with a sci-fantasy short story idea that has nothing to do with cats. (!)
I am glad to be back in Portland, though I miss the warm weather, the rolling sound of the ocean, and not having anything pressing to do all day. But home is where the cat is, and in our case, three cats, who were glad of our return, then ignored us, and all was back to normal.
I encourage everyone to travel internationally. The US is amazing, but other countries are different, and it’s enlightening. Even if it’s just a sightseeing trip to Mexico or Canada, try to enjoy the local color, go to places besides the tourist traps, talk to the people who live there and make friends with them. There is so much to learn.
December 16, 2024
December 11, 2024
My CRAFTY CAT Great Escapes Virtual Blog Tour is on a Roll!
While I’m on vacation in sunny Mexico,
bloggers are hard at work promoting my book CRAFTY CAT for me! I can’t say enough about the Great Escapes Blog Tours. What a great bunch of people who love cozy mysteries like do and want to tell the world about them.
Click HERE to read today’s REVIEW of the book from Sarah Can’t Stop Reading Books!
Here is the full itinerary of TOUR PARTICIPANTS:
Don’t forget to sign up for the Giveaway!
December 10 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW
December 10 – Jody’s Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT
December 10 – Eskimo Princess Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 – Sarah Can’t Stop Reading Books – REVIEW
December 11 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 –Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 12 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT
December 12 – Frugal Freelancer – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
December 13 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT
December 13 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLGHT
December 13 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 14 – StoreyBook Reviews – AUTHOR GUEST POST
December 14 – Deal Sharing Aunt – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
December 15 – Cozy Up With Kathy – CHARACTER GUEST POST
December 15 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
December 16 – Sneaky the Library Cat’s Blog – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
December 16 – Guatemala Paula Loves to Read – CHARACTER GUEST POST
December 16 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – SPOTLIGHT
December 8, 2024
EXCERPT FROM CAT NOEL, a Crazy Cat Lady Cozy Christmas Novella
Not Lynley Cannon, that’s for sure.
Lynley finds a new meaning of Christmas when a wiccan’s familiar is cat-napped and Lynley becomes her only hope.
The holidays aren’t Lynley Cannon’s favorite time of year. The sixty-something cat shelter volunteer would rather hang out with cats that brave her daughter’s elaborate and impersonal Christmas gala. But when she gets her wish in the form of a stranger’s kidnapped kitty, she may have a change of heart.
Though Lynley knows little about the white witchcraft known as Wicca, she does know cats and is hard-pressed to decline a plea for help when one goes missing, even if it is said to be a witch’s familiar. Then the owner disappears as well. Lynley uncovers a clue, and led by her cat-like curiosity, is compelled to follow up, but as she searches for the pair, a snow storm hits the Pacific Northwest, taking things in a dangerous direction.
Will Lynley finally find the Christmas spirit? As Lynley experiences the cold dark of confinement, she discovers an unexpected strength in thoughts of family and home.
Cat Noel is a departure from my other Crazy Cat Lady cozy mysteries. First of all, it’s a novella, not a full-sized book. Secondly, I thought we could take a break from murder for the Christmas season, so nobody gets killed! Not that there aren’t thrills and spills aplenty—there are!
Here’s an excerpt:~Prologue~Christmas. The happiest time of the year.
The time when we come together with friends and family in one big giving, loving celebration.
The time we put our differences aside to enjoy the season.
The time we are extra specially good to one another. Peace on Earth and all that.
So why, this Christmas, was I feeling like a cat in a thunder storm?
In spite of all outward appearances, I couldn’t help but sense something was amiss. The holiday lights flickered like horror show fluorescents just before the monster comes; the Christmas trees were crooked; the scent of gingerbread carried a trace of decay. It’s a Wonderful Life was full of commercials. Someone stabbed the snowman with a candy cane. The world was running amok.
Was it just me?
Turns out it wasn’t.
If you’re looking for a happy, feel-good Christmas story, this isn’t it. Not to say it doesn’t have its merry moments—it does. And at least no one gets murdered. That’s a relief, right?
It was a learning experience, and in the end… well, you’ll just have to read it for yourself.
It began one week before Christmas…
Chapter 1“…Sleigh bells ring. Are you listening?
“On the street, snow is glistening.
“La da-de-da-da, da-de-da-da…”
Rats, I thought to myself, now I’ll have that song stuck in my head all day long.
It’s not that I have anything against Christmas, not really. Aside from the commercialism, stress, expense, the social pressure… but I digress. It’s just a song. A good old song. Maybe if I changed the words to something more cat-centric, I might be better able to relate:
Time to eat… Are you listening?
In the bowl, food is glistening.
Pet me pet me, pet me pet me,
Now I’m going to bite your hand…
My name is Lynley Cannon, and as you may have guessed, I am a cat person. From an early age, I was captivated by their mystical eyes, their soft fur, and their indomitable feline presence. I believe cats have a lot to add to human society; they have things to teach us if we would just curl up and listen. Now in my sixties, I happily devote much of my time to cats, volunteering at the local shelter, fostering the sick ones, and catering to the whims of my own clowder. Some think it’s an obsession, but I find it more of a calling.
Today was to be dedicated to cats. I’d signed up for a morning shift at Friends of Felines, and in the afternoon, I planned to do some Christmas shopping for my kitties. With only seven days until Christmas, I’d better get on it before it was too late.
Arriving at the shelter, I came through the big main doors to admire the pandemonium of decorations in the lobby. The large, spacious room had been transformed into a feline fairyland with twinkling lights and sparkly red and green streamers cascading from the mezzanine. A huge living fir tree stood tall beside the admittance desk, its fragrant limbs decked with photos of the shelter cats, their Cat-mas wish lists printed on the back. Under the tree lay cases of cans, bags of kibble, boxes of litter, beds, and toys galore. It made me smile to see how big-hearted people could be during the holidays. Hopefully they would remember to carry their generosity into the year ahead.
Front and center was a poster advertising the upcoming holiday fundraiser gala, the Starry Nights Fête. The artist had done a superb job of conveying the enchantment of the season with a pair of stylized kitties ballroom dancing across a field of silver-speckled indigo. As head of the fête committee, I had commissioned the poster myself and was more than happy with the results.
I spent a few minutes enjoying the friendly ambiance, then headed for the cattery. The fresh, airy space was quiet, with only a single volunteer helping an adopter choose a cat and a staff member munching a white-iced cookie at her desk in the office. After a brief hello, I set to work cleaning litter boxes for the forty-some feline residents. The rhythm of scoop, dump, scoop was almost hypnotic as I went from kennel to kennel. I even began humming a little tune.
“…Sleigh bells ring…”
Rats! I was doing it again. I sang a few bars of Monty Python’s “Always look on the bright side of life, Da dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum…” to offset the Christmas jingle.
Just as I’d disposed of the last bit of refuse and was about to take the dirty pans to be sanitized, I heard a commotion behind me. I turned to see Special Agent Connie Lee blast into the room, a frantic look on her face. She stared around, then raced to one of the unused computer stations and began to type like a squirrel.
Special Agent Lee was one of three humane investigators who worked out of Northwest Humane Society. Known to the community as animal cops, they educated the public on proper pet care and handled cases of abuse and neglect—over a thousand call-ins a year! Thankfully many of the calls came to nothing—an overly-concerned neighbor of a barking dog or a lady with what someone considered to be too many cats. But when it was the real thing, the special agents could, and did, enforce Oregon’s animal cruelty laws to their fullest extent.
I’d brushed elbows with the substantial woman on several occasions, but aside from being vegan, Wiccan, and kind-natured, she was mostly an unknown to me. She had always struck me as someone who held her feelings close to the vest, yet here she was, gasping and swearing under her breath. This wasn’t like her at all.
“What’s up?” I asked but she ignored me, her attention riveted to the screen.
I gravitated to the counter across from her. I was hesitant to bother her yet equally as reluctant to go away and leave her in such a state. Besides, I was curious. You’d think, after all the trouble my cat-like curiosity had brought me, I’d know better. But I didn’t.
Finally Connie ceased her frenzied typing and ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. She looked up, gray eyes focusing on me as if she had just then realized I was there.
“Well, this is a sad state of affairs,” she announced gloomily.
“Is everything okay?”
“Not okay,” she declared, her voice low and gravely. “Definitely not okay. My friend’s cat is missing.”
“Oh, no! Is it microchipped?”
“Yeah. I was just looking through the lost and found database, but she hasn’t been recovered. Her name is Isis—like the goddess, not the terrorist group.”
“How long has she been gone?” I asked, trying to call up all the helpful information one was supposed to offer on such a dreadful occasion.
“I’m not sure. A while now. I just found out about it,” Connie grumbled, adding sarcastically, “My friend thought it best not to tell me, a trained humane investigator.” She gave a big sigh and hung her head. “Maybe she was right. For all my training, I’m coming up with an absolute zero. Isis is still missing and I’m panicking like a newbie.” Resigned, she sat back in the office chair. “I don’t know what to do.”
I came around and put a hand on her broad shoulder. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can, Connie. It isn’t easy. Isis is probably frightened to death and hiding. When cats don’t want to be found, it’s really hard to find them.”
“I know. I’m just scared for her. It’s been raining, and now they say it’s going to freeze. Isis is an indoor cat. The city’s so dangerous. And besides…”
I waited for Connie to finish, but instead, she bent forward and began another rampage on the keyboard. Adjusting my glasses, I watched as screen after screen of stray cats popped up. Finally the photo of a chocolate-point Siamese filled the monitor. The banner across the bottom read: Isis, Siamese 13 yr. 9#, Dominant color: tan, Other color: brown, Distinctive markings: face mask shaped like a heart, Lost December 10, Owner: Catherine Bremerton-Black.
“She’s beautiful,” I remarked. I said the same of all cats and truly meant it, but this one was really unique. The picture had been taken in a relaxed atmosphere. The blue eyes were soft and trust-filled; the ears were straight. She had tilted her face lovingly for the camera and curved her lips in a smile. Something about Isis called to my heart, the thought of her out on her own, breaking it.
“Poor sweetie” I whispered. “But this says she’s been missing for three days.”
“Yeah,” Connie snorted. “As I was saying, my friend neglected to tell me until today.”
“Do you think something’s happened to her? I mean, beyond the usual got-out-got-lost scenario?”
Connie wavered, then a look cold as steel fell across her face. “Yeah, I do.”
“She is gorgeous. If someone saw her and thought she was valuable…”
“She’s pretty, for sure, but there’s more.” Connie eyed me, as if assessing whether she could trust me with a secret. I guess she decided she could, because the next words out of her mouth were nothing I expected to hear.
“Lynley,” she said carefully, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Isis is special. She’s a familiar.”
I knew Connie Lee was Wiccan but only because she’d mentioned it once or twice. I assumed she practiced some sort of get-together-with-the-goddess white magic thing, planting seeds and singing to the moon. Really I knew nothing about it except that Connie herself was one of the kindest, most compassionate, most intensely moral people I knew. Whatever her witchery might be, I never doubted it was securely on the side of the light.
I’d heard stories of witches keeping animals or birds—after all, who hasn’t read Harry Potter?—but as far as real life Wiccans… “A what? You mean like magic?”
“Something like that.” Connie gave a laugh but her face quickly sobered. “It’s a thing, Lynley. Wiccans bond with their familiars in a very profound way. If my friend doesn’t get Isis back before Winter Solstice Eve, the consequences will be dire.”
“Dire? I don’t understand. What happens on the solstice besides it being the longest night…?”
An explosion of static burst from Connie’s radio, drowning out my question. In a microsecond, she had the instrument off her duty belt and up to her ear. “Lee here.”
I couldn’t make out the chatter on the other end, but in another few seconds, Connie clipped, “Copy that. On my way.”
Jumping to her feet, she replaced the radio and hooked her thumbs in her belt. “Sorry, Lynley, gotta go. Hey, could you ask your cat people network to keep an eye out for Isis? Every little bit helps.”
“Sure Connie, but…”
Special Agent Lee was already on her way out the door. I never got to learn about the bond between a Wiccan and her familiar, nor did I find out what part Isis was to play in the coming solstice. And as to the dire consequences that would occur if Isis wasn’t returned in time, I was left to wander my own dark imagination.
Cat Noel is available as an eBook or a paperback. Click here to order and find out the rest of the story.
November 29, 2024
SANTA-CAT’S HOLIDAY FAVES – TYLER’S WISH LIST 2024
Tyler has once again outdone himself collecting his list of noteworthy items for the holiday season. At twenty-one, Tyler has developed impeccable if sometimes slightly quirky taste. See what you think of his latest offerings.
These are not your ordinary cat trees, kitty condos, or cat scratching posts. Royal Meow Cat Castles are finely crafted furniture that is as durable as it is beautiful. All works are handcrafted with love in Vancouver, USA and include natural and recycled materials.
The product blurb says these spring toys are “…perfect for solo or interactive play for cats and kittens with vibrant colors designed to grab your cat’s attention for even more exciting play, helping to provide the daily exercise and mental stimulation cats need.” It seems to be true, because every cat I’ve seen offered them, both mine and other people’s, has taken to playing with them quickly and naturally. The only drawback is that they are so popular, the get batted under furniture, but it’s good exercise for us humans to bend down and get them out again.
Cressida Curtain has a business to run. She spends her time catching bad guys and turning them in for bounties. After all, she’s a natural born hunter.
She also isn’t exactly human. That’s her secret to keep, because her very existence is the only thing holding a great evil at bay. It’s a legacy that’s been passed down through the generations, and Cressida is the latest in line.
But she’s not going to let a little thing like the fate of the world get in her way.
Life as a bounty hunter is never dull. And hers is about to get a lot more interesting.
Favorite non-fiction cat book:Cat Books by Amy ShojaiAmy Shojai believes a happier world starts with healthy, joyful pets. Her 35+ award-winning care and behavior books help banish embarrassing uncertainty about what the pets we love truly need.
Titles include Complete Kitten Care, Complete Care for Your Aging Cat, Cat Facts A To Z, New Choices in Natural Healing, My Cat Hates the Vet! and more!
Whether you love a single feline or share your home with a multi-cat clowder, you’ll find health care, first aid, holistic care, and behavior answers here! All the cat books come in various Ebook, paperback, hardcover, and audiobook formats.
Are you looking for more cat-themed books? Check out the Cat Writers’ Association Book Directory for everything cat.
Artist Bernadette made the first of these votives as a heartfelt gift for longtime shelter volunteer friends and art customers who had lost a rescued cat just a short while after she’d done his portrait. She used all her experience as a cat advocate to prepare the image for the votive, which had a great effect on her and her friends.
This is now her goal with each custom pet memorial votive, and she takes the utmost care each step of the way with the recipient in mind whose broken heart needs a little healing.
Read her complete story here.
Some cats don’t go for catnip. About 30% of cats don’t have the catnip gene, but if your cat does, there is nothing like a hand-made kicker loaded with fresh organic catnip to get them playing like a kitten. Each pillow is constructed from heavy-duty cotton fabric, and range from 8″-12″ long.
The Clowder Weighs In
Play Tunnel AKA Clarence’s hideaway.
Clarence loves tunnels! Big or small, he spends time each day playing, running, and hiding in them. He will also sit like a king looking out the hole. But 1-year-old Clarence isn’t the only cat in our clowder to enjoy the tunnel. Melinko and foster cat Periwinkle can also be found racing in and out of this tunnel of kitty joy.
Melinko thinks a nice cardboard box is the perfect gift. Portable, durable, adjustable, recyclable, biteable, and available everywhere. It’s also easy on the Cat Parent’s budget, so more can be spent on treats and food.
Who knows? The cats fortunate enough to have a home and a family who loves them are already getting most everything they want and need. Healthy meals, toys and treats, medical care when required. But what about the other cats, the ferals and strays, the ones lingering in shelters because someone deems them too old, too shy, too feisty, too much trouble or expense because of medical conditions? If Tyler could speak, he would ask the following:
Shameless self-promotion: My New Books for 2024!
A Tenth Life Cozy Mystery #3
The game is murder at the Mystery Beach Hotel.
Crafty CatWhen Camelia Collins meets an old college friend for a murder mystery weekend at the coast, death becomes more than a game.
The 11th Crazy Cat Lady Cozy Mystery
Lynley shifts from quilting to sleuthing when the elder of the guild is murdered and a beloved cat is stolen. Located in Portland.
Tyler found it hard to choose among all the lovely and useful items available, especially the ones made by independent craftspeople, so his list is a bit arbitrary. He would love to hear about your favorites. Please post comments.
***Note: None of the businesses or artists mentioned in this blogpost have solicited my endorsement, nor have I received compensation of any kind for listing them.
November 13, 2024
WORDLESS WEDNESDAY-Tyler and the Rainbow
Wordless Wednesday is a post that features only a photo. Make of it what you will.
November 4, 2024
Dona Nobis Pacem – HOLD THE LIGHT
Photo by Louise Knight-Gibson on Unsplash
Today I am blogging for peace.Today, November 4, 2024, marks the 19th year of peace blogging in the Blogosphere, but I have been advocating for peace for much longer.
It started with my father, a pacifist to the core. Though he fought in WWII, he never talked about his experiences, never boasted or uttered racial slurs. When I grew up to adopt my own pacifistic beliefs in concert with the hippie movement of the late 60’s, he was proud of me. You can read more about my father’s trials as a German immigrant in 1939 here.
The hippies were all about peace, but the philosophy wasn’t all flowers and free love. We hated what was going on in Viet Nam. On looking back, I realize we didn’t handle it right, shunning the poor soldiers when they were often pawns in a political game. I had left the US by then, to live out those war-torn years in the solace of Canada.
There has been a lot of war since the 1960’s, and none of it good and much of it unsuccessful in creating lasting positive results. Now we are somewhat involved in two wars on a far continent and an unproclaimed civil war here at home. I don’t know the answer. But so many innocents dead. That can’t be right.
Today, I am holding the light, praying that peace will come. Today, will you join me?
November 1, 2024
AND THE WINNER IS…
It’s time!Crafty Cat is launched and out in the world for all to see.
Promotional responsibilities are over for now.
Let’s get on to something fun, drawing the name of the winner of my Crafty Cat Giveaway!
If you remember, the prize is a signed paperback copy of Crafty Cat, the 11th Crazy Cat Lady cozy mystery plus a set of four cat-themed coin purses. Several people told me how cute they thought the purses are, and I agree. I have a set of them myself!
In the past, I have let Tyler pick the winner, but I didn’t want him to be accused of playing favorites, so now I use Wheel of Names random name picker. Also this way I don’t have to wake Tyler up from a much-needed 18-hour nap.
So spin the wheel….
Big thanks to everyone who entered. For those who didn’t win a copy of my brand new book, you can purchase both eBook and paperback copies here.
October 29, 2024
HELLO, CRAFTY CAT!
Crafty Cat, in eBook version and in paperback, is available today! Yes, it’s exciting for me, and I hope it’s exciting for you too.
Here’s the back cover blurb:And now, for the first time, you can read Chapter One in its entirety right here:Chapter 1
Romance, death, and cat quilts.
What does quilting have to do with murder? Lynley Cannon is about to find out.
Lynley Cannon has a new hobby—making cat-themed quilt donations for the ShadowCat Rescue auction. The small quilting guild is run by three generations of women and two cats, but when the elder of the family is murdered, Lynley’s job shifts from crafting to sleuthing.
Who would want to kill such a dear old thing? The police think they know, but they don’t have all the facts.
As secrets come out and a romance is uncovered, the quilting project begins to fall to pieces. Lynley jumps in to help the family navigate the justice system, but when a neighbor is found dead and another of the quilt shop’s owners missing, even Lynley is at a loss. It takes a couple of crafty cats to get to the bottom of this stranger-than-fiction crime.
There are reasons we can’t go back to the past, and we shouldn’t want to. People get hurt. People get killed. Time flows one way on purpose. Trying to relive some golden moment will only get you in trouble.
My name is Lynley Cannon, and as the years pile on since my big six-oh, those facts become clearer to me every day. Not the part about people getting killed… That revelation came only after a series of unexpected events about which I will tell in due time. For now, I’ll just repeat the old adage: You can never go home again.
It started innocently enough when my best friend Frannie Desoto invited me along to her quilting club, a group of cat lovers who get together to sew cat-themed quilts for animal shelter auctions. The idea sounded fun, and being a long-time shelter volunteer myself, the cause suited me. I knew nothing about quilting, but Frannie assured me that Pauleen and Paulette Hart, seasoned quilters themselves, would have no trouble taking me through the basics. The mother-daughter duo had tutored many a would-be seamstress while running their business, House of Quilts.
To look at it from the outside, House of Quilts was just what its name implied, an old residential house off Hawthorne Boulevard in Portland, Oregon. The only thing to distinguish it from the homes to either side was the colorful signage depicting a log cabin patchwork quilt that hung above the front porch. With the building nearly obscured by a lush vine maple tree, I would have passed right by it if Frannie hadn’t yelled for me to pull over.
I swooped my little Toyota into an open parking spot on the street and turned off the engine. Peering out at our destination, I shook my head.
“I don’t know about this, Frannie. I haven’t picked up a needle and thread for eons, let alone sat down at my sewing machine.” I pictured the vintage model given me by my mum some decades back which now sat latched in its case on a table heaped with flotsam.
“It’ll be fine. You don’t have to sew if you don’t want to—you can just watch. But I bet you’ll get inspired once you see what the gals are doing.”
Gals, I thought to myself. An outmoded term, but so Frannie Desoto. Though her outfits, always impeccable and expensive, were of a current fashion, there was something about Frannie that harked back to a gentler era.
Frannie and I had met years ago through our volunteer work at Friends of Felines cat shelter. Being more mature than many of the twenty-something volunteers and staff, we’d gravitated toward one another. I admit I’d initially been put off by her styled platinum hair, lavish makeup, and the elegant clothes she wore even for her shelter shifts, but once we got talking, I found we had much in common. Underneath her picture-perfect exterior, she and I were sisters.
Frannie had never lied to me, and there was no reason to think she was lying now, but…
“Fun?” I grumbled. “They’re going to throw me out on my ear.”
“No, they’re not. Why would you say that?” Frannie turned and stared at me with those blue-shadowed eyes. “What’s wrong with you today, Lynley? You’re usually up for anything.”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “Sometimes I feel so old, like I’m never going to be able to learn anything new.”
“You’re not old!” Frannie clipped back at me. “Why, you just turned sixty.”
“It’s been a while,” I put in.
“Sixty is the new forty, Lynley, but twenty years wiser. Now come on. You’re going in there if I have to drag you.”
Frannie was right. I was only as old as I felt, but for the past month, I’d been feeling my age and more. I needed new glasses but was hesitant to make that expensive appointment. I had a funny pain in my shoulder that didn’t used to be there. My yearly wellness check was coming up, and though I had no reason to fear, getting poked and prodded, quizzed and questioned, only to sit like a naughty child awaiting the final verdict from my doctor was always a bit unnerving. These were things that never crossed my mind a decade ago.
“Frannie, I really don’t feel like doing this right now. Can’t I just drop you off and pick you up when you’re done?”
“Absolutely not. Now get out of the car and come with me.”
Begrudgingly I did what I was told, lagging behind Frannie as she crossed the sidewalk and climbed the steps to a screened front porch where a sign read, Closed For Class—Ring Bell for Service. I was about to balk again when I saw something that changed my mind.
Or more accurately, someone.
Sitting regally as a queen on a shelf beside the screen door was a cat. Her black fur was long and silky. Her green eyes were trained directly on me. Around her neck she wore a matching green collar.
“That’s Mewella,” Frannie related with a grin. “She and her brother Ridley own the place.”
Frannie moved forward and rang a bell which was quickly answered by a blockish woman wearing a prim white blouse and a long, quilted skirt of a botanical design. Her hair, an unlikely shade of auburn, was piled on her head in a haphazard knot. Through the knot was stuck a pencil and a pair of long, purple-handled scissors.
“Frannie! Come in, come in!” the woman expounded as she scooped Mewella into her arms and unlatched the screen. “And this must be Lynley,” she said to me. “I’m Pauleen. Welcome to House of Quilts.”
Mewella allowed herself to be cuddled in Pauleen’s substantial embrace, but as soon as the door was safely latched, she launched away to resume her vigil.
“She never tries to get out,” Pauleen explained, “but please keep watch anyway. It would be tragic if she were to escape.”
Pauleen led Frannie and me across the wide porch and into the house chattering about quilting things, much of which I didn’t understand. The foyer had been turned into a shop room where bolts of fabric and piles of colorful cut yardage lined the walls. In one corner was a display of sewing machines and rolling cases and a shelf of oversized books. On tables sat baskets of threads, scissors and fabric cutters, markers, pins and needles, a smattering of homemade pincushions, and other sewing sundries that I was hard-pressed to name.
As I stared around with something between awe and confusion, a tiny woman in a yellow jacket ran up to us, an odd look on her face. If everything else about the environment hadn’t seemed so serene, I would have marked it as fright.
It turned out my assumption wasn’t far off. The little woman grasped Pauleen by the arm and gave a whimper.
“I can’t find him anywhere, Pauleen! I’ve looked all through the house—the upstairs parlor and even the bedrooms.”
Pauleen frowned. “Calm down, Dora. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. Have you checked outside?”
Dora hesitated. “I did, yes, but I’ll try again.”
“Good girl. You know how he can disappear when he doesn’t want to be found.”
Dora fled away, shaking her hands in despair. Pauleen turned to me. “That was my dear friend Dora. She’s always got my back. Now it seems we have a missing cat, Ridley, Mewella’s twin brother.”
“Oh, dear,” I commented. “And you think he may have got outside?”
“We have an outdoor catio beyond the sunroom with lots of built-in shelves and perches and places for a cat to hide. He’s asleep somewhere. Most likely,” she added with a forced laugh that ended in a frown. “Give me a minute, please? Frannie, why don’t you take Lynley into the sewing room and introduce her to everyone? I’ll be right back.”
And with that, she was gone.
A few more days to enter the Crafty Cat Giveaway!
One lucky person will win a signed paperback copy of Crafty Cat plus a special cat-themed gift, my favorite set of cat-print coin purses. These sturdy zippered coin-purses are made of canvas. 4 adorable cartoon cat patterns. Size: 5 x 3.5 inches. Perfect for little belongings such as coins, cash, credit cards, thumb drives, earbuds, keys, lipstick.
To enter the giveaway, email me at molliehuntcatwriter@gmail.com with “Giveaway” in the comment line. U.S. addresses only. No P.O. boxes. Drawing for the giveaway will be November 1.
