The face that launched a thousand purrs.....

that would be Kitty O, during the many years he has, like Odysseus, found his home, not on Ithaca, but with me. I marvel at those purrs of his. First of all, he purrs seldom enough to make those sounds feel incredibly special. Second of all, if I recall correctly, no one knows how said purrs are produced and why. It's a mystery.
Which word, mystery, brings me to my novel, the one that I am still editing and fixing up so that the general public might like it when I finally self-publish it. Why do I write? It's a simple answer: because I love writing. Why mysteries? Because there is a certain splendor in laying out a problem and then solving it. In the book I am working on, two village children go missing. But it is only when a little English girl disappears that people begin to realize something bad is afoot. The village children could have gotten lost in the forest or died from a snake bite. But the English girl had been playing near her mother. It is she who sets the novel rolling.
I love being led up the wrong path when I read a mystery. I especially love getting to the end because it is so entirely satisfying. Sort of like cleaning a room. Or, if I were Kitty O, finding a sun spot and curling up in it and purring.
Here's the link for those of you who might want to read the first Commissioner Oscar D'Costa mystery.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...