Welcome to my words.

This entire website is topsy turvy as of late. The only time it’s not is when it’s turvy topsy. And even then, I can’t tell my bloggy from my elbow. Until we get things calm here, please enjoy this Mozart concerto. What? We can’t get the orchestra to play? That’s it. I quit. Hey Frankie, call your cousin and tell him I’m available for that bricklaying job. What? Your brother got it? Oh come on! He said he’d hold it for me til Tuesday! No, I’m not calling your cousin a liar. I’m just saying he’s a dirty, rotten bag of jerk flesh who wouldn’t know a hard worker if one fell on his head. Yeah, tell him I said so. I don’t care. My website’s all broke. That’s fine. This’ll give me more time to work on it. No, don’t do me no favors, Frankie. I’ll be all right. You worry about yourself. Sheesh.

The One With All The Kitty Cats

The One With All The Kitty Cats

It seems that most successful blogs do a lot of Buzzfeed-esque writing. Since I don’t have the staff or the mindset to deliver clickbait content about Jennifer Anniston’s latest hairdo (does she still have hair?), I’ll have to supplement with another trick I’ve learned from perusing other blogs: create a worthless list.

Nine Ways You’re Doing Your Bloggy Wrong

1) You have no lists.

2) You have no focus.

3) You give out no candy.

4) Everyone recoils at the warts in your words.

5) You’re not talking about your book enough.

6) You make no grandiose promises to solve other people’s problems.

7) You definitely need more cat representation.

8) Your shoelace is untied.

9) Made you look.

So How Many Cats Are We Talking About?

By my last count, there are nine cats living in the same domicile as I. Is that a lot? Sometimes it feels like a lot but mostly, they sleep under beds or in closets and I never see them until it’s time for breakfast or dinner. They also will sometimes cuddle up with me in bed. So that’s nice.

My wife is the impetus behind all these furry beings in our lives. Over the years, she’s rescued them from the woods, brought them in and rehabilitated even the most feral of the bunch. It’s an admirable endeavor. Applaud her! We also feed other feral cats out in the woods. So yeah, the Chewy pet food company knows us well. They send us a fruit basket every Valentine’s Day. That’s not true. But they should.

The cat pictured above is not mine. Though seeing him now, he has the cutest little whisker face and he’s totally the type we’d welcome in.

I put up my best manly front any time my wife brings a new kitteh home. She loves to tell the tale of when she traveled to Pennsylvania to capture a stray kitten behind her sister’s house. She sent me pictures that day, back in May of 2013. Once she caught him, the kitten was ferocious because, well, he was trapped and he didn’t like it one bit. I have a pic of him snarling to scare the devil. Still cute though.

“Don’t you bring home that, cat!” She claims this was my response to hearing she was bringing Rocky (who was as yet unnamed) home. “We’re getting married, we’re going on our honeymoon, we’re moving! Don’t you bring home another cat!” Did I really say these things? Memories are a funny thing, aren’t they? Here’s how I remember my reaction: “Ohhhh! He’s adorable! Bring him home as fast as you can so I can snuggle him and hug him and love him and call him George.”

Rocky. His name is Rocky and he’s my boy. The missus also claims I first wanted to call him Mr. Rutherford. But that’s pure and utter nonsense. Lies, I say!

He’s almost six now and a hell raiser. He scratches up all the furniture, sleeps and sheds all day on our linens, and attacks you if you pet him for too long. What is the exact right amount of time, Rocky? You tell me. Isn’t there some middle ground we can come to? Peace, man.

There he is! That’s my boy! Hey Rocky! He’s since gotten bigger.

There he is! That’s my boy! Hey Rocky! He’s since gotten bigger.

So I guess this is a bloggy about cats now?

No. Definitely not. I mean, occassionally, sure, why not throw some cats in the mix? Lord knows the rest of the Internet gushes about their feline friends.

Psst… There are some big cats in my novel.

Ahhhhh! There it is! Nice segue.

The images of lions that are sporadically plastered on this website and bloggy are not merely because they are gorgeous creatures (though that certainly does help). In actuality, the majestic lion features quite heavily in my book. That’s all I will say about it for now. Revealing anything else at this point would be premature. I will say that I do have mixed feelings about the way I have written the various character arcs of my feline characters. It’s complicated.

But hey! While we’re all sitting around with nothing better to do, why don’t you tell me about your own cats or lions. If you can figure out how to post a pic, even better! Sorry I can’t direct you how to do it just yet. I’m still learning the ins and outs of the bloggy’s limitations. I’m guessing pics in comments don’t fly. But hey, if you paint a pretty word picture of your bestest furry friend, I’ll ooh and aww along with you.

Since we’re sharing, here’s what I got goin’ on in our Kitteh hotel. In no particular order.

There must always be order!

Fine, alphabetical then.

Baby Grey a.k.a. Big Guy a.k.a B.G.

Baby Grey is one of my wife’s originals. She rescued him long before she met me. He’s going to be 17 next month. He has all kinds of medical issues. But he’s a good boy and a love. And he does love my aggressive petting style. I give him the best pets. Don’t I, Big Guy? Yes I do.



You want this one? No. My wife’ll kill me for saying that. Just kidding! But if I had to rank them, Daisy would fall pretty low on the list. What do you want from me? His loud, annoying cries wake the entire house early every morning. Like before 6:00 early, usually. Then, when I go to feed him, he hisses at me. Hisses! My wife says that’s him saying hello. I think that’s him saying “get bent” but what do I know? She’s the cat whisperer. She would know better. Not me. Anyway, this is Daisy.



Yes, her eyes were messed up. They look much better now after years of medication. And yet, this is the only pic I have of her being sweet. She’s usually too skittish to capture in a photo. Imagine what giving her meds was like. Eyedrops twice a day for years. She really does look much better now. Don’t you, love dove? Dovey is incredibly sweet in bed. She curls right up against you and loves the pets. But go anywhere near her during the day and poof, she’s gone.



Emmie is my wife’s other oldest cat. She was rescued long before I came along. Emmie’s pretty cool. She’s sweet. She’s also deaf so she tends to get spooked a lot. She likes being pet a certain way. Not to low on her back or she’ll destroy you. Or maybe it’s her belly she hates being rubbed? I always forget. She’s beautiful though, right?



This guy started showing up at our door of our previous home. Apparently he heard through the Meowvine that we are a Kitteh Hotel with free room and board and he wanted in. So we started feeding him every day and eventually he just became our one outdoor cat. When we moved into our new home, he snuck into a suitcase or something and now he’s livin’ la vida loca. Remy’s cool. He’s a big boy. He hides but he’s starting to come around. And he’s fluffy as hell.


Rocky, again.

This actually feels pretty good. He rubs his front paws back and forth on my back and it’s like a mini kitteh massage. Captured here is one of the few times he’s actually done this for me. Then I had to tip him like fifty bucks. Five probably would have been plenty but I didn’t want to piss him off.



Sammy is pretty special. He adores my daughter and vice-versa. Looking at Sammy now, he’s all about the glam in this shot. Are you wearing eyeliner, Sammy? No judgment. Just seems like an odd thing for a cat to do. That’s all. I probably should have paid more attention to Sammy when he was a kitteh. Then today, he might be more available to me. Oh well. He still lets me pet him if he’s sleepy. That’s fine.



Wow, we’re still going? OK. Sashi’s cool. Sashi can hang. He eats raw food that we make for him. That’s right. We grind up chicken thighs and put a bunch of vitamins and junk into it with eggs and I don’t even know what all else. My wife is a wizard when it comes to making raw cat food. Sashi loves it. This pic doesn’t do his jowls justice but Sashi is a big, strong, healthy boy. Beautiful eyes.


Speedy a.k.a. The One That Looks Like Sammy

Sometimes, I can’t keep track of them all so I just call this one “The One That Looks Like Sammy.” I dunno much about Speedy. I hardly ever see him. He does love my wife, though. Curls up right on top of her in bed if I’m not around. If I am, forget it, he’s gone. Zoom! What was that? Did you see that white streak? Yeah, that was the one that looks like Sammy.


Is that it? Are we done now? Yeah, I think that oughtta do it. So now you know part of what’s going on over in my world. After such a Kitteh-extavaganza, we shall never speak of them again… until next time, mayhap.

Endnote: I just realized I should have titled this bloggy, “Nine Lives.” Oh well. Missed opportunity. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!

In Farleigh Field

In Farleigh Field

The Instagram Effect

The Instagram Effect