Specifically, the  mice have not just been eating, but stealing the cats’ food while they lie mere feet away.

And hiding it here.

For a week or so I’d been aware a mouse or mice were eating the cats’ [...]]]> No, actually, even with the cats right there, the mice disport themselves quite freely, thank you very much.

Specifically, the  mice have not just been eating, but stealing the cats’ food while they lie mere feet away.

And hiding it here.

For a week or so I’d been aware a mouse or mice were eating the cats’ food. It happened when I was awakened in the wee hours by the tunking of one of Squeak’s metal food bowls in their rack on my dresser beside the bed (I keep her and TJ’s bowls up there to discourage the ever-ravenous Emma Dog from committing grave offenses against her pack superiors.) The problem was, I quickly realized Squeak herself was lying in her usual spot next to me on the bed.

I got a flashlight from the nightstand drawer and shone it at the dresser. A mouse face peered at me over the top of the food bowl.

Squeak never so much as glanced up.

I tried moving the food bowl away from the bookcase, so that the mouse would have a greater distance to cross in the open, in hopes that, a) it would give Squeak a better opportunity to intercept the damned thing; and b) failing that, make the mouse more afraid Squeak might intercept it.

For a while that seemed to help. Unfortunately, the mouse seems to have realized the cats are completely freaking useless.

So last night I heard the sound again, quite persistently, right when I was trying to go to sleep. Once more, Squeak was snoozed out blissfully beside me. Out came the flashlight.

This time I saw the damned mouse darting out from behind the bookshelf to seize a piece of cat food from the bowl and then dash back behind it. A couple seconds later it reappeared, and did it again.

Stealing the cats’ food. Stealing it! While the cats, intrepid and inescapable predators that they are, dozed just a few feet away.

I bodily picked Squeak up and set her on the dresser. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything. So to try to rout out the mouse I went and checked behind the bookshelf.

And I saw the sight pictured above.

I moved the bookshelf slightly to flush out the mouse. It had already disappeared, probably behind the dresser. And I realized the back of the bookshelf was open at the bottom.

So I moved it farther out from the wall -

- and this is what to my wondering eyes did appear.

Holy crap! That is a boatload of kitty crunchies!

One thing you can say for the mouse: persistent little bugger, yes?

For a little perspective as to just how close the scene of the crime is to its victims:

TJ usually sleeps at the foot of the bed. Squeak likes to sleep in front on the proppy-pillow thing at the left hand side of the picture. It’s maybe four feet from there to her bowl. If she wanted, she could easily spring from where she lies right onto the damn mouse and slay it.

If she could be, you know, bothered.

So what I did was sweep up the large amount of food and put it back in the sealed container I keep at dresser’s end to refill Squeak’s bowls.

I’ve tried to think of schemes to put an end to the mouse, or at least its depredations. I have a few ideas. But I have to admit that, little use as I have for mice in general, I’ve gained a sneaking admiration for this one.   I felt bad enough negating all his (or her) effort by raiding its cache. Not to mention its sheer ballsiness.

And that’s why I didn’t get a good night’s sleep again last night. The end.

First, I’m hustling to polish off my story for the new standalone Wild Cards anthology, Fort Freak. It’s kind of a Sidney Lumet yarn: lots of conversation and conspiracy, then somebody gets shot. But light-hearted.

No, really. Mostly. It does get [...]]]> I need to be better about updating my blog. So here’re some quick and semi-random notes.

First, I’m hustling to polish off my story for the new standalone Wild Cards anthology, Fort Freak. It’s kind of a Sidney Lumet yarn: lots of conversation and conspiracy, then somebody gets shot. But light-hearted.

No, really. Mostly. It does get a little heavy toward the end. I admit it.

It’s called ” … And All the Sinners Saints.” At least until GRRM or Melinda make me change it. George asked me not to use a rock lyric, since Steve Leigh had prior claim. Sorry, George. First, I have no power over late-Sixties/early-Seventies rock. This is known. Second: it is so totally the perfect title. Seriously. (Think, what’s the line before it?)

There’s lots of rock lyrics to go around. I’m sure I won’t be depriving Steve of any.

Anyway, it introduces two new characters: Flipper, my joker Legal Aid attorney emo kid; and NYPD Internal Affairs Bureau Detective-Investigator Second-Grade Vincent Marinelli, a.k.a. Ratboy, dreamed up by Craig Chrissinger and fleshed out by me. The good news is, while Ratboy initially got all the attention (he’s a seriously cool character, which is why I chose to buff him up and use him) Flipper, who’s also known as Charlie Herriman, is turning out to be pretty interesting in his own right.

By the way, shouldn’t we be gearing up for the smashing premier of Suicide Kings, the senses-shattering conclusion to the current American Heroes trilogy? (Since I don’t remember another collective name for the trilogy, I just decided to dub it that.) It’s coming out December 22 from Tor. Allegedly.

You might also give a look at Boneshaker, the smash-hit steampunk novel by new Wild Cards Mafiosa Cherie Priest, who’s doing the interstitial tale for Fort Freak. It’s an Amazon SF Essential Book! (Full disclosure: I haven’t read it yet, but I’m really eager to! Also check out Cherie’s Clockwork Century site, devoted to her steampunk milieu, including this excellent essay on the whys, hows and wherefores of steampunk.

In other, more personal news: I’ve been dealt some health distresses. None personal (fingers crossed.) But pain to loved ones is in ways worse. As you probably know.

A very close friend of mine may have jaw cancer, and also may be in danger of losing his job. That’s dire, although still fairly speculative. Good thoughts wouldn’t hurt.

TJ Cat quit eating again. It’s a bit hard to tell since he’s never been ravenous, and consequently has always been skinny. I’m pretty sure I was able to catch it before it went into liver failure, as happened to him and his sister Squeak a couple-three years ago. Apparently if cats can’t smell their food they won’t eat it; I’m guessing that’s what caused the problem in both cases. This time around allergies reportedly are affecting a lot of animals in Burque. Anyway, I’ve got him eating again, though I’m not sure he’s back at the Kitty Crunchies yet. And thanks to my friends for a number of good suggestions (lamb baby food, stinky canned tuna ) to get an afflicted cat to eat.

Also Emma Dog started limping badly off her left rear foot yesterday. That really concerned me, since it persisted until late at night, and indeed still does. But she’s willing to put weight on it some now, so I’m hoping it’s getting better. Poor baby.

Also, though they’re on the back burner now until the Wild Card yarn goes in: writing my current Deathlands novel Blood Oasis (think: everything’s better with what?) Also the rewrite continues on Dinosaur Lords. Not as rapidly as I’d like, but it’s well along now.

Stay warm, well,and dry, people. Thanks for reading!

Cats believe we exist to serve them.

Ferrets know we exist to amuse them.

(Note: I realized these things long ago. For some reason they came back to me a few minutes ago when my cat TJ was following me around, unaccountably making Wookiee noises.)

Update: And a last minute Happy [...]]]> Dogs believe they exist to serve us.

Cats believe we exist to serve them.

Ferrets know we exist to amuse them.

(Note: I realized these things long ago. For some reason they came back to me a few minutes ago when my cat TJ was following me around, unaccountably making Wookiee noises.)

Update: And a last minute Happy Three Kings Day to all.

Christmas is officially over.

But not for me. Until I say so.

What I was just moved to write about was my other best friend – or as I sometimes refer to him, “my best little friend.”

This would be my orange tabby cat TJ. Which, yes, is short [...]]]> Actually, that’s Joseph Reichert. I’ve known him about forty years now. That’s another story – or a volume. Maybe two.

What I was just moved to write about was my other best friend – or as I sometimes refer to him, “my best little friend.”

This would be my orange tabby cat TJ. Which, yes, is short for Thomas Jefferson.

You might think it would be Emma Dog, based on the volume of verbiage I generate about her in my posts. But that’s a sampling error. She’s a wonderful friend, don’t get me wrong. She’s also – even as we approach, in two days I think, the fourth anniversary of her coming to the Milán Pack – still something of a novelty in the house, whereas both cats have been with me over ten years. Also because she alone accompanies me on excursions and adventures outside the house, even no further than the backyard (and remember – if you can’t find adventure in your own backyard, why would you expect to be able to find it anywhere else?), she plays in more anecdotes. In addition, there’s frankly so much history between me and the cats that I hesitate to bring them in because I hardly know where to begin.

I’ll skip Teej’s bio for now – he’s worth a volume on his own – for an anecdote that may enlighten you as to why I consider him by best friend.

As a part of my daily ritual I recite a formula gleaned from the work of Napoleon Hill, specifically his Think and Grow Rich!* – still the best self-help book ever written, and pretty much the fountainhead from which most subsequent worthwhile self-help books have sprung. There have been advances on his work, as well there ought be: it originally came out, if I understand correctly, in the 1920s. (Nope – 1937, if one believes Wikipedia, as in this case, why wouldn’t I?) It still stands as well worth reading.

Anyway, since I began this ritual about six years ago, a curious thing has happened. I recite it by habit right after I finish breakfast or lunch (mostly semantics, there.) As it happens most times, and as it happened just a few moments ago (it’s currently 3:27 PM in the Mountain West. So, maybe chronology more than semantics.) And that is: if he’s in earshot and awake, sometimes even if he’s drowsing, TJ turns up.

In this case I sat at the dining room table (imagine that.) I hadn’t actually realized where Teej was until from my eye’s corner I saw a shadow move behind the scrim on the central front window. I saw his distinctive shadow move, saw an orange shape jump down; saw above the back of the couch a hooked orange tailtip twitch its way across the floor. Then here came the cat himself up over the sofa, down onto the hardwood floor of the dining room to butt and rub against my legs.

He came to help me, you see.

At least that’s how I interpret it. I can account for it no other way. Joe – he and TJ are one another’s greatest fans; Joe has actually used TJ as a character reference – sometimes alternates between crediting the abundant evidence he’s seen and heard himself of TJ’s surprising understanding and intelligence, and taking a “rationalist” point of view. Which is to say, supporting the conventional view over, say, the truth. In such rare moods he’s suggested that, well, when I recite my little mantra, TJ knows where I am.

The problem with this, of course, is that as long as I’m in my house, which isn’t huge, TJ has to know pretty much where I am at all times, to the extent he concerns himself. He’s a cat, for carp’s sake. He can probably hear me wherever I am even if I’m not stamping and blaspheming over a stubbed toe or broken glass. He can be lying dozing at the foot of the bed and I’m lying in bed to recite the formula; or he can be twenty feet away looking longingly outside (for neither he nor Squeak ever go outdoors.) Often he’s in another room. And most times, as soon as I start to recite it – he comes.

And for the record, while he gets treats sometimes, I’ve never given him a treat for this behavior. Not once. I do scrupulously pet and thank him. That’s just good manners.

I don’t adduce anything mystical to this. I do say that animals possess a much greater intelligence than humans have traditionally given them credit for. Which itself ought not be radical: in the last few years, not much more than ten or fifteen, real experiments into animal intelligence have been showing us the same thing – whereas before, the “rational” dogma was identical to Creationism: that we are unique and totally separate, at least as far as intelligence goes, from the other beasts of the Earth.

Also it refutes the concept – held by too many cat owners as well as cat haters, and as far as I can tell based on received interpretation rather than actual observation – that cats are utterly aloof and incapable of forming bonds of affection. TJ is as loving an individual as I’ve known in my life – and he’s shown that on many occasions, too.

As to what he’s doing – all I can say is, he appears to believe he’s helping, probably encouraging me. And while I’ve yet to fulfill the conditions of my formula, I’m now, at last, advancing more rapidly than ever before. And I do give TJ, my best friend, credit for helping me persist.

*Updated, 5:57 PM MDT – I didn’t realize earlier that Think and Grow Rich is now in the public domain. I’m all in favor of authors getting royalties – huge surprise there – but my man Napoleon Hill is dead. So here’s a link to the Sacred Texts edition. It’s free, of course. They date the book to 1938, for what that’s worth.

Sacred Texts is a valuable resource, and like Project Gutenberg, well worthy of support. Still, if you’d like to support this site (and Emma, Squeak, and TJ, not to mention, uh, me) feel free to buy the book, or any of the many others I mention, by clicking through the link to my Amazon site…

Maybe that’s part of it. Tales about TJ and Squeak have tails, that reach back a dozen years. Emma’s been with us [...]]]> When I’ve blogged about my animals it’s mostly been about Emma. I’m not sure why. Much as I love her, the cats and I are bonded much closer. We’ve got a lot more history.

Maybe that’s part of it. Tales about TJ and Squeak have tails, that reach back a dozen years. Emma’s been with us just going on four. Her stories are simpler.

Anyway, I was just sitting and going through my morning ritual of trying to get my brain to come on, always a significant undertaking. Currently it consists of doing some joint-mobilization moves and exercises, which I’d done, and then sitting on the couch drinking cocoa and reading Terry Pratchett Discworld novels.

Squeak, whose real name is Mia Antoinette, Red for Short (that’s all her name; no one’s ever called her “Red” for any reason whatsoever. See what I mean about backstory?) appeared on the back of the sofa at my left shoulder. She’s a gleaming black cat with auburn undercoat and a few stray white hairs which she’s always had, and eyes that range from amber to baleful yellow-green. She’s also a bit porky. She’s basically a black Siamese.

Anyway, she started dabbing tentatively at my left shoulder. This means she wants to lie on my chest and be cuddled. The problem was she couldn’t find an angle she liked to get into that position. Fortunately she’s not inclined to just launch herself and hope things settle out, which would almost certainly end in my getting numerous thin cuts sliced down my chest and belly by her claws.

So I picked her up and put her on my chest. At which, naturally, she put her ears back and bitched me right out. Then she settled down and began to purr happily.

(Some people who call themselves scientists claim, or at least used to claim, to doubt that purring in cats signifies happiness and contentment. Now, like many mammal behaviors it can probably mean many things. But people who doubt whether cats purr when they’re happy make me wonder if they’ve ever actually known any. Given the demeanor of a lot of these people, I’ve kind of come to hope they haven’t, if you know what I mean.)

Some people also thinks cats are aloof – which brings me back to the above. Or with somewhat more evidence that they’re treacherous or conniving. Now, anything mammalian with a brain larger than a pea connives and is sneaky; despite their reputation for goofy forthrightness dogs are really sneaky little devils, just like the wolves they sprang from.

But Squeak isn’t treacherous. She’s loving and indeed deeply loyal to her loved ones. She just operates on her own system of logic. Which doesn’t necessarily relate to the system by which the rest of the Universe operates.

Specifically: she wanted on my chest. She did not specifically desire that I pick her up. Therefore I committed a vile misdeed by picking her up. I consider myself lucky she’s mellowed; in her younger days she might’ve taken a slash at me. The fact that she ended up precisely where she wanted to be – curled up purring on my chest – simply doesn’t enter consideration.

See?

It’s all so simple. If you’re Squeak. This may also go a way to help you understand why I (and near friends of the family) consider TJ a great saint because he hasn’t killed her.

Of which more later.