MY BEST CAT - a Furry Murder Mystery. While this book is a departure from my usual work (read: adult humor), it is by far the funniest, and one that I wish had garnered more attention. Maybe it would have if I put more effort into promoting it. I'm in the process of making it available on Kindle and so it's gotten something of a facelift, with a new cover and all. The cover illustration is a watercolor I did called, "The Blue Curtain". Some people will recognize the breed of cat as a blue Abyssinian, which is featured in the story.
There is something deliciously naughty in writing fiction (adult humor) about people whom you have known. In MY BEST CAT I have combined some of the most horrendous qualities from a few real-life despicable characters in the deranged hobby known as the cat fancy. Writing can be a cloak-and-dagger form of personal protection. Karma is in your hands.
The characters shall remain fictitious, but here is a short teaser passage from an early chapter, just to give you a taste. Oh, and did I mention there is some adult humor?
“Hold still!” Roxanne barked. She stood with her butt sticking way out
while she groomed my Somali. She would
bend over while she combed Kenya’s britches, then grab the tip of his tail and
shake, shake, shake the hair so it fell down backwards. It made his tail real fluffy, and made her
butt shake at the same time. Kenya’s
back feet would be lifted off the carpeted grooming table, but he didn’t
care. He just kept right on purring and
smiling that kitty smile. He was that
dumb.
The real goal in Roxanne’s grooming
yoga was to get Jack, the guy down the row, to look at her ass. Jack was married to a giddy, heavy-set blonde
named Tracy. But he and Roxanne had been
carrying on for a few weeks, and were fresh in the throes of new lust. Jack pretended to be oblivious to Roxanne’s
grooming efforts, but it was only pretend.
He rattled the newspaper he was reading, but I saw his eyes roll briefly
toward the target area as he turned the page.
It made me want to gag. Nothing
more nauseating than being witness to someone else’s foreplay.
I didn’t think Jack was all that
attractive. He had pasty skin, a fading
mustache, and overall he looked sort of used and dull. But he was one of the only straight guys in
the cat crowd who was over eight and under sixty. And he was great with the cats, handling them
gently and with adulation. As a result,
he was object of perpetual crushes of various cat fanciers. While other husbands scorned the cat shows,
Jack came weekend after weekend, trundling the grooming carts, fetching litter
and water, and pinning up lacy cage curtains.
I could understand why. In the
real world, Jack was a dork. In the cat
world, he was a god.
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