I am a cat lover and have had cats for years until recently. My writing life prevents me from having more cats as I travel regularly. My last cat was a large Tabby, called TreeCat because he lived in my neighbour's tree. I immortalised him in a short story that was published in the April 2009 edition of YOUR CAT magazine. I've reproduced the story here for those of you who missed it.
TREE CAT
'The trouble with working from home is that there is no-one to talk to in the office,’ Lauren reflected as she took her mug of coffee to her upstairs study and switched on her computer. After an hour she realised she was being watched through the window, from next door’s tree. It was a gnarled old tree, much too tall for her neighbour’s garden. But it was close to their party wall and Lauren enjoyed its welcome shade in summer. Crouched in a fork in the branches was the biggest tabby she had ever seen.
‘Hello, Cat,’ she said. It continued to stare at her and did not move.
She went back to her computer screen. ‘It’ll take a while to get established locally, she thought, ‘but a marketing plan for a charity shop is a start. Cat watched her on most mornings and she talked to him about her project. It helped her ideas along.
‘Puss, Puss, Puss, Puss, Puss,’
Lauren heard a voice from the other side of the wall as she sowed rocket and radish in her small vegetable plot. She was enjoying the lengthening evenings.
‘Come on, Puss. Come down now. Nice din-dins for you.’
She grinned at the language from such a masculine voice. A few minutes later she recognised the clatter of a metal ladder being extended and stood back to watch the action.
He didn’t notice her at first because he was concentrating on reaching the cat. Cat growled as he approached, but this guy was made of stern stuff. Well, he looked as though he might be, Lauren observed with interest. She hadn’t seen much of her neighbour. He was a commuter and she sympathised with his long days at the office. An older woman visited him sometimes. His mum, she guessed. And a younger woman brought a little girl round every other weekend.
‘You can’t stay here all night again, Puss,’ was followed by more growling.
Suddenly he stretched forward and clamped his large hands around the fluffed up fur. The ladder rocked and creaked, then settled. There was a brief struggling spat which, Lauren noted with surprise, the man won. He bundled the cat, teeth and claws firmly under his old parka and looked at the ground. That’s when he noticed her.
‘Can you give me a hand here?’ He sounded desperate. ‘Hurry up. He’s ripping me to shreds.’ He clambered down awkwardly and said, ‘Follow me.’
She did and helped him shove the protesting creature into a cardboard box waiting in his kitchen. The growling grew worse.
‘He doesn’t like it in there,’ Lauren commented.
‘Well, he can’t live in my tree anymore.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a stray. Somebody must miss him.’
‘Is he a him?’
‘No idea.’ He gestured towards the growling box. ‘Do you want to look?’
‘No thank you. What are you going to do with him?’
‘The pet shop said there was a cat rescue centre somewhere.’
‘Didn’t they say where? Or have a leaflet to give you?’
He shook his head.
Well, she thought, ‘wherever the rescue centre is, it needs a marketing plan. She said, ‘Do you have a telephone directory?’
He brought it from the hall. ‘You search and I’ll make coffee.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Mark Thornton. I moved here a few months ago.’
I know, she thought. She grasped his hand. ‘Lauren Banks.’
The growling turned to a plaintiff crying.
‘He must be hungry,’ Mark said and went to the fridge. ‘I’ve bought cat food... and a feeding bowl.’ He looked around. ‘Where is it?’
‘It’s at the bottom of the tree, with fish in it.’ Lauren remembered the smell.
‘Oh yes.’ He searched the top shelf of a cupboard for a saucer.
‘You’ll have to let him out to feed him.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll close the door to the hall.’
It was a mistake. The cat leapt out of the box and raced around the kitchen in a fury, banging into the table legs and cupboard doors. Lauren jumped from her chair and opened the kitchen door. The cat shot outside into the failing light.
Mark stared at her in disbelief. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘He was frightened. He was hurting himself.’
They walked outside in time to see the cat scrabble up the tree and settle into his nest.
Mark groaned. ‘I think he was a bird in a former life.’
‘Sorry,’ Lauren said.
Mark examined the scratches on his hand. ‘I’m not carrying him down again. Not tonight anyway.’
‘He seems to like it there. Why don’t you let him stay?’
Mark looked surprised. ‘What if he belongs to someone?’
‘You could ask around. The rescue centre will know if anyone’s lost a cat.’
‘Did you find them in the book?’
‘Yes. They’re not far.’
‘I’ll go at the weekend. You seem to know about cats. Can you come with me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Will he be all right up there until then.’
‘He comes down sometimes.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We’re friends. I talk to him.’
His eyebrows went higher. They were dark and straight and his eyes were blue. ‘I work from home.’ She pointed to her back bedroom window and added, ‘That’s my office.’
He called up to the cat. ‘All right, Puss. You can stay.’
‘Puss? He needs a better name than that.’
‘Well what do you call him when you talk to him?’ he demanded.
‘Cat,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘Let’s think.’
‘He might be a girl. So it has to be non gender-specific.’
‘Non gender-specific?’ she laughed.
‘Sorry. I do staff training.’
Ah yes, she remembered doing that herself.
‘What about Treecat,’ he suggested.
‘Original,’ she commented.
‘Suitable, I thought.’
She agreed and said, ‘Goodnight, then. Treecat.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Would you drink something stronger to drink? Wine, for example?’
‘I would.’
He smiled for the first time that evening and she heard a purr from somewhere.
Friday 28 August 2009
Saturday 22 August 2009
KILLER HEELS AT THE RNA
FROM MY ARCHIVE
Last year my novel, SILK AND STEEL was shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year Award and I wrote this blog for my publishers’ newsletter.
KILLER HEELS AT THE RNA
The e-mail came from my editor just before Christmas yet I had to keep it a secret until the press release on 14 January. I didn’t crack until 10 January, by which time I was bouncing off the walls with excitement. SILK AND STEEL had been nominated for a prestigious award and I was in highly respected company on a shortlist that included two past winners of the prize.
My first concern was what to wear, both for the champagne breakfast to announce the shortlist and the Award Lunch itself in February. Let me tell you that the January Sales is not the time to be looking for something special! After a second unsuccessful expedition I fished in the back of my wardrobe for something reliable, if not exactly stylish.
Half past nine is a good time for breakfast and after my first glass of champagne at that hour of the morning I quickly stopped worrying and started enjoying. The setting was an elegant upstairs drawing room at the New Cavendish Club near London’s Marble Arch. The authors’ books were beautifully displayed and the room was alive with authors, agents, editors and publicists. I think there might have been some coffee and croissants somewhere but I never got around to them.
None of the shortlisted authors knew who the others were until we met that morning, but we were circulating and chatting to each other immediately. The champagne helped of course, as well as the wonderful people from Midas PR, their absolutely charming photographer, and quite a lot of journalists. The photographer was brilliant. He managed to make me feel comfortable and important at the same time. And he was managing six of us!
The whole morning was great fun and right at the very end I was asked to sign my books. I love doing that.
When I had recovered from the champagne, I realised that an even bigger occasion, The Lunch, was on the horizon and I really had to get something new to wear. Well, Oxford Street was just around the corner so off I went with Alex, my very obliging publicist from Little, Brown. Now that, I think, was really over and above the call of duty for her!
Have you ever tried using a ‘personal shopper’? I heartily recommend it. I was lucky enough to find a cancellation slot in one of the big stores and it made my task so much easier. They didn’t charge me any extra for the service, and it was a very good service. My shopper did all the hard work to find colour and size and even brought me items from the sale to try. She was clever and she was kind, and I bought two outfits and a top. I got the killer heels to go with them later, from M & S on the advice of Alex.
The Award Lunch, organised by the Romantic Novelists Association (RNA), was fantastic from the red carpet outside the hotel to carrying home the maroon, red and silver helium balloons at the end. All six shortlisted novelists were treated like royalty, and in great demand from journalists and photographers; with Helen Lederer chairman of the judges, on the red carpet, on the spiral staircase, as a group, as individuals, signing our books, and talking and drinking (more champagne) with friends. Each of us gave a TV interview – the first for me, so I hope they edited it! I really should work on my ‘performance’ skills.
The banqueting room at the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington was glamorous and glittery with a dark red, scarlet and silver theme. Huge TV monitors, strategically placed, were showing our book covers and wonderful quotations about the value of romantic fiction from Helen Lederer and Amanda Ross of Cactus TV. Each shortlisted novelist was given a presentation red rose as we sat down for lunch. My agent was with me at the Little, Brown table as well as my editor and her colleagues from the excellent team that ensures my book reaches its readers. There were two journalists as well, each interested in an interview about how I came to write the book.
Oh yes, the book. I was having such a good time I almost forgot why I was there. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that, when I sat down to write SILK AND STEEL with all its hardship and misery, it would lead me to such a spectacular event. I’m sure that Mariah Bowes, the heroine inspired by my great-grandmother, would have approved of my silk outfit.
We ate and drank fine food and wine. I hope you’ll forgive me if I can’t remember all of it. The pudding was a soufflé, though, because I recall thinking, how on earth do you produce soufflé for 300 people? Finally, there was the Award; an entertaining talk by Helen Lederer followed by a brief review of each book and the announcement of the winner. After the huge applause, and a beautiful, eloquent response from Freya North, the winner, the atmosphere became less formal and the party began to break up.
The bar stayed open and I caught up with a few author friends, whom I had glimpsed in the distance earlier on. I don’t think we left until about half past four and then only after a search for my killer heels, abandoned somewhere in the vicinity of the bar. It was a splendid occasion and one that I shall always remember. Many, well deserved congratulations to Freya. Also, many thanks to The Romantic Novelists Association for organising the award and the event. And my personal thanks to the Little, Brown team for such splendid work in publishing my book.
Last year my novel, SILK AND STEEL was shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year Award and I wrote this blog for my publishers’ newsletter.
KILLER HEELS AT THE RNA
The e-mail came from my editor just before Christmas yet I had to keep it a secret until the press release on 14 January. I didn’t crack until 10 January, by which time I was bouncing off the walls with excitement. SILK AND STEEL had been nominated for a prestigious award and I was in highly respected company on a shortlist that included two past winners of the prize.
My first concern was what to wear, both for the champagne breakfast to announce the shortlist and the Award Lunch itself in February. Let me tell you that the January Sales is not the time to be looking for something special! After a second unsuccessful expedition I fished in the back of my wardrobe for something reliable, if not exactly stylish.
Half past nine is a good time for breakfast and after my first glass of champagne at that hour of the morning I quickly stopped worrying and started enjoying. The setting was an elegant upstairs drawing room at the New Cavendish Club near London’s Marble Arch. The authors’ books were beautifully displayed and the room was alive with authors, agents, editors and publicists. I think there might have been some coffee and croissants somewhere but I never got around to them.
None of the shortlisted authors knew who the others were until we met that morning, but we were circulating and chatting to each other immediately. The champagne helped of course, as well as the wonderful people from Midas PR, their absolutely charming photographer, and quite a lot of journalists. The photographer was brilliant. He managed to make me feel comfortable and important at the same time. And he was managing six of us!
The whole morning was great fun and right at the very end I was asked to sign my books. I love doing that.
When I had recovered from the champagne, I realised that an even bigger occasion, The Lunch, was on the horizon and I really had to get something new to wear. Well, Oxford Street was just around the corner so off I went with Alex, my very obliging publicist from Little, Brown. Now that, I think, was really over and above the call of duty for her!
Have you ever tried using a ‘personal shopper’? I heartily recommend it. I was lucky enough to find a cancellation slot in one of the big stores and it made my task so much easier. They didn’t charge me any extra for the service, and it was a very good service. My shopper did all the hard work to find colour and size and even brought me items from the sale to try. She was clever and she was kind, and I bought two outfits and a top. I got the killer heels to go with them later, from M & S on the advice of Alex.
The Award Lunch, organised by the Romantic Novelists Association (RNA), was fantastic from the red carpet outside the hotel to carrying home the maroon, red and silver helium balloons at the end. All six shortlisted novelists were treated like royalty, and in great demand from journalists and photographers; with Helen Lederer chairman of the judges, on the red carpet, on the spiral staircase, as a group, as individuals, signing our books, and talking and drinking (more champagne) with friends. Each of us gave a TV interview – the first for me, so I hope they edited it! I really should work on my ‘performance’ skills.
The banqueting room at the Royal Garden Hotel, Kensington was glamorous and glittery with a dark red, scarlet and silver theme. Huge TV monitors, strategically placed, were showing our book covers and wonderful quotations about the value of romantic fiction from Helen Lederer and Amanda Ross of Cactus TV. Each shortlisted novelist was given a presentation red rose as we sat down for lunch. My agent was with me at the Little, Brown table as well as my editor and her colleagues from the excellent team that ensures my book reaches its readers. There were two journalists as well, each interested in an interview about how I came to write the book.
Oh yes, the book. I was having such a good time I almost forgot why I was there. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that, when I sat down to write SILK AND STEEL with all its hardship and misery, it would lead me to such a spectacular event. I’m sure that Mariah Bowes, the heroine inspired by my great-grandmother, would have approved of my silk outfit.
We ate and drank fine food and wine. I hope you’ll forgive me if I can’t remember all of it. The pudding was a soufflé, though, because I recall thinking, how on earth do you produce soufflé for 300 people? Finally, there was the Award; an entertaining talk by Helen Lederer followed by a brief review of each book and the announcement of the winner. After the huge applause, and a beautiful, eloquent response from Freya North, the winner, the atmosphere became less formal and the party began to break up.
The bar stayed open and I caught up with a few author friends, whom I had glimpsed in the distance earlier on. I don’t think we left until about half past four and then only after a search for my killer heels, abandoned somewhere in the vicinity of the bar. It was a splendid occasion and one that I shall always remember. Many, well deserved congratulations to Freya. Also, many thanks to The Romantic Novelists Association for organising the award and the event. And my personal thanks to the Little, Brown team for such splendid work in publishing my book.
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