As I stop at the edge of the lawn, Ms. Cat glances up, checks me out. As I move in for a closer shot, she watches me con anima, to see what I'm going to do next. Perhaps come onto the porch? Open the door of the house (to let her in, of course)? Offer her a treat? Or, reach out to pet her?
Been writing on the novel most of this cold November day. Riding in a motorboat with Jo and Adam as they sneak away from the others and take a motorboat up the Mississippi, as they stop to check out a deserted sandbar island... Overhearing Rene's angry phone conversation with someone. And somebody is stealing valuables aboard the rivercruiser. Is it one of the staff? One of the guests? Or is there a light-fingered stowaway aboard?
Maybe they need a sleuth as silent, as observant, as intelligent as Ms. Cat.
Cats are a mysterious kind of folk. There is more passing in their minds than we are aware of.-- Sir Walter Scott
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