A fiction author must take great care not to alter history, but where’s the harm in tossing our character into actual historical events? Don't confuse my fictional story with factual events (marked true),
In Mrs. Odboddy Hometown Patriot, while volunteering at a watch tower on the beach, elderly Agnes Odboddy spots a Japanese air balloon bomb (true) headed for shore. She uncovers a ration book conspiracy and becomes romantically involved with an FBI agent searching for missing Hawaiian funds.(true) And she meets Mrs. Roosevelt. Our fictional character and our plot weave these historical facts into the fiction story. http://tinyurl.com/hdbvzsv
In my second WWII era humorous mystery/adventure novel, Mrs. Odboddy – Undercover Courier, Mrs. Odboddy continues to fight the war from the home front in her bumbling, charming way..
Agnes and her granddaughter, Katherine, travel by train from California to Washington DC to join Mrs. Roosevelt on her Pacific Island tour(true). Agnes is asked to hand-carry a package to President Roosevelt. She believes it contains secret war document! (Why not, right?) She expects Nazi agents to attempt to steal her package. (Could happen!) Along the way, she meets some intriguing characters who greatly hinder as well as aid her in her mission. She suspect one of them to be a Nazi spy. (true)
Agnes befriends David and Samuel, two Black soldiers bound for the Tuskegee Air Base, where they are to be trained as pilots with the first all-Black fighting flying squadron.
And here is a bit of REAL history about the resiliant Tuskegee soldiers who became pilots.
Due to the extreme loss of pilots in battle, and the many Black men who wanted to fight for American, it became expedient to set up a program to train Black fighter pilots, bombardiers, and air support staff. A number of Black men with higher education and pre-war flying experience were selected to train as fighter pilots, in a segregated squadron.
The most successful 'all Black' squadron was the 99th squadron. They began to fly bombing missions in the spring of 1943.
Nine hundred ninety two Black pilots were trained in Tuskegee from 1941-1946. They were credited with 1578 combat missions, 179 bomber escort missions, destroyed 112 enemy aircraft in the air, and another 150 on the ground. Nine hundred fifty rail cars tracks and motor vehicles were destroyed. One destroyer was put out of action. Forty enemy boats and barges were destroyed. Multiple citations were awarded to these brave men, along with many silver, bronze, air medals, and eight purple hearts.
Segregation of the troops ended in 1945 and the Black soldiers were united with other brave American troops.
And now, back to our fictional story… When Mrs. Odboddy's train reaches Tennessee, Agnes and Katherine friends learn more than they wish to know about the JIM CROW laws facing her new friends. Befriending a Black wounded veteran changes the trajectory of her mission. When she arrives in Washington, she faces a different kind of challenge that taxes her determination as a home front warrior.
Read Mrs. Odboddy - Undercover Courier and get the full story about Agnes and the Tuskegee airmen. The book will amaze and amuse all the way from California to Washington, D.C and shed a bit more light on a slice of American history. For adventure, unbounded humor, and a bit of WWII history, check out the
E-book at Amazon for $3.99 http://tinyurl.com/jn5bzwb
Or contact me directly for an autographed paperback copy, mailed free to your home for $13.00. Elaine.Faber@mindcandymysteries.com.
This is a scene from the dual tale, Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary. While the cats face their own challenges in Fern Lake, Kimberlee has gone to Austria and Germany where she follows clues to a lost treasure in gold coins, stolen during WWII. One day, while site-seeing alone, she visits Salzburg. The following is her experiences in the city. https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s (Amazon e-book $3.99)
As Kimberlee passed through the countryside and the forests, the terrain varied and the road rose and fell. Around every corner, another picture post card vista appeared. With no particular agenda, she stopped frequently to take a photograph.
In some green meadows, the only sound was the tinkling of shiny brass bells, hanging from the collars of a flock of sheep or a small group of black and white cows. In other places, the gentle terrain rose up into a fine mist clinging to the side of hillside. Hidden in the distant mist, tinkling bells confirmed grazing animals, unaware of how their bells produced such stirring in the heart of a captivated tourist.
The vineyards on the hills and meadows became fewer as Kimberlee approached Salzburg where Mozart first played his harpsicord and wrote melodies. Hundreds of years later, people would still know his name and enjoy his music.
Ancient ivy covered buildings with sagging tile roofs covered the courtyards along the sidewalk. Church spires peaked out above nearby houses with red tile rooftops. She paused beside a church with dates carved into the walls reading 1200-1400. How incredible! One church was said to be 1000 years old!
Violin music drew her toward the town square where a street musician stood on the steps of an ancient church, playing Ave Maria. Pigeons flew from rooftop to rooftop, appearing to be as mesmerized by the music as the cluster of tourists gathered on the steps.
The haunting melody echoed around the square. It touched her heart as it carried her away from this world and back into another time. It was easy to imagine the cobbled streets filled with horse-drawn carts. Perhaps a princess and her ladies in waiting passed by, or a knight in shining armor, after a joust with a dragon.
The musician drew his bow across the strings and as he lowered his hand, the final note hung in the air. The tourists stood spellbound and silent. Another moment, and the spell was broken and more generous visitors tossed money into the violin case at his feet.
Kimberlee opened her purse. “That was absolutely lovely! Thank you.” She put money into his case and wandered on.
She ran to catch a tram climbing to the top of the hill where a medieval castle overlooked the city, a cold and barren place with steps everywhere. The rooms were filled with armor, ancient guns, javelins, chains and torture devices. Looking down from the balconies into the valley was like peeking into the pages of a storybook. Rainy mists on the distant mountains beckoned hikers upward into the cold crisp air. Off to the left, rivers, towers, cathedrals, graveyards, and church spires. Off to the right, cobble-stone streets with horse-drawn carriages, sidewalk cafes, musicians, and archways, where street vendors hawked their wares on the street corners.
Returning to the city below, Kimberlee came upon a street artist, his back against the wall, his easel and backpack by his side. The watercolor drying on his easel was of the scene where the musician had just played his stirring aria on the church steps. Unable to resist the desire to memorialize the moment, she purchased the picture. She would have it framed and hang it near her bedroom, where it would be a constant reminder of the musician, his poignant melody and the day spent in the magical city.
I just published the fourth cozy Black Cat mystery.
Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary is a dual tale that takes place in California and also in Austria. While Black Cat and Angel are embroiled in village intrigue and riveting drama along the shores of a No. California resort town, Dorian and Kimberlee seek a long-lost treasure they believe is still hidden in Hopfgarten, Austria.The story moves back and forth between Black Cat’s wisdom and Angel’s snarky wit in Fern Lake, and Kimberlee’s unexpected challenges facing a stalker in a foreign country.
It all started with a message in a WWII diary from a soldier who befriended a German soldier during the battle of Normandy. Following the war, Dewey receives and records in his diary, a mysterious message from his friend… The treasures is in Hopfgarten….touch the feet of the babe…
Kimberlee reads Dewey’s diary just before she and Dorian embark on an Austrian vacation. Of course, they must go to Hopfgarten to follow the clues to a treasure missing for more than 50 years. And also, of course, she encounters a man who has spent the last 50 years searching for this lost treasure. When he overhears Kimberlee talk about a 'missing treasure in Hopfgarten, he begins to stalk the girls... and.. well, if I told you any more, you wouldn't need to buy the book. Amazon $3.99 for the e-book. http://tinyurl.com/y2tyyeh5
Contact me for a reduced price on the paperback copy.
Kimberlee’s Austrian adventure includes many of my own 1987 personal experiences when I traveled through castles and villages, saw cows wearing bells around their necks, visited 1000-year-old churches in Salzburg, and finally into Hopfgarten where I experienced many of the events included in Kimberlee’s adventure, and first imagined the story of a missing treasure, and wrote the poem in Dewey’s diary.
At last the story is in a novel, something I've wanted to do for years.
If you buy and read Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary, be sure to leave an Amazon review!
A reader spends four to five hours, immersed in a book from cover to cover. If the story is well written, for a time, she forgets her personal life. She sees herself either traveling alongside the main character or, if the writer is talented enough, the reader ‘becomes’ the character as the story moves forward.
She may wish to be transported into a romance where she feels loved and cherished. She may be a frustrated crime fighter who receives satisfaction from following clues and perhaps solving a mystery before the end of the book. She may hope to experience the thrills and chills of a thriller-suspense novel. Or, perhaps to experience life in a different world, or a different time in history. She may hope to learn more of the traditions of people from other lands or other cultures, presented in a fictionalized story.
How do these various types of books come about? Does the reader ever think about what was involved before this story could magically appear on the pages, and land on a bookstore shelf for the reader’s pleasure?
Unless a reader is also an author, it is doubtful she could conceive of the time and energy that goes into writing a novel–plotting, writing, researching, editing, reviewing, formatting, and finally to cover design and publication. Each step takes hours and hours.
The author must first come up with a premise for the story. Some authors outline the entire novel before they ever put fingers to keyboard. Others have a general idea of the story line, and let the story evolve as they write, figuring how to bring it all together in a cohesive manner. She thinks about the characters and the story line most days and often into the night. Every little thread must come together in the end. It is essential to keep the suspense or momentum throughout the middle, lest we lose the attention of the reader. She must keep each reaction and comment true to the personality of the characters as she envisions how they might respond to a certain event. She must make the reader understand the motivation and actions or comments of the character through the dialogue.
The end must make sense, and preferably reach a satisfying conclusion, leaving the reader wishing there was another hundred pages in the story. She wonders where the sequel can be found, if there is one. In ideal circumstances, the characters have become real enough that she can almost see them as next-door neighbors or someone in her circle of friends.
What a challenge and what a victory when a reader comes back to the author and asks, “When is the next book coming out?” That is an author’s highest compliment.
Sometime within the next month, I’ll publish Black Cat’s next adventure. Black Cat and the Clue in Dewey’s Diary, a dual tale taking place in Fern Lake with the cats, and in Hopfgarten, Austria, as Dorian and Kimberlee follow the clues to a missing treasure. (Pictured above. Hopfgarten Church - Austria)
If you've been following my blog you know I have another novel coming this Fall - Black Cat and the Clue in Dewey's Diary - a dual tale of adventures in Fern Lake with Black Cat and Angel, and Dorian and Kimberlee as they ,pursue a lost treasure in Austria and Germany. Kimberlee's adventures in Austria mimic my own experiences in 1987 when I visited the area. The church pictured IS the Hopfgarten church in the story. Here is an excerpt with Kimberlee, the day she leaves Dorian at her conference and strikes out on her own.
On the outskirts of Salzburg, Kimberlee stopped at an endearing pension. She followed the path to the front door and rang the bell. A stout, older woman answered. “Wilkomen! Kumm in! (Welcome. Come in).
Kimberlee held up her overnight case. “Do you have a room?”
The woman smiled. “Ya. I hef nice room. This way, please.” She led Kimberlee to a room next to the garden filled with pink and yellow tulips and tall gladiolas. The room contained plain, solid wood furniture. A thick feather comforter and feather pillows lay atop the double bed. A vase of fresh flowers adorned the nightstand. French doors led out to the garden. “Is good?”
“Yes, it’s lovely. How many Euros?” Kimberlee pulled out several bills.
The hostess took two bills. “Is enough. Breakfast is 7:00 A.M.”
“Thank you. That will be fine.” Kimberlee set her overnight case on the floor. She opened the French doors, stepped into the garden, and was immediately enveloped by the scent of flowers. A green, carved wooden bench sat beside a fish pond where red and black koi fish bobbed. How she wished Brett could see this. Wouldn’t it have been better to wait and share this beautiful experience with a loved one? Her first day in this beautiful country had already presented so many wondrous sites.
She sat on the bench and watched the koi glide back and forth across the pond, nibbling at a mossy rock, pausing to bask in a ray of sunshine. Would she have experienced the day the same way if Brett had been with her?
The spacious, green, lush meadows, the sense of oneness created by the similarity of the houses, the tinkle of the cows’ bells and the serene agelessness of the castles high atop the hillsides. The way the church bells rang every hour. How the peaceful countryside had affected her! The violinist’s song had touched her heart. The fairytale town transported her to another time and place. In truth, the day’s events left her feeling as though she had stepped into another dimension. Her soul felt refreshed and her faith reaffirmed.
A sudden thought! Spending the day alone had provided such unexpected reactions. As pleasant as it would be to share with a loved one, would she have experienced it the same way? Perhaps, a day spent in solitude was as rewarding as when shared by another.
She revisited the events of the day, from meeting the little cat, to the musician on the church steps, to the castle on the hill, to the mists in the meadows and the cows in the field. And, finally, to a bench beside the koi pond, remembering each beautiful moment in the beauty and stillness of the garden.
She closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of flowers,. In the distance, a church bell chimed. Resolved not to forget a minute of the day’s events, Kimberlee picked up a pen and filled her journal with all she had seen and felt this wondrous day.
Black Cat and the Accidental Angel is Free at Amazon June 12, 13, 2019. http://tinyurl.com/y6vhxncq
My latest book, All Things Cat contains twenty-one short stories featuring cats from diverse walks of life and varying periods of time. Some are ‘first-person’ accounts, written by anonymous felines, abandoned by his master, as the prize in an Old West poker game, routing a burglar in a WWII meat market, or adopting the First Family in the White House. Other stories, inspired by news events, contest prompts, holidays, like the story below, were inspired by the legend of an alien space ship in Roswell, New Mexico.
All Things Cat sells on Amazon for just $2.99. http://tinyurl.com/y9p9htak
The No Fly Zone - A short Story from ALL THINGS CAT
Growing up in Roswell, New Mexico, I heard everything from alien crash sites to alien autopsies in secret labs. Dad renamed our business The Alien Bakery in the 50’s when the tourists flood into town, hoping for a UFO sighting. We specialize in decorated cookies shaped like UFO space ships, the Cat from Outer Space and flying saucer shaped cookies.
In the 90’s, we took to the internet and advertised our cookies on UFO blog sites. Our cookies are a big hit with the Roswell tourists.
Every 4th of July, Roswell holds a three-day UFO Festival that attracts thousands of tourists from around the world. Our seven employees work ten-hour shifts, cutting out cookies with cloud-punch cookie cutters, gearing up for the holiday crowds. Dad and I stayed up way past our bedtime last night, putting final colored frosting on the Cat from Outer Space’s collar, and red-hot candies around the bottom of the space ship cookies.
Folks get a kick out of Grandpa’s original sign over the door: SHUT THE DOOR. THIS IS A NO FLY ZONE!
Old Man Foster, blind since childhood runs the newspaper stand next door. He sells papers from all over the country and souvenir copies of the Roswell Daily Record July 8, 1947 issue announcing RAAF Captures Flying Saucer on Ranch in Roswell Region. The military debunked the story, declaring it remnants of a weather balloon. To this day, UFO-ers are convinced the government covered up a crashed space ship. Dad and Old Man Foster, both experts in astronomy, spend hours talking about the solar system.
Old Man Foster was a child when the alleged space ship landed on his dad’s ranch. Once the word got out, tourists flocked to his news stand, asking questions. Though glad to talk about the solar system and probability of intelligent life in outer space, when questioned about his father’s ranch in 1947, he’d decline. No amount of bribes or persuasion convinced him to break his silence.
This morning, Mirabel sold cookies at the counter. Jocelyn rang up the sales. Dad and I were frosting cookies when there was a commotion at the new stand. We rushed out and found Old Man Foster on the sidewalk, his hair matted with blood, a brick beside his head. I called 911 and we knelt beside him. Dad pulled Old Man Foster into his lap. He began to mumble. “Gotta tell before I die.”
Dad smoothed his hair. “You’re not going to die.”
“The day it crashed. Dad and I…out in the field. It burst through a hole in the cloud, flames shooting out behind... Headed straight for us. Dad pushed me down. ‘Don’t look,’ he yelled. I watched it come down…. So bright! Tried to cover my eyes. A giant flash and…and… I woke up in my room…blind ever since. The military came and took it away. They told Dad not to talk...or they’d put him in jail…”
“Rest now, Mr. Foster. Help is coming.” I patted his hand. Could his story be true? Blinded by the UFO the world declared a myth? An ambulance pulled to the curb. Two men loaded Old Man Foster and roared off down the road.
After dinner, I called the hospital. They said Old Man Foster was never admitted. He wasn’t in any hospital in neighboring counties. Someone said the ambulance headed toward Edwards Air Field where Area 51 is located, but why would they take him there? He’s just an old man with a head injury. Did someone hear him talking about the crashed UFO in 1947? Why would it matter what he said? Who would believe him?
From my Work in Process: Black Cat and the Key to the Treasure
Kimberlee travels alone in Germany while her friend attends a conference...
Salzburg, Germany: As Kimberlee passed through the countryside, the terrain varied as the road rose and fell through hills and valleys. Around every corner, another picture postcard vista appeared. With no particular agenda, Kimberlee frequently stopped to photograph a scene.
In a green meadow, the only sound was the breeze shaking the leaves on the shrubs alongside the road. The tinkling of shiny brass bells hanging from the collars of a flock of sheep or a group of black and white cows grazing nearby produced a stirring in the heart of a captivated tourist. In another place, the gentle terrain rose up through the pasture to where a fine mist clung to the hillside. The sound of tinkling bells confirmed more animals hidden among the distant trees.
Fewer vineyards dotted the hillside as Kimberlee approached Salzburg; the town where Mozart lived, played his harpsichord and wrote melodies. Several hundred years later, his name is still a household word and millions of people enjoy his music.
She reached the center of the city, parked her car, and began to walk. Ancient ivy-laden buildings with sagging tile roofs covered the sidewalk courtyards. Church spires peeked out from behind red tile rooftops. She passed a church with dates carved into the wall reading 1200-1400. How incredible! One church was said to be 1000 years old.
Faint music drew her toward the town square where a street musician stood on the steps of an ancient church played Ave Maria on his violin. While tourists clustered around the steps, pigeons flew from rooftop to rooftop, as though drawn by the haunting melody.
Kimberlee paused. The lingering notes echoed off the surrounding ancient buildings and filled the courtyard with music such as one might imagine in Heaven. Her thoughts drifted back to another time. She imagined the cobbled streets filled with horse-drawn carriages. Perhaps one held a princess and her ladies-in-waiting. Over there, a knight in shining armor on his trusty steed, ready to joust with a dragon.
The musician drew his bow across the strings, and the final note hung in the air. He lowered his hand. The audience stood motionless. Someone coughed, and the spell was broken. Generous visitors tossed money into the violin case at the musician’s feet before they wandered away.
Kimberlee opened her purse. “That was absolutely lovely! Thank you,” she said, as she dropped a few euros into his case.
She ran to catch a tram climbing to the top of the hill where a medieval castle overlooked the city; a cold and barren place with multiple staircases reaching in all directions. Inside the castle, armor, ancient guns, javelins, chains and torture devices covered the walls. Stepping out onto the balcony, the entire city and valley lay below. It was like peeking into the pages of a storybook.
Rainy mists on the distant mountains beckoned hikers upward into the cold crisp air. To the left–rivers, towers, cathedrals, graveyards, and church spires. To the right–cobblestone streets with horse-drawn carriages, and sidewalk cafes, musicians, and archways where street vendors hawked their wares beneath colorful awnings.
After wandering around the castle for an hour and taking dozens pictures, she returned to the city below.
She came upon a street artist, sitting on a short stool, his backpack and palette of paints by his side. He leaned into his easel and applied the finishing touches to a watercolor painting of the church, where the musician had played his moving aria on the steps. Could she be one of the colorful blobs that represented the tourists?
Unable to resist the appeal of the drawing and the memory of the thrilling experience, she purchased the picture. She would have it framed and hang it in her bedroom, a constant reminder of the poignant melody that had stirred her heart.
What a magical city! After a hearty meal and very strong coffee, Kimberlee returned to her car. She drove to the outskirts of town to look for a pension for the night. Brett would be thrilled to hear about all the things she had seen today. How she missed him and wished he was by her side.
The reporter frowned. “ Odboddy! Please tell me in your own words just what caused the fire at the watch tower. I understand you were alone when the fire started.”
Mrs. Odboddy sighed, lowered her eyes and stared at her fingernails. She sat back down on the sofa chair. Here we go. Shouldn’t be too hard to convince them I was responsible. “You see, I…”
For some reason, now that it was time to relate a lie and take responsibility for a foolish act, her mouth went as dry as a prairie cactus flower. She took a quick breath and tried again. “It was like this. I was watching the coastline and…”
Her mind went blank. What did we decide I was supposed to say? That’s right. Kicked over the heater. “I turned on the heater. There was this squirrel, see. It climbed up the legs on the watch tower, or maybe it climbed up the ladder. I didn’t exactly see how it got in, but then it jumped over the wall. It startled me and I made a swipe at it with my purse and…and that’s when I accidently knocked over the heater…” Agnes glanced at the reporter and Ritchie. Were they buying it, or not?
“A squirrel… At the beach? Then what happened?” Harvey’s eyebrows touched the edge of his brow line. He wasn’t buying her story.
I’d better beef it up a little. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a squirrel. Maybe it was a…seagull. Now that I think of it, I’m sure it was a seagull. Anyway, I knocked over the heater and the spark ignited the kerosene and started the fire. I tried to put it out, but it spread too fast. I barely escaped with my life!”
Agnes’s heart thumped. She touched her nose with a shaking hand. In spite of the tingle at the end of her nose, it didn’t seem to be growing like Pinocchio’s.
“A seagull. Makes a little more sense. Why didn’t you say that the first time?” The reporter glanced toward Ritchie.
Ritchie’s hand covered his mouth. His shoulders shook.
Was he actually giggling? “I was embarrassed to say that a seagull startled me. You see, I’ve been terrified of seagulls ever since I was a baby and a seagull landed near my baby blanket and tried to pick…out…my…eyes…” Good grief. This blasted fib was spinning out of control with every breath. Why was this so hard? She’d been telling tall tales for years and never had so much trouble making the details sound right.
Harvey stood and glanced at his wristwatch. “So, let me get this straight for the newspaper story. In the middle of April, when it was close to 75 degrees at the ocean, a squirrel that wasn’t a squirrel but was really a seagull came over the wall. You have a fear of seagulls because one tried to peck out your eyes when you were a baby, and when you tried to chase it away, you accidently knocked over the heater and the watch tower caught on fire. You couldn’t put it out with the fire extinguisher hanging three feet away on the wall, and you barely escaped with your life. Is that about right?”
“You’ve got it! That’s exactly how it happened. Are we done now?”
Agnes jumped up from the sofa chair and opened the front door. “Thank you so much for dropping by. I’m looking forward to your story. Good-bye!
Harvey and Ritchie stood and stepped onto the porch. “Uhh. Okay. Good-bye.”
“Say hello to your aunt, won’t you?” Agnes closed the door and leaned against it. She put her hand over her eyes. Good grief! Katherine was going to have a cat-fit when she saw that whopper in print.
Mrs Odboddy Hometown Patriot is available at Amazon in e-book for $3.99 http://tinyurl.com/hdbvzsv
I read that when cats are cuddling and kneading you, and you think it's cute, they're really just checking your vitals for weak spots. Kandyse McClure
If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve man, but deteriorate the cat. Mark Twain
From the beginning of recorded time, cats have shared our lives, gained our trust, protected our harvests and warmed our beds. They were likely the first aboard Noah’s ark and the last ones off, not wanting to get their feet wet.
Over the centuries, cats were both revered and worshipped in ancient Egypt and reviled during the dark ages when they were thought to consort with the devil.(Upon occasion, considering some of my cats’ antics, I’ve had my own suspicions about their continued devil consorting.)
Currently, cats have taken over millions of American families. Cats have become one of the most popular subjects of Facebook and You-Tube videos. With so many people enjoying cats and cozy-cat mysteries, I felt a book of short stories about cats would be well-received. I compiled twenty-one of my best short stories that are either about a cat or include a cat and published a little book called All Things Cat. http://tinyurl.com/y9p9htak
All Things Cat stories range from humorous to heartrending, featuring cats from diverse walks of life and varying periods of time.
Some are ‘first-person’ accounts, written by anonymous felines, abandoned by his master, the prize in an Old West poker game, routing a burglar in a WWII meat market, overcoming self-doubts about his hunting/stalking abilities, and adopting the First Family in the White House. Likely, these feline authors had no intention of sharing their innermost thoughts, dreams and fears with the world, but, as an author, that’s what I’m here for, right?
Other stories were inspired by a plethora of situations, news events, contest prompts, holidays, and the like. They illustrate how cats affect, impact or enrich our lives through their contributions or companionship.
The stories are set in both past and present and in diverse surroundings: Salem, Massachusetts, a pirate ship off the coast of Maine, a haunted hotel in the Sierra Mountains, Roswell, New Mexico, and the oval office in Washington, D.C., to name but a few locations.
Also included are excerpts from my novels, Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer, and Black Cat’s Legacy, and Mrs. Odboddy - Hometown Patriot.
So, whether you are a cat lover or a reader who enjoys stories about cats, I expect you would enjoy reading All Things Cat. Just $2.99 for an Amazon e-book. http://tinyurl.com/y9p9htak