My author is really in the dumps, and I can’t blame her. Her gentle giant black and white pussy cat had to be put to sleep last week. Jaspar was the last of the three, but he will not be forgotten…

For underneath that facade of being gentle giant, he was a bit of a mystic cat – the kind who used sit and stare at the full moon, find the highest spot in the landscape, even if it meant the flimsiest of branches, and stare down into the hollows, had a bellow that would frighten the life out of anyone whom he was annoyed with, find his way into locked woodsheds and escape from locked pussy cat carriers… yes I did say locked!

Yes, you clever people, you’ve spotted what’s coming next, my second novel is in the serious subconscious-thought-brewing stage, but shh… we won’t tell my author. She needs to time to get over the loss of Jaspar…