So I'm not much into promotion, even self-promotion; however, when I have a new product out, I figure I ought to at least mention it. Speaking of which, my new thing is out! Actually, it's two things. Two novelettes about the same character and his cat. I posted an excerpt from it quite a while back on a different site, so I'll give you that same taste in a moment. I'd call this new story whimsical. Definitely offbeat.
Bryan Pedas, from A Beer for the Shower, put together the spectacular cover, and I think he captured the feel of the story pretty well. He called it "absurdist" rather in the same vein as Carroll's Wonderland. Did you know that there's no real category for that? Well, there's not.
Briane Pagel, who also got an early look, said it's "perfect."
And my students, who also got to hear the excerpt, can't wait to find out what happens to Jeffry and what's up with the tea kettle.
I'm just going to say it: If you've liked anything I've written, this is one you should read.
PLUS! Not only do you get "What Time Is the Tea Kettle?" but you also get "Soul Cakes"! A second novelette featuring Jeffry and his owner. That's two for the price of one! Seriously, go pick up your copy, read it, love it, and leave a review!
Just to help you on the way, here is a bit of "What Time Is the Tea Kettle?"
The red
tea kettle was blocking my view of the clock. It kept doing that. I
sighed as I rolled over and sat up in bed. It was new and hadn't yet
learned its place, so I picked it up by the handle and carried it out
of the bedroom, down the darkened hall, and into the kitchen, only
once stepping on one of the cat's toys, quite an accomplishment. I
flicked the little stove light on and set the kettle on the counter.
What
time was it again? That was when I realized that I'd forgotten to
check the time after I picked up the kettle, so I glanced at the
stove clock in the dim light of the kitchen to find it blocked by the
red tea kettle, handle up so that I couldn't read the time. I glanced
over to the counter top where I was sure I had just set it, but, yes,
it was not there. I sighed again, shook my head slightly, and picked
the tea kettle back up, looking for somewhere else to set it. It
needed a place, its own place, to be. Maybe, then, it would quit
wandering around.
I could
put it in a cupboard, but that would just be inconvenient, having to
get it in and out all of the time. I wanted it to live on the stove
but on the burner where it wouldn't block the clock.
Oh! The
clock. I wanted to know the time. I looked over at the clock, and
there was the tea kettle again. Hadn't it just been in my hand? I was
sure I hadn't set it down.
I
reached for it again, but, at that moment, the cat floated by,
ghostlike, doing whatever it is that cats do at night. He brushed my
cheek with his tail as he lightly pressed one paw onto my shoulder as
he passed by. Looking for flying bugs, I supposed.
His
sudden spring to the ceiling almost caught me by surprise, and I saw
him going for the spider in the corner where the ceiling met both
walls on that side of the dining room that adjoined the kitchen.
“Geoffrey!”
The cat
stiffened, caught in the act, but he couldn't stop like he would have
been able to if he'd been on the floor. He looked back over his
shoulder at me and “mew”ed just as he collided with the ceiling
and bounced to the wall, grabbing hold with his claws.
The
spider scurried into the crack where the two pieces of trim met. I
could see him peeking out but was too far away to hear the cursing
that I was sure was happening. Spiders like very much to curse. Most
of them, anyway. Tarantulas are above that sort of thing. Or so they
say.
The cat
arched his back and, then, marched down the wall studiously ignoring
me as I scolded him, “Geoffrey, what have I told you about the
spiders? We leave the spiders alone. Spiders are good.” I spoke
slowly and distinctly, as if he was hard of hearing, which, honestly,
at that moment, he was.
When he
got close enough, he leaped from the wall to the dining table and sat
like the puff of smoke he had originally been named for.
I
sighed and shook my head at the cat, thinking back to the small, gray
puffball he'd been when he'd shown up on my doorstep. Like a puff of
smoke when you blow out a match or a candle. All except for the toes
on his front paws, which were white. I had determined to call him
Smoke and actually had for a number of weeks.
Until
my nephew came to visit.
He's my
sister's kid. We don't ever see each other, my sister and me, unless
she needs something. That particular day, she had needed me to
babysit, her usual reason for seeing me, so she had dropped my nephew
off at an obscene hour on a Saturday morning. A time when normal
people are still sleeping. My nephew came in asking, “What's for
lunch?”
I told
him it was too early for lunch, to which he replied, “Actually,
it's late for lunch. At school, it's already nap time.”
I
grumbled and went to grub around in the kitchen and look for food.
He met
the cat while I was trying to find slices of leftover pizza that I
could pick enough of the mushrooms off of that it would convince him
to pretend they weren't really there to begin with.
“Warm
or cold?” I shouted out into the room with the TV that only worked
three days a week.
“Cold's
fine.”
“It's
going to the table, then. Why don't you bring Smoke, and you can feed
him some treats while we're eating.”
That's
the great thing about pizza: I was about to have it for breakfast,
and my nephew was having it for lunch, and we were both perfectly
satisfied that all was right with the world with that arrangement.
He
plopped the kitten down on the table in much the same spot as he was
currently sitting and eyeing me sullenly for the scolding.
As I
dropped several cat treats into the boy's hand, he said, “Why do
you call him Smoke?”
“That's
his name.”
“No,
it's not.” He said it very matter-of-factly, very like when he had
said, “At school, it's already nap time.”
That
was annoying. I wasn't even awake yet. No pizza. No coffee. And less
than four hours of sleep. “Yes, it is. I named him that.”
He
looked at the cat, held out the hand with the treats, and cocked his
head slightly as the cat took one and sat down with it.
“He
says he already has a name, and he doesn't like Smoke.”
“What's
wrong with Smoke?”
The boy
shrugged, “I don't know. He says he doesn't like it.”
“Why
didn't he tell me, then?” I raised one eyebrow at the kid, thinking
I'd won.
He
glanced back at the kitten and offered him another treat. The pizza,
his slice and mine, was just sitting there on our plates waiting to
be eaten, making me cranky, while my nephew chastised me on behalf of
the ball of fur that looked like it was about to drift away.
“He
says he did tell you. He says you don't listen.”
“I
do, too, listen.” I crossed my arms, thinking back, trying to
figure out if I'd been listening. I wasn't sure, and that made me
more cranky, because the kid might be right.
“If
you listened, you'd know his name is Jeffry.”
“Jeffry?”
I blinked, stared at the kid, and picked up my slice of pizza. Just
to make a statement by doing it. “What kind of name is Jeffry for a
cat?”
The
small shoulders of the boy shrugged as he took a bite of his pizza,
“I don't know. I just know that's his name.”
I waved
my pizza in the air, “I like Smoke better.”
With
his mouth stuffed, barely comprehensible, he replied, “He doesn't
like Smoke.”
“So.
He's my cat.” I obstinately took a bite of my pizza.
The cat
made a cat noise, not quite a meow, that I didn't catch. I should
have, but it sounded jumbled.
After a
moment of chewing, the boy said, “Jeffry says he'll call you Bob.”
“But
my name's not...” I ripped a big hunk of pizza off with my teeth
and sent it spluttering everywhere as I said, “Fine!” After I
swallowed, I added, “Geoffrey, it is.” Internally, I smiled,
knowing that neither of them could spell so couldn't tell that I had
given the cat a name I wanted to give him anyway.
As the
cat sat on the table and stared at me, I wasn't entirely sure he
hadn't known all along. Cats always look like they have secrets, even
when they don't. Who knows what was going on in that cat's head.
I saw
the spider creeping back out of the crack in the ceiling, and I
glanced up at it, “You leave that spider alone.”
The cat
stood up, turned, and lifted its tail to me as it hopped off of the
table, drifting off through the house but near the floor this time.
I stood
there a moment in the arbitrary division between the kitchen and
dining room completely unaware of what I was doing. Why I was up.
What time it even was.
Oh! The
time! I turned back to the stove, and there was the red tea kettle
again blocking the clock. I grabbed the tea kettle and jerked it from
the stove. 1:16 glowed dimly in green on the little panel on the back
of the stove where the knobs are, and I stood there staring at the
readout. I didn't even remember why I'd wanted to know what time it
was. Or why I was awake...
Why was
I awake? Something had woken me up. That's why I had been trying to
look at the time. Oh, well. I had no idea what it was, if I had ever
known at all. What I did know is that I was going back to bed.
I
sighed and raised the red tea kettle up to eye level, “But what do
I do with you?” I yawned, shook my head, and set the tea pot back
down on the stove. I'd figure it out later.
