Rose-Owls and Pumpkin Girls

Today is Alice Price-Healy Little Liddel Abernathy McGuire's second birthday. As of today, she can't be considered a kitten by even the most generous of standards, and must, at last, be afforded the sacred title of "cat." This does not prevent her sleeping on her back for hours with her soft white belly exposed. Nor does it cause her to develop an ounce of dignity. But it does make her wonderful.

I love all three of my cats, and I try not to play favorites. Right now, however, Alice is definitely my favorite, simply by virtue of not being dead. It's hard to express in words just how badly she frightened me when she got sick. Now, finally, she's shiny and grooming herself and talking to me in audible registers, rather than just making this heart-breaking rasping sound. She's better. I'm still going to keep a close eye on her throughout the winter, because this isn't sort of thing you forget quickly, but she's better. And right now, that makes her my favorite.

To celebrate Alice's birthday, she's getting a thorough grooming, possibly including claw-clipping if I can find where she's most recently hidden the clippers, and then I'm going to sit still for several hours while she gets love. There is no better gift one can give a cat.

Happy birthday, Alice. This is only the beginning.

Item the first: kirylyn, you have won a copy of An Artificial Night in the fourth of my random holiday drawings. Please email me within the next twenty-four hours, using the contact form on my website, to be mailing your book. If I don't hear from you inside this time, I will have to draw a new winner. So I surely do hope I hear from you!

Item the second: I spent most of the day in San Francisco, as The Editor was flying in through SFO, and needed to be picked up and toted to her final destination (for the moment). With a stop at Borderlands Books, naturally, to meet the hairless cats. Sadly, the hairless cats were not in when we swung by, but we got to hang out with Jude, and I convinced a nice lady to buy Carousel Tides for her wife. So life, pretty good, really.

Item the third: Alice is continuing to get better, and has now improved enough to be pushy and imperious when she doesn't get what she wants. Given that at her worst, she was barely interactive, this is wonderful, and I relish being bullied by my big fuzzy baby. She knows it, too, and is taking shameless advantage of me. Oddly, I'm okay with that.

Item the fourth: My bedroom may actually be a black hole. I'm trying to clean up and rearrange in here, and it's dauntingly horrific. I keep finding things I didn't know existed, like a long box half-full of Stars Fall Home. In other news, I now have ten more copies of Stars Fall Home.

Item the fifth: As part of my cleaning efforts, I'm sorting, indexing, and purging my collection of My Little Ponies. When I'm done, I'll actually be able to make a coherent wish list. This is...maybe not such a good thing, really, since I have access to eBay. But hey. Everything has its downside.

How's by you?

I hope you had a wonderful Thursday, whether you're in the United States and celebrated with turkey, or are elsewhere in the world, and celebrated by ending your work week. As a reward from me to all of you for surviving the majority of November, I give you a Saturday morning dose of adorable: Alice and Thomas, all snuggled up and being puffy as hell. I love my kitties all the more because they integrated so smoothly, meaning I've been able to sleep (when they let me use the bed).



That's Alice in the background and Thomas in the front. He's only eighteen weeks old in this picture. My boycat is eventually going to eat Rhode Island.

Have a great weekend!

Friday evening, Alice started looking a little ill. She was listless, unresponsive, and not interested in treats, although she did drink the juice from my can of tuna willingly enough (one of her favorite things). I consulted with a few people whose opinions I trust, and decided to monitor her condition before taking her to the vet, as no one wants to deal with the emergency vet when they don't have to. Saturday, she seemed better, although still droopy, and I thought she was recovering.

Sunday evening she took a turn for the worse, dramatic enough that I called my vet the second they opened this morning and made her an appointment. My mother, thankfully, agreed to take her in, since I had to go to work, and my vet agreed to treat the cat but allow me to pay over the phone via credit card. Thank the Great Pumpkin for reasonable people. At this point, Alice was having breathing difficulties, throwing up, licking her lips constantly, was extremely lethargic, and had visibly lost weight. (No, I am not a totally irresponsible cat owner. This all happened very fast, and Alice felt bad enough that she kept hiding under things, making it difficult to monitor her condition.)

After spending the morning in borderline-hysterics, I finally got the call from Mom: Alice has pneumonia, which she got the same way humans get it—bad luck, fluid in the lungs, and an opportunistic infection. She's been given an antibiotic shot and some fluids, and I have liquid antibiotics to pump into her for the next few weeks. I also have strict instructions to give her anything she wants, providing it won't hurt her, until she gets her weight back up. So I guess it's the all-wet food, all-the-time diet around my place for a week or two. Let's just hope she doesn't get any ideas about illness equating to better chow, shall we?

It's easy to be calmer now, to make jokes now, to talk about giving her an entire turkey for Thanksgiving, if that's what she wants. But the fact of the matter is, I've been terrified since last night, when it became apparent just how sick she was getting. I am so relieved that she's okay. She's only two. You're not supposed to have to worry about these things when they're only two. But you do.

Hug your kids for me, regardless of their species. I know I'm going to spend the evening hugging mine.

So, as many of you have ascertained from this month's welcome post, I have a new member of my feline family: Thomas, a blue classic tabby and white Maine Coon. Like Alice, he hails from Seattle's fantastic Pinecoon Cattery, courtesy of Betsy Tinney. He and Alice actually share a mother, the sweet-natured and endlessly tolerant Arial (yes, like the font), although they have different fathers. Thomas joined the family on Sunday afternoon, heralded by a rather epic amount of hissing from my pre-existing cats, Lilly and Alice.

Thomas, it should be noted, has really not participated in the hissing. He's a goofy, sweet little blue boy, and he starts purring when I get within three feet of him. That is, when he's not racing through the house like a kitten possessed, sinuous blue tail flying out behind him like a flag, losing traction on the hardwood floor, and slamming into the nearest available wall. Yes. He does this a lot.

Lilly and Alice remain dubious of our new family member, but they're starting to warm to him. Lilly was grooming him yesterday (she is the lickingest cat alive), and he and Alice slept on my chest last night, together. Given that he's likely to weigh more than she does when he grows up, this may become a lot less endearing really, really soon. Then again, they eliminate the need for a space heater, so hey. All three of them spent last night's episode of Glee hanging out, purring loudly, and being cute. I have the cutest cats in the entire world. And all my cats are blue.

This brings me to two Maine Coons and one classic Siamese, which strikes me as a good place to stop, since going any further takes me into crazy cat lady territory. Besides, I'm already pretty sure that, if they wanted to, they could take me.

Kitten!

(No, there are not yet kitten pictures available. Yes, there will be kitten pictures...eventually. Making pictures uploadable is a long, manual process, and I'm getting ready for this weekend's Orycon Guest of Honor slot, integrating a new cat into my household, and trying to finish a book. Asking me for kitten pictures only reduces my desire to deal with formatting them. So please show mercy, and don't ask?)

So my "little cold" turned quickly into "my big cold," and from there turned into my "oh sweet Great Pumpkin, let me die" cold. Isn't the human body awesome? I have treated it, thus far, with chicken soup and television, including a multi-hour House marathon. No matter what I've got, they've got something worse!

The cats, self-centered beasts that they are, love-love-love it when I have a cold that requires me to stay at home, crumbled under fluffy blankets and yearning for death. Why? Because it means I don't move much, and am, instead, available for endless petting of the cats. This is exactly how the world is meant to be...at least if you're asking the cats. I do love my cats. That's why they are not yet mittens.

(I'm getting my revenge, actually. I'm making them eat their Science Diet. They hate Science Diet. Mwahahahahahaha.)

The nice thing about a cold, for me, is that I get to spend the night sleeping the deep sleep of the Q-dosed heart, with its attendant, incredibly vivid dreams. I went to the premiere of the Feed movie last night in my sleep, you guys, and it was totally awesome. So hey, there's something to be said for viral amplification, right? Right?

Okay, writing this has exhausted me. I'm going to go watch more House.

So recently, I had an unwelcome house guest: an elderly black cat spent about a week and a half in the laundry room, waiting to be removed to its new home. There were a lot of very good reasons for the cat's presence, most of which I don't really want to go into. Lilly and Alice were fascinated by the interloper; Lilly wanted to kill it, while Alice wanted to PLAY PLAY PLAY. Behold the difference between "manic" and "temperamental," ladies and gentlemen. The cat was eventually removed, returning the house to its normal state...but a host's gift was kindly left behind.

We have fleas again.

This was discovered when I took Alice to the groomer on Saturday (she'd managed to develop belly mats, thanks to all my recent traveling, and I just wanted them gone so we could return to non-painful grooming). "Did you know you have fleas? Oh, the poor baby, she's just crawling with them."

As I'm sure you can imagine, I was...displeased. I fought a long, hard battle to get rid of the fleas last time this happened. Since Alice is a longhair and Lilly has a very dense, plush coat, it's possible for them to have fleas without my actually being able to see the signs. And since I brush both of them really regularly, they don't get as itchy as they might otherwise, so I don't get as much visible scratching. I went straight out and got flea medication, along with carpet powder and bedding spray. Then I came home and checked the calendar.

See, most flea treatments are given at one-month intervals, and I needed to be sure the second dose would come due after I got back from Australia. Today turned out to be the magical day. The day I poured poison on the cats.

Alice took it with good grace, because Alice sweats sedatives. Lilly was substantially more offended, and slunk off to glare at me for about twenty minutes. I don't care. THE FLEAS WILL DIE. Thus I swear.

Stupid fleas.

Dear Great Pumpkin;

It has been some time since I last wrote to you, but you have never been far from my thoughts. I just figured you could use a break. Since our last correspondence, I have refrained from starting any riots or overthrowing any governments. I have been kind to my friends, and relatively merciful to my enemies. I have offered friendship and support to those around me. I have given people cupcakes. I have not brought forth the end of days, nor capered gleefully by the bloody light of an apocalypse moon. I have continued to make all my deadlines, even the ones I most wanted to avoid. I have not talked about parasites at the dinner table. Much. So obviously, I have been quite well-behaved, especially considering my nature.

Today, Great Pumpkin, I am asking for the following gifts:

* A smooth and successful release for An Artificial Night, with books shipping when they're meant to ship, stores putting them out when they're supposed to put them out, and reviews that are accurate, insightful, and capable of steering people who will enjoy my book to read it. Please, Great Pumpkin, show mercy on your loving Pumpkin Princess of the West, and let it all be wonderful. I'm not asking you to make it easy, Great Pumpkin, but I'm asking you to make it good.

* Please help me finish the revisions to Late Eclipses in a smooth, satisfying, timely way, hopefully including a minimum number of typographical and factual errors, plus a maximum level of awesome and win. I'm about halfway through, which is wonderful—I'm almost done!—and terrifying—soon I won't be able to make changes anymore!—at the same time. I want to bring this book to a close, so I can get back to work on the fifth Toby book and the third Newsflesh book. What I have is good. Please let the rest be amazing.

* Since I'm being a Greedy Greta today, please let me swing back into The Brightest Fell with speed and elan, overcoming all challenges in my pursuit of the perfect ending. Thanks to changes in the book's overall plot, I no longer know for sure whether book six will be Ashes of Honor or One Salt Sea, and I'd really like to figure that one out. Please let the book be good, and please let the book be easy on my sanity. The more time I have to spend stressing out over this book, the less time I spend preaching your gospel to the unenlightened, or lurking in corn mazes scaring the living crap out of tourists. You like it when I scare the crap out of tourists, don't you, Great Pumpkin?

* I thank you once again for my cats, Great Pumpkin, who are wonderful and beautiful and a comfort beyond all measure. Alice is huge, puffy, and utterly without dignity. Lilly is sleek, smug, and satisfied with herself. Both are glorious representatives of their breed, and now, as I look to adding a third member to the family, I turn to you. Please make sure I find the right kitten, Great Pumpkin, the one which will enrich and benefit my feline family in ways that I haven't even thought of yet. Keep them healthy, keep them happy, and keep them exactly as they are.

* Please help me write a successful, smooth, and most of all, correct conclusion for the "Sparrow Hill Road" series of stories. It's been exciting and educational, and I've enjoyed the process of delving into Rose's world, but as I start moving toward the end of this particular journey, I start worrying about my ability to stick the landing. Please help me stick the landing, Great Pumpkin. Rose has waited a long time for her story to be told in a truthful, respectful manner, and she deserves a narrative that gets her all the way to the last exit on the ghostroads.

* I haven't said anything up to now about what I really want this year, Great Pumpkin, but...you know I've been nominated for the Campbell Award. You know that if I win, I'll be given a tiara, in Australia. You know that this is essentially what I've wanted my whole life. Some little girls want to be Prom Queen; I wanted to be Princess of the Kingdom of Poison and Flame. Please shine your holy candle upon the Campbell, Great Pumpkin, and, if you see fit, I will thank you in any speeches I have to give (which might be worth it right there).

I remain your faithful Halloween girl,
Seanan.

PS: While you're at it, can you please turn your graces on InCryptid? I really love these books. I want to be able to write more of them.

1. Only four hours remain to enter my random drawing for an ARC of An Artificial Night! It's probably the simplest contest I'm going to have, so what have you got to lose, right? Besides, they're pretty. I like pretty things. I am a simple soul.

2. Speaking of pretty things, remember that the ALH pendant sale will be starting today at Chimera Fancies. I cannot possibly overstate how much I love Mia's pendants. If I were a wealthy woman, I'd just pay her to sit around and make them all day, and keep the bulk of her output for myself. Again, simple soul. Also, occasional magpie.

3. Leverage comes back this weekend! So You Think You Can Dance is back on the air! Cartoon Network has Unnatural History and Total Drama World Tour! Oh, I love you, summertime television. I love you so much, forever.

4. Tomorrow is my last pre-Westercon rehearsal with the fabulous Paul Kwinn, renowned in song and story, master of the meaningful look while wearing a gaudily-patterned shirt, husband of Beckett, whom I love beyond all reason. I'm very excited, despite the fact that I'm still occasionally coughing like I'm on the verge of actual death. It's gonna be awesome.

5. I have my editorial notes for Late Eclipses, and I'm busily incorporating them into the finished manuscript...while, possibly, fixing a few little language issues at the same time. It's been long enough since I touched this book that it appears to have been written by an alien, which is the best time for doing editorial. It's still my baby. It's just my weird alien baby, and that makes it more fun to autopsy.

6. Zombies are still love.

7. It's June already. That means we're getting closer and closer every day to my departure for Australia, LAND OF POISON AND FLAME, which I have only been dreaming about for most of my life. I'm so excited it's scary, and not just because I'm on the ballot for the Campbell (although that remains a constant GOTO loop at the back of my brain). I get to go to Australia! I get to breathe Australian air! My life is awesome sometimes.

8. We've entered the final stages of recording Wicked Girls, and it should, I hope, I pray, be able to make the October release date that I so optimistically set for myself. I'll be announcing the pre-orders soon, since that's how I finance mixing and mastering, and I'm really, really happy with this album, as a whole. It's just...it's what I wanted. And that's incredible.

9. I think the cats are stealing my will to leave the house. I just want to sleep.

10. I need more ARC contests! Suggest something. Be silly, be serious, request that I do your favorite all over again, whatever. I need ideas, and so I turn to you, the glorious Internet, to give them to me.

It's Friday!

YOU: Sent me a copy of A Local Habitation, along with return postage and copies of your own books. Said books have since vanished into my bedroom, victim of very large, very irritated blue cats.

ME: Confused urban fantasy author baffled by the lack of a return address on the envelope containing said return postage, and really hoping that you'll see this and email me with your information, so that I can send your book away before one of the cats eats it.

EVERYONE ELSE: When sending me a book to be signed (which you should never do without asking me first, as I am sometimes really, really bad about getting to the post office, and I refuse to be yelled at if I didn't commit to a timeline), please be sure to include a piece of paper including the proper spelling of your name and your full mailing address, along with any return postage we may have agreed upon. This will really speed up the process of getting your book back to you. Unless, of course, you're just sending me spare copies of my own books, in which case, gee, thanks! I can always use more books.

ALICE: Lurks in wait, hungry for your envelopes.