The last week of June in 1987, I came downstairs on a Saturday morning and found a small kitten on our front porch. I immediately started making phone calls to see if I could find it a home. We already had two cats. There was no way we were keeping this one. Not going to happen.

I took it to the vet to have it checked out and it was sick, so the vet decided to keep it over the week-end. I picked it up on Monday and brought it home, but then it was back to the vet cause the kitten was still sick. While he was overnighting at the vet’s office a second time, a woman I worked with said she wanted him. That was all fine, except now I couldn’t give him up. We had history, brief as it was, and our other two cats seemed to tolerate him just fine. I named him Pip after the waif in Dicken’s Great Expectations.

He was a mess. In the truest sense of a cat, he did things his way. He claimed his portion of the bed. He scratched the furniture. He’d jump on the counter or the table in the blink of an eye to steal a piece of meat. Salmon was never safe. You’d scratch his head and he’d nip your fingers, not hard, just a love bite. We called it getting “Snicked” or a “Snick Attack.”

He wasn’t much of a lap cat, but he liked to sit on my desk, on top of my computer or drape himself on the back of the couch where you were sitting. My friend Carol hated cats so he always made sure to rub against her when she came over.:p He had a raucous cry that could wake the dead. There was no ignoring Pipenstein when he was hungry or displeased. He wouldn’t always come when I called him, but he’d come if I snapped my fingers.

His absolute worst habit was he considered an open box or bag his for the peeing. Trust me, I lost two suitcases this way. He had me so well-trained, I’d be annoyed with him, but thought I should’ve known better than to leave it where he could avail himself. There was the call last year from The Girl at school. “Mom, can you come up here? Pip peed in my book bag and I didn’t know til I was taking out my math homework.” “Okay, but you shouldn’t have left it open on the floor.” “It’s gross, Mom.” “Yeah, well he’s ornery and he’s old. Don’t leave it on the floor.”

Fairly ironic that with his peeing issues over the years (and no, nothing was wrong with him way back when, we checked — sheer orneriness), that he was diagnosed with kidney failure in late March. Girl and I gave him subcutaneous fluids every few days and he Pipped right along, enjoying sunning himself, jumping on the table, eating salmon which I happily cooked for him and cans of wet food.

Nineteen years is a long time. I was lucky. He was lucky. Yersterday morning I gave him the juice from a can of tuna (one of his all-time favorites) and called the vet. Jumping on the kitchen table was no longer a remote possiblity. He could barely stand. It was time. The vet came to our house and I sat on the sofa and held him in my lap and Girl and I rubbed his head until it was over. And now, even with three dogs and a cat still here, the house feels empty.

Pip. Pipster. Pippenstein. Snick. Sneaky-pie. Peeky-boo. Mr. Pip.

I’m sorry but light and pithy is beyond me this morning. The vet’s coming over today and I think it’s probably time for us to bid our oldest cat good-bye. We’re just a few days shy of the day he showed up on our front porch nineteen years ago. I’ve known this was coming but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve been hydrating him with subcutaneous fluids every couple of days for a couple of months now, but even that doesn’t seem to help any more. For all the times I fussed at him for jumping onto the kitchen table…that’s now beyond him since he can’t even walk across the room.

The downside to love is that it carries an equal capacity for pain and sorrow.

So, the plan back in March was to drop ten pounds before it was time to shop for a dress for the RITA ceremony that concludes the National conference. How happy am I to say that the end wash is that I’m now 5 pounds heavier than I was then? Not happy at all! :( But it is what it is and today, for better or worse, for fatter or thinner, is RITA dress shopping day.

I generally prefer a visit to the dentist to shopping, especially at the mall. The mall is crowded. I always feel trapped. I think I’m probably the only woman alive who hates going to the mall and, well, the dentist is really never painful and he’s funny and we always talk books and movies but alas I need a dress, not dental work.

So, hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to shop we go…. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Last night I met a group of writer friends — Rita Herron, Dorie Graham, Carmen Green, Tanya Michaels, Wendy Wax, and Stephanie Bond — at Piedmont Park for the Screen on the Green showing of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. We’re all scattered across the city and outlying suburbs so it was great to hook up. Throw down a big blanket on the lawn, a little wine, pass the fruit, and a smorgasbord of sandwiches, wings, stuffed grape leaves, and sushi. Oh, yeah, and Carm brought a big-ass bag of ice. :)

I thought I was the only human being on the plantet who’d never seen the movie, even though my friend Ellen loaned me the video months ago. Oddly enough, of the seven of us, only Dorie had seen the movie before. Wow! On the surface it’s amusing, but beneath it resonates with poignancy…talk about layers and characterization.

Anyone else seen it? What’d you think?

Bop on over to AccessRomance and check out my column under Tell Tale. It’s a brief piece on how I came to write my July time travel and a little info about the process and the characters. And if those fascinating facts alone aren’t enough to draw you, join the discussion and be eligible to win a free copy of Highland Fling.:)

(I can’t figure out how to hot link it, so cut and paste this into your browser.)

http://accessromance.com/telltale/category/jennifer-labrecque-0606/

Sorry, but I can’t seem to import the pics from the canopy tour. Will give it another shot tomorrow.

Today I’m wrapping up the copy edits (or maybe line edits, I can never keep them straight) on my last novella. Anywho, it’s the part where I read through the editor’s marks and comments and see if there are any changes I object to or sections that need clarifying. Then I have to write the dedication and my bio. Honestly, I’d rather write the entire book than those two pieces. Maybe it’s because the book is…well, about the book and those two pieces are more personal. I dunno, but I don’t like doing them.

However, this will conclude my portion of the Secret Santa Christmas anthology. All told, it was an interesting book to write. When I signed on for the project, my one request was that I had the two people in the office that hated each other the most that get stuck with the other’s name for Secret Santa gifts. :[ It makes for good dialogue and tension. The hero and the heroine are food critics for a travel magazine for food afficianodos. Hey, I like to eat and I like to travel even more. Where do I sign up for that job?:p

BTW, I saw the preliminary cover last week. They did a nice job. Fun but sexy. A Santa hat and a red stiletto heel. Rock on, Blake and Connie (in the art and marketing departments)!

This is a test.

Best of Harlequin office visit: Meeting the art director Blake and Connie, the marketing product manager. It was so COOL! We walked into Blake’s office and he had the computer cursor on a cover model’s bicep and was clicking to make it bigger. I immediately asked if I sent him a picture if he could “click” me on a waistline and a pair of Angelina Jolie lips. :x It was fascinating to move through their initial concepualization for our covers to the final product. Also rather enlightening to discover that they do actually read and use the Art Fact Sheets that I often breeze through. They’ve done a great job of individualizing the covers and really reflecting the stories within, IMO, in the last several months, especially when I think of my covers for Daring in the Dark, Anticipation, and Highland Fling. I swore on the spot to do a better job of filling out those art fact sheets.

Second Best of Harelquin office visit: Not making us totally late getting into the office. Yours truly, Jen the Bright One, rolled out of bed at 6:15 for a run that morning. Before starting out, I duly noted the intersecting streets…and then I managed to get myself lost, sort of. It would stand to reason that what looks like a major thoroughfare between two parallell major thoroughfares would connect them. Not the case. I wasn’t precisely lost because I knew if I backtracked I could get back, but it was a long way and I was running out of time…literally. All I could think was that I was going to make us late into the office and I didn’t dare stop running and walk it because that would take too long. At the point that I had run about 4 miles, I knew if I ran the rest of the way back, they’d be hauling me into the office on a stretcher, I decided to do something I’ve never done before — hitch a ride. :o As a rule, I really dislike generalizing, but I think it’s fair to say that Canadians are a fairly conservative people. You should’ve seen the nice woman’s face when she walked out of her house, got in her car and I ran up to her passenger window and knocked on it, sweaty and desperate, and pleaded for a ride.:d

Worst Moment at Harlequin office: Spilling my cup of earl grey tea on me on the way in and arriving tea stained.

Best Moment Otherwise: This is a tie. Sea kayaking on Lake Simcoe was wonderful. Gorgeous weather and the water was beautiful. Especially a pleasure when I managed to enter and exit the kayak without upending it. (I haven’t yet, but it’s always a distinct humiliating possiblity) The other best moment was the canopy tour where Brenda was jumping up and down on the 10-inch swinging walkway with an evil grin and Rhonda was shrieking behind me, “Is she doing that on purpose?” Uh…Yeah.:[

Worst Moment Otherwise: My editor’s beloved cat Puddinhead hated me which is quite confounding considering I love animals and they usually like me in return. At one point, Puddy cornered me and had me doing an Irish jig to keep my ankles out of reach. Apparently from Princess Rhonda’s vantage point on the couch it appeared that I kicked the cat. Between howls of laughter, at my expense I might add, she gasped, “You idiot. You just killed your career when you kicked that cat.” I shrieked, “Quit!” at the cat but I swear I didn’t kick her. (@) HTG.