“After all, Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did.

She just did it backwards and in high heels.”

— Ann Richards

Last fall I began working on a new novel, which I’ve titled Looking For Me. I’m so excited about the story that I’m up all hours of the day and night, writing like my pants are on fire! So, if you don’t see many new posts on by blog, that’s the reason why — I’m putting all my energies into my manuscript.

Many of you have contacted me via Twitter and Facebook, asking what my new novel is about. So instead of writing to each of you individually, I though it would be easier to direct you to this link.

Happy summer everyone!

This is a photo of my beloved Bobb-O. When he passed over to the Rainbow Bridge, I was devastated. Heartbroken. Ground to a powder.

I made special donations to several animal shelters in his memory, but as the weeks passed, I felt the best thing I could do to honor Bobb-O (who was a rescue–a gorgeous, solid black bobtail), was to rescue another kitty from death row. My husband agreed. Oreo, our sweet black-and-white tuxedo kitty, was lonely for a friend and so we set out to find him one.

Going to shelters breaks my heart–all those faces looking up at me. My throat closes and I get teary-eyed. It’s so hard to pick. My husband and I held hands, feeling sad that we couldn’t take them all. While I gravitated to a gray kitty named Charlie, my husband noticed a tiny black kitten. And when I say tiny, I mean he fit in the palm of my husband’s hand.

In an eye-blink we knew he was “the one” for us, and even before signing the adoption papers, we named the little guy Frankie.

A kind woman who works for a veterinarian had pulled Frankie from death row just days before we adopted him. It’s sickening that this precious and sweet little boy was going to be killed for no other reason than his color.

Yes, Frankie is black and it’s a disgusting fact that black cats are far too often deemed as “bad luck” (which is so ridiculously ignorant I won’t even comment), and they are said to be not as pretty or as cute as other cats. Healthy and loving black kitties are murdered by the thousands each year.

We brought him home and from the moment his paws hit the floor, he was filled with wonder. Often he’d sit in my library window and gaze into the sky.

I was concerned how Oreo and Frankie would get along, but it was love at first sight.

From the get-go they’ve been inseparable. Now, 8-months later, Frankie has shot up and is almost as big as Oreo. I recently took a photo of them in my window, and it sums up their relationship perfectly.

I want to thank all of you who sent lovely cards and emails of sympathy when Bobb-O passed away, and I also wanted to share a picture I recently took that captures the beauty of friendship and the very true sentiment that life does, indeed, go on.

Loving Frankie doesn’t diminish the incredibly special bond I had with Bobbo-O and still have with Oreo (or any of the wonderful furbabies who came before him). Love is boundless and brings with it a healing that can only take place when we allow ourselves to embrace life. At least that’s the way I see it.

“Some people delight in clipping wings because they themselves cannot fly.”

—Robert A Heinlein