** EXCLUSIVE ** THE TYGRINE CAT ON THE RUN: THE PROLOGUE!

It is with huge excitement and a whisker or two of trepidation that I publish the link to the Author's Note and Prologue of The Tygrine Cat On the Run, the sequel to The Tygrine Cat. Remember, you saw it here first!

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Once you access the link, click the book cover of The Tygrine Cat On the Run and the words will appear, as though by magic. I am told that you will need an Adobe Reader or the font may scramble. I have no idea what that means. After all, I am a cat...

THE TRUTH ABOUT CATMINT

My dear friend Mati came to me with a curious query last night: “What,” 

he asked, “is catmint?” “Dear catling!” said I, “What is catmint? Indeed!” For it is the finest herb ever to excite a feline’s nostrils.

I was less than a catling myself when first I chanced upon catmint. I couldn’t have imagined that such pleasure existed: sup, and sleep – these things I knew, but little more. I lived on the market-place at Cressida Lock then, as I always have, and as I still do. 

Caption: My dear friend Mati, a catling who has sadly never tasted catmint

I am a humble market cat and have never pretended otherwise (not like some I might mention, with their boasts of travels to far-flung rooftops, but the less said about them the better!). I was wandering near the catacombs, minding my own good business when suddenly the most intoxicating smell enveloped me. I turned to see a plant much resembling mint. In appearance it was of no special consequence, yet in its curved leaves lay the secret to all mysteries – some might even say, the secret to love.

I was a young tom, as I have told you – as yet unschooled in the ways of the heart. I pirruped in pleasure and alarm, as of impulse, felt the overwhelming compulsion to roll and purr. Violent cravings consumed me, and led me to tug and chew at the plant with my teeth. I must have looked a sight! And yet, I feel sure, I was keen not to be seen at all – keen to preserve my precious catmint, to keep it all to myself. My amma found me in the hours of twilight; languid, drooling. She called me some disgraceful names. She said it was not right for a tom to lose himself like that.

Yet since, I have heard it told that not all cats can feel the passion of the mint. Some are quite immune to its charms. My amma was a sensible tabby-and-white, a feral and market cat from tail to whisker. Perhaps such pleasures were beyond her ken.

Like my amma, I have grown old. I am often tired now, I wander little, and sleep whenever I can. But I still remember that first sniff of catmint, and ever more am heartened by this memory.