If we could but paint with the hand what we see with the eye.
Honore de Balzac
Secret Weapon Against Alien Invasion
When it comes to quelling an alien invasion forget Will Smith, Aaron Eckhart, and even Chuck Norris. The most effective defense against hostile off-world intruders is a good old-fashion….disco ball.
Like this:
Kait Nolan: Cinderella Can Save Herself
TUESDAY’S TREASURES PRESENTS
KAIT NOLAN, author of the YA paranormal novel, RED, is hanging out and chatting about ~
Cinderella (Ever After) and Why a Strong Heroine is Better Than Just a Virtuous One
Welcome, Kait! The yard is yours….
Thanks so much for this opportunity Kristal!
The story of Cinderella is one I wager every little girl knows. Only daughter, close to widowed father, becomes victim of abuse from step-mother and step-sisters, and is ultimately rescued by a handsome prince. It is, at its heart, a sort of morality tale. If you are a good, pious girl and do all the right things, then everything will turn out all right at the end through no real action of your own.
This has always struck me as moronic and foolish. As a child I wanted to know why Cindy was putting up with this crap and not fighting back. And why the prince was too stupid to recognize her without the aid of her footwear to “prove” her identity. Cinderella in the classic version is such a passive heroine expecting somebody to come fix her problems for her. Not what I’d call a good example for young girls everywhere.
The entire concept of waiting for a hero to come rescue you is a classic fairy tale trope that drives me insane. Why? Because that’s not how real life works. We’re supposed to be participants in our own lives, not observers. If you wait around for someone to come take care of your problems for you, you’re likely to be waiting a very, very long time.
This is, perhaps, why Ever After is my number one, all-time favorite fairy tale adaptation. Now this is a Cinderella story I can get behind.
Danielle De Barbarac is a typical Cinderella in the set up and in the fact that she’s hard-working. But she’s also smart and gutsy. When her evil step mother sells one of the servants to pay her debts, Danielle dresses as a courtier and goes to the palace to pay the debt against him, quoting Thomas More’s Utopia and in the process, garnering the attention of the Prince, whom she then manages to set in his place as a spoiled, unthinking royal. OMG. Marvelous. I actually find Henry to be mostly an unmitigated ass in this movie, but this post isn’t about him. It’s about HER.
And the awesome of Danielle does not stop there. When she and Henry are set upon by gypsies, it is she who gets them out of it, garnering the promise from the gypsies that she can take anything she can carry. Danielle then goes over and picks Henry up (because, of course, she’s a hard worker and stronger than some wussy courtier) and carries him out of the clearing.
And best of all, when Danielle is sold by her evil step mother to the dastardly Pierre Le Pieu to pay off the totality of their debt, instead of waiting around for Henry to come get her (which, in his defense, he is on his way to do), she steals Le Pieu’s sword and rescues HERSELF. Because, of course, before her father died, he taught her how to use a sword. She’s not a coward, and she puts the creeptastic Le Pieu absolutely in his place.
Danielle is the kind of take-charge, strong woman that’s exactly the sort of heroine I try to write with each and every book. This chick gets stuff done. She has guts and morals and does the right thing, but she’s not about to sit around waiting for other people to take notice. She’s out their being proactive and taking charge of her own life. That is a heroine of worth, one I would not at all be ashamed for my daughter to internalize.
Well said, Kait. Ever After is one of my favorite movies. I have it on the old VHS format. When the tape finally wears out, I’ll break down and get the DVD.
The reason I love this Cinderella version is because, as you pointed out, Danielle doesn’t helplessly wait on a rescuer. By taking fate into her own hands, she fashions her own destiny. An admirable quality for any woman.
Thanks so much for popping in and I’m wishing you many happy sales for your new release…
RED by KAIT NOLAN
- Pub. Date: August 2011
- Publisher: Kait Nolan
- Sold By: Barnes & Noble
- Format: NOOK eBook
- Age Range: YA
- BN ID: 2940013134157
Every fairy tale has a dark side…
Elodie Rose has a secret. Any day, she’ll become a wolf and succumb to the violence that’s cursed her family for centuries. For seventeen years she’s hidden who and what she is. But now someone knows the truth and is determined to exterminate her family line. Living on borrowed time in the midst of this dangerous game of hide and seek, the last thing Elodie needs to do is fall in love. But Sawyer is determined to protect her, and the brooding, angry boy is more than what he seems. Can they outsmart a madman? And if they survive, will they find a way to beat the curse for good?
Kait Nolan: Author of action packed paranormal romance
Kait Nolan is stuck in an office all day, sometimes juggling all three of her jobs at once with the skill of a trained bear— some times with a similar temperament. After hours, she uses her powers for good, creating escapist fiction. The work of this Mississippi native is packed with action, romance, and the kinds of imaginative paranormal creatures you’d want to sweep you off your feet…or eat your boss.
When she’s not working or writing, she’s in her kitchen, heading up a revolution to Retake Homemade from her cooking blog, Pots and Plots.
You can also catch up with her at her blog, Twitter, Facebook, and Goodreads.
Her debut YA paranormal, Red, is currently available from Smashwords, Amazon, Amazon UK, Amazon DE, Barnes and Noble, iBookstore and All Romance EBooks.
Sesame Street Gets Down and Dirty in Bon Temps
Can’t get enough of True Blood?
You’re not alone.
Not wanting to be left out of the hype, Sesame Street gets down and dirty in Bon Temps….
Like this:
The Rapture and Lost Socks
Hey, look-
Is that a baby stroller hanging out by itself on the sidewalk?
I roll to a stop at the four-way. Why yes, it is.
Strange.
The stroller looks brand-new. At least no obvious defects seen from my car window as I nosily cautiously drive past. Just a perfectly decent, designer stroller stuck in the middle of nowhere.
An eerie sensation crawls my skin.
There are no people around. No houses. No apartments. No bus stop or cars.
It’s like baby and (insert caretaker’s name) were sucked up into the belly of a menacing space ship to have their central nervous system ripped out recycled into some sort of TRANSFORMER hybrid.
No, wait.
That’s kinda the plot of SKYLINE. 
Hmmm….
What else could cause someone to leave behind a baby stroller in such an odd place?
A few months ago, I heard whispering about the “Rapture,” where God whisks his faithful into the heavens for eternity.
Cue bright lights. People flying up into the clouds….
(pause)
Yeah, in my head, that still looks like a scene from SKYLINE.
A call to mom is in order. She’s my control test. If she’s still here, the “rapture” hasn’t happened yet. All moms go to heaven, right?
No-wait. That’s All Dogs Go to Heaven.
Drats!
I don’t have a land line at home for Monster Puppy and Brave Little Bassett to answer. Mom will have to do.
And, she f-i-n-a-l-l-y answers her cell phone fractions of a second before the voicemail kicks in.
My heart can stop pounding now. Crisis of being left out of something important averted.
One-sided conversation goes something like, “Hi mom. Just checking the status of the rapture. Gotta go. Bye.”
She doesn’t bother to call back. Chalk it up to her many years of experience as my mother.
The stroller lingers in the rear-view mirror. Sad and forsaken.
Like the lone sock sucked from the dryer, pulled through a vortex and deposited on the side of a municipal road. What? How else do you think it got there?
Here’s some other roadside phenomenon:
Google StreetView Roadside Birth in Germany
Sign in Marietta, Ga
Moose on the side of the road
Mattresses on the side of the road
What have you left behind seen on the side of the road?
Werewolves and Armadillos
The pomp and circumstance for this week’s Paranormal Parade begins at
Gene Lempp’s blog where he’s talking about Bigfoot’s cousin, a storm serpent and the moose-pig. Gene has a weekly series entitled “Designing from Bones” where he uses archaeology and the artifacts of human history to find and design stories.
Feel a presence in the room, but you’re alone? Hear footsteps but no one is about? Suspect ghosts are cohabiting with you? Check out what the experts from Paranormal Challenge say about discovering if your house is haunted.
Think your pets can read your mind? Well, according to Stephen Weber, telepathy with animals is possible and beneficial to pet owners.
This season of HBO’s True Blood disappoints real witches who see the series running amuck with misinformation. Want a break down of each episode ? Make Megan Natfke’s Blog a stop on Fridays and she’ll show you the difference between the book and the show.
Paranormal Romances latest releases:
Second Grave on the Left : Darynda Jones
Circle of Fire: Michelle Zink
Primal Law: JD Tyler
Werewolf enthusiast? Then you must see Werewolfentary, a documentary outlining the origins and evolutions of lycans.
Professor X, bless his heart, has graciously adapted to my rabid fervor for feral furballs. Not long after we married, he wanted to watch a made for TV movie about earthquakes. Real life dramas give me nightmares, so I trotted off to the bedroom to find something soothing to watch.
A little while later, Prof ventured in the room to find me hunkered in the bed, squeezing a pillow, as a ravenous werewolf ripped the limbs off an imbecilic camper. Blood spurted gratuitously over the screen like the old Japanese Samurai movies and the Kill Bill franchise.
I was in heaven.
Prof X was horrified. He didn’t understand why a natural disaster movie would upset me more than a gory, low-budget horror show.
During the commercial break I explained that I’m more afraid of an earthquake hitting Central Florida than a wolfen ambling out of the woods behind the house. Hey, I’m a werewolf whisperer, not Mother Nature. I can direct an errant lycan over to the noisy neighbors’ house in the event he wanted a midnight snack. Stopping the earth from splitting and dumping Florida into the ocean is beyond my power.
I only wish I was as adept at handling pesky armadillos. Wayward furballs are a breeze compared to armor-plated rodents who insist they are part of our pack, despite numerous lectures to the contrary. Monster Puppy and Brave Little Basset have even tried to explain that canines and vermin are not best buds. Although, BLB recently became confused and tried to rescue an errant ‘dillo from an impending storm.
The armadillos frequent the back yard often enough that I’m beginning to think the werewolves are tossing them over the fence like footballs. Sneaky arrogant fleabags. If I catch them in the act, I’ll dog-collar them for a week and make them fill the holes their armored pigskins left behind.
Red Riding Hood
Last week, the Prof and I watched Red Riding Hood. A friend had given us a run-down on what to expect without disclosing too much, so we spent the entire time guessing who was the big, bad wolf and why. Turns out, wolfie wasn’t as big or bad as we imagined. They should’ve channeled Jack Nicholson in Wolf.
Wolf
How do you like your weres? Sexy and heroic or vile and vicious?
What’s the best and worst werewolf flick to date?
Like this:
Do you dance like a Single Lady?
“All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players…”
Shakespeare, As You Like It
Yikes!
Unless you’re an actor, the thought of being on stage might knock your knees. Many people try so hard not to be different. They don’t want the spotlight to expose their differences. So, they wear masks to suppress their uniqueness and fall in line behind everyone else, hoping no one will notice.
No wonder people are stressed. Wracking their nerves to hide their true selves. When really, there is no need.
“Be yourself. The world worships the original.” ~Ingrid Bergman
Think outside the box. Channel a single lady. Do whatever it takes to shed the cloak of conformity and just be yourself.
Does “stage-fright” affect you? Or are you foot loose and fancy free?
Who would you channel to help you break free of the norm?
Like this:
How much would you pay for 200 Mil?
Hey, Look–
This week’s Florida Lottery Powerball jackpot is estimated at over $2oo million dollars. Normally, I don’t play the lottery. One, because I forget to buy the tickets. Two, I’m cheap when it comes to gambling.
When in Vegas, I stuck with the nickel slots because I could pull the lever 5 times for $0.25 whereas I could only pull the lever once on the quarter machines. I never touched the card tables. The hands cost more than a nickel. Yeah, the pit bosses weren’t afraid of me.
Yesterday, I stopped by the store for a couple of items. The lottery ticket counter is close to the exit . Noticing the estimated jackpot, I plucked out two bucks for a couple of quick picks.
I got a few stares, even an upturned nose or two, at the insignificant amount of “investment” I made, in a line where folks were rolling out the high bills, like tens and twenties, for fistfuls of tickets. Their snubs didn’t bother me. It only takes one ticket to win and, until the numbers are called, mine is as good as theirs.
At home, Professor X’s only comment about our power-play tickets was that if we win he wants a new PlayStation. Apparently, his crashed and now he’s having Black Ops withdrawal.
My wish list is a bit longer and includes a housekeeper, a personal chef, a gardener, a driver, and a doorman for the furbarbies. Yes, a doorman and he would likely be the first hire.
The furbabies are under the impression that since we don’t have revolving doors then I must be their 
personal doorman. If they want to go outside, they come to me to let them out. When they want to come inside, they bark and scratch the door until I let them in. Some days, we go back and forth with the in and out and in and out all day long. It really interrupts the writing process. So does me having to pee too many times from drinking hot tea all day but that’s another story.
Aside from hiring domestic help to free up my time for more writing, I’m not sure how else we would spend millions of dollars. Of course, there’d be “gifts” to family and friends, and charity, some traveling, and savings for the future; but, we aren’t extravagant spenders so expensive cars and mansions aren’t likely purchases for us.
So, two chances at millions is enough for us.
What’s the most you’ve spent on lottery tickets? What would you do with two hundred million dollars?
Well, isn’t this Smurfy
Welcome!
Today’s the official re-launch of Kristal Lee’s Blog. Yeah! ( Insert bells, whistles and dandy streamers to get the full effect. A laser show would also be AWESOME.) Whoop! Whoop!
So, what’s the hoopla about?
Well, I’ve got a new look and a new focus. Thanks to Kristen Lamb (author and social media expert for writers) , Carrie Spencer (author, website designer and WordPress guru), and all the talented and imaginative participants in #WANA711. You guys–RAWR! (Cue applause and fireworks and hand out the medals.)
Oooh….aaahhh. Good stuff to come.
So pop a cork, clink a tea cup, and buckle up. This blog is lifting off. 
Like to travel? Planning a trip to Russia? Consider packing a stake and some garlic. The Moscow News is reporting a vampire is on the loose in Siberia.
Anne Rice, former queen of witches and vampires turned Christian fiction writer, is courting the dark side once again. This time, she plans to wrangle werewolves.
Andrew Kincaid has uncovered the secrets of the living dead and why they scare the living daylights out of us.
Got wolf envy? Dani Harper thinks you do. Find out why and you might win a free copy of her new changeling book to boot. (Dani’s contest runs through 8/18/11.)
Addicted to paranormal romance? Check out the latest releases:
And now, for today’s feature presentation:
We need to time warp into the past. So, press your nose and click your heels and repeat, “There’s no place like the eighties. There’s no place like the eighties. There’s no place like the eighties.”
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
La
.
.
.
Have you landed?
In front of the TV?
One Saturday morning in 1981?
To see this?
Then you’re right where I want you need to be. In Smurfdom. A place where magickal forest creatures only three apples high live in mushroom houses and think everything is smurfy. And, it usually is–smurfy, except when Gargamel and Azrael try to capture the syrupy-sweet blue butts for a scrumptious Smurf stew.
Every Saturday morning, we children of the eighties, tuned in to watch the bold adventures of tiny Smurfs battling the giant warlock and his feline side-kick.
Week after week, we cheered as the Smurfs outsmarted the dimwitted Gargamel and averted his plans to capture and eat them. Before long, we were smurfalized by their smurfy antics and phrases like “Isn’t it smurfy?” and “Absosmurfly” corrupted seeped into our vernacular.
The Smurfs could do no wrong. We loved them. Adored them. We soaked up their sugary goodness like eager diabetic sponges and we modeled their smurfy behavior to ad nauseum.
Imagine a world of people skipping to work, picking flowers along the way, and singing “la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.” With a, “smurfy to see you, (insert name) Smurf” ever present on their lips. Where smurfy goodness reigns supreme. Each day, full of sunshine and smurfy delights. Aaaaahhh (close your eyes with a smurfy sigh)
**wop**
Yeah, that’s me slapping some sense back into you, my friends, before you actually succumb to those creepy alien smurfy forces.
You see, the evil atruistic masterplan of world domination via smur
fization doesn’t work on me. I believe in fairness, justice and equality.
In Smurfdom, the Smurfs always win. What’s fair about that? Seems mighty suspicious if you ask me. Like a gambler winning every hand at a Vegas casino. The odds are stacked and screams of cheating.
After one too many times of those bullies smurflings beating down Gargamel, I began to see the dark horse trapped inside the inept warlock. Like the pitiful Wylie Coyote, Gargamel evolved into an unlikely underdog in need of a champion.
Of course, I switched my allegiance. It wasn’t right that he was always the loser. Poor, starving Gargamel. Everyone deserves at least one glorious victory in their lifetime, right? Even if victory means eating a smurf.
Warp ahead thirty years and Gargamel might finally enjoy his stew. The blue butts are back and packing lots of smurfy attitude.
Don’t be disarmed by their smurfy cuteness. They were almost the down-fall of an entire generation. We must not to let it happen again. Our children’s future depends on it.
How have Saturday morning cartoons influenced you?
Like this:
Got Stink?
When I read that the aroma of green apples can control appetite, I laughed. Stuff a green apple up my nose and then serve me a pizza. See if I don’t scarf it down with as much gusto as I would if I didn’t have fruit lodged in my nostrils.
But, just because the smell of apples wouldn’t curb a pizza binge doesn’t mean our sense of smell doesn’t influence us. Good or bad, smells can permeate your memories just like your clothes can absorb odors.
When I get a whiff of freshly baked peach cobbler I’m transported to the days when Granny had chicken and dumplins on the table and a cobbler in the oven. Her house filled with family and friends from far and near. A constant roar rising from everyone talking at and over everyone else, reaching a point of chaos if you weren’t used to the rapid fire conversations.
A Norman Rockwell family we weren’t. But we had love and hope and acceptance. The smell of peach cobbler brings me back to all those wonder feelings.
But not all scent associations are positive.
Late one afternoon, Professor X and I went to an early dinner with a certain someone. I climbed in the backseat of Prof X’s two-door car so that this certain someone could ride up front.
Within seconds of us pulling out of the garage, I thought I would have a stroke. Being cramped into a black car that’s absorbed the unrelenting mid-August-in-Florida heat is like being a turkey stuffed in an oven on Thanksgiving. Taking pity on my sweat-induced fanning fit, Prof X (bless his heart) turned on the car’s A/C full blast.
What hit me in the face can’t be described by such mambie-pambie words like foul, pungent, or atrocious. I don’t think that a word exists in the English language that would come close to describing a stink worse than a rotting corpse three times over.
Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes as I squinted against the brutal bombardment of this stench. My stomach somersaulted, violently, and made a desperate attempt to claw through my back in order to squirm into the trunk to hide. I didn’t dare open my mouth to speak. I didn’t want that funk imprinted on my tongue or cloyed in my throat.
Prof X was oblivious to the smell and to my plight. So was the certain someone riding with us. The certain someone to whom I now refer to as Pepe le Pew.
The decrepit odor swirled around Pepe like the dust cloud surrounding Charlie Brown’s friend Pigpen.
I realized two crappy truths about two-door cars. The backseat has no windows to roll down or doors to jump out of. I wouldn’t have waited for a stop sign or red light . Road rash was worth the chance to breathe fresh air.
Once we stopped at the restaurant, I might’ve knocked Pepe over in my zeal to get away from him. I say “might have” because I’m not sure if he actually fell down when I push passed. I was too oxygen deprived from holding my breath for ten miles and on the fringe of an out of body experience to notice. Even the eternal being within me wanted to get the heck away from that god-awful smell.
It’s imprinted in my brain. Not only the smell, but the nausea associated with it and the feeling of being trapped. All of it comes rushing back at the mere thought of climbing into the backseat of a car.
Some people can’t smell skunks. I wish I was one of them. Maybe Pepe wouldn’t have left such an impression on me.
Smell cells renewed every twenty-eight days, so basically you get a new nose every month. Thank god! I needed a new one after that repulsive experience.
Want to ensure mosquitoes stay away from your outdoor bar-b-que? Decorate with smelly socks. Or have a friend with really stinky feet stand in the back corner of the yard.
Researchers have found mosquitoes are four times more attracted to the smell of stinky socks than they are to people. Scientists hope to find a way to cheaply mass-produce the stinky sock smell to help fight malaria by using the scent to lure the mosquitoes to their death.
Stressed? Anxious? Blood pressure too high? Before running to the doctor for a handful of prescription meds try eating more beans. A 2008 study suggests that the stink in farts controls blood pressure. I really would’ve hated to have been a volunteer for that study group.
Had an accident in your new car? You could’ve been drunk on the new car scent, according to one study. Apparently the fumes from the upholstery and carpet can be toxic and cause light-headedness and fainting spells. A Colorado man’s defense team claim the “new car smell” may have caused him to hit a cyclist Vail. I’m not sure how they’ll explain why he left the scene of the accident instead of calling 9-1-1.
Got a stink story? Share your ordeal.
Or, if you have a sweet-smelling memory indulge me with that too.
Aliens Abducted My Waist
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It happened somewhere between 11:00pm and 5:00am. I went to sleep with a flat tummy and poof! I arose with a marshmallowy middle. Prof X’s first response was to poke my belly button to see if I giggled like the Pillsbury dough boy.
I didn’t.
He tried to lighten my mood with reassurances.
WARNING: I like squeezing your cushy parts is NOT a comfort to a woman whose body has unexpectedly metamorphosized into something other than a supermodel.
How the hell did this happen?
I eat right.
Mostly.
Ok, pizza, buffalo chicken sandwiches and French fries might appear more often than not in my diet but otherwise I avoid dairy products, fried and other high fat foods.
Exercise?
Most days I’m on the go from the time I roll out of bed until I roll back into it. I’ve little time for an exercise routine. A body in constant motion burns calories, right? And, now that I think about it, sometimes I run in my sleep. That should count for something.
Age?
Don’t even mention it. I’ll pull a Ralph Kramden with a Pow! Right in the kisser.
Without a foreseeable cause, I’m forced to conclude that the sudden deconditioning of my middle is the direct result of …<looks over shoulder and whispers> …a body snatcher. You know what that means, don’t you?
Aliens are among us.
I’ve watched the X-Files. I know such things are true.
Hollywood has been blatantly exposing the mechanisms of this alien subterfuge since the 1950s with cinematic features such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Puppet Masters. Even now, the warnings are clear.
1. Aliens are zombie-izing our children. (Ask Noah Wylie. He deals with this problem weekly on Falling Skies.)
2. Aliens are snatching the waistlines of maturing women and replacing them with fluff. (It happened to me. It could happen to you.)
Ladies, it’s imperative that you protect yourselves from this type of attack. Guard your middles! These aliens are ninja-trained, slipping past even the ever observant Monster Puppy who instantly alerts when something is amiss. They are shadows that lie in wait, ready to pounce when you are most vulnerable.
Be diligent. Once these perilous invaders disappear with your flat tummy, you’re forever altered.
But, you don’t have to be defeated. I’ve discovered a new Yoga instructor who promises to help women, just like me, who’ve had their waists stolen.
Have you experienced an alien abduction of the waist? Have you overcome or succumb to the alien fluff? How has this encounter impacted your life? You are not alone!
Where Bunnies Become Dragons
I grew up in a town without malls or entertainment complexes. We played by climbing trees, exploring cow pastures, and making up our own games to pass the time.
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The smell of fresh cut grass and powder blue skies remind me of those lazy summer days. We’d sprawl on the ground, flat on our backs, and take turns interpreting the story unfolding in the cottony-white clouds drifting across the heavens. What started as a bunny rabbit frolicking in a meadow could morph into a fire-breathing dragon and evolve into a Death Star battle depending to whom the story baton was passed.
Everyone got a chance to let their imagination soar and no one complained about story arcs or genres.
In today’s society it seems the art of cloud watching has gone the way of the dinosaur. Kids spend more time indoors absorbed in electronic stimulation rather than exploring the outdoor world around them.
Imagination need not be stifled or stilted because of the electronic revolution. I’ve Stumbled Upon an awesome site that inspires creativity. At Neave Interactive I can make electronic clouds and let my imagination run free even when I can’t leave my desk.
Are you a cloud watcher? What’s the most unusual cloud shape that you’ve seen? What do you do to stimulate your imagination?
Animal Rescue Goes to the Dogs
Have you ever scooped a turtle out of the road before it gets creamed by an unobservant driver? Swerved to miss a squirrel? Or fed an errant cat because it meowed incessantly at the back door at dinner time?
I have…too many times to count, much to Professor X’s dismay. It’s my nature. I see an animal in trouble and I help it, or find someone with experience who can.
I’ve rescued squirrels, birds, cats, dogs, turtles. I’ve even resuscitated a lizard that had all but given up its reptilian ghost.
Until recently, I never thought about how the furbabies viewed my rescue efforts. They’re rescued dogs. Monster Puppy came to us at 10 weeks old; his mother pulled from a kill-shelter and later found to be pregnant. Brave Little Basset arrived a year later, after being abused and abandoned. He more than MP probably understands the value of helping those in need.
One afternoon, nearly dusk, Professor X opened the French doors for MP and BLB to go outside. Within a few minutes, a storm began blowing in from the South. In the distance, thunder began rolling. Not quite a rumble, but a definite warning of the monstrous rain heading toward us.
It seemed odd when Professor X called for me to wrangle the furbabies inside. MP and BLB are afraid of storms and they think my lap is the safest place in the universe when the sky monster begins shaking the heavens.
I found MP prancing frantically on the back porch, urging his fur-brother to hurry.
And with ears flapping in the breeze as he scurried across the yard ahead of the rain was BLB. Only he wasn’t alone.
BLB had scooped up a young armadillo and was dashing toward the porch’s doggie door determined to save the critter from the impeding monsoon. If Professor X hadn’t quickly closed the French doors, BLB would’ve raced into the house with his first rescue.
Professor X looked at me and said, “He takes after you.”
I have to admit, I’m mighty proud of that.
Photo (c) kristalleeromances
Are you a critter rescuer? What’s your favorite rescue story? Have your furbabies picked up any of your habits or traits?
Kristal Lee ~ Author of Supernatural Seductions & Suspense
Dragon tutor, werewolf whisperer, faery friend and M&M fiend.
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