HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Do you
have a cat? And when I asked you that, what was your reaction? A moment of
sweet memory or nostalgia? Or an eye
roll of—whoa. Cats. We all have a cat story, right?
They are amazing, hilarious,
imperious, confident, mysterious, needy and aloof. All at the same time. How do
they do that? They can make themselves invisible, airborne, and weigh a million
pounds. They know what we’re thinking, beyond a doubt.
One of the foremost cat
whisperers ever is our dear Clea Simon.
TORTITUDE
by Clea Simon
Thanks for having me on here
today! I’m thrilled to be making the rounds for “An Incantation of Cats,” which
is my 25th mystery featuring cats. Twenty-five? That is, by any
measure, a lot of fur.
By this point, therefore, I’m
used to people asking, “How do you keep on?” But recently I fielded a new question,
one that floored me: “How do you find new things to say about cats?”
On one level, I saw her
point. Cats, for the most part, are creatures of habit. Thanks to their
pre-domestication history ruling the veldt as alpha predators, they hunt or
play in short, active bursts and then sleep or rest the roughly remaining 80
percent of the time. And while they have their amusing quirks (Thisbe will
unscrew the drain cap in the downstairs bath; we don’t know why) and habits (Musetta
carried the purloined belt of my terrycloth robe around like a trophy), these
are rarely ever the kinds of behaviors that lend themselves to active sleuthing
of anything but prey.
But aren’t people predictable
as well? Don’t we, as crime writers, rely on habits and repeated behaviors, the
revelations of the unexpected response or inconsistent reaction? And wouldn’t a
feline, whose very survival long depended on quick and accurate appraisals be
better suited to sleuthing than any mere human, if she or he chose to undertake
it?
Did I think to say that? No,
of course not. In response, I stammered something about the individualization
of all creatures. I might have even mentioned the particular character of
tortoiseshell cats – aka, “tortitude” – which I’m now learning about through
Thisbe, our current feline overlord.
Tortitude? Yes. I’d
originally dismissed fur-linked personality traits as a myth (hey, I’m a
redhead and reasonably tempered, and the smartest woman I know is a blonde).
But I’ve since learned that felines are different – and the genetic makeup that
allows for three distinct colors in a cat’s coat is also linked to the genetics
that define feline aggression. Which is not to say that torties – or calicos,
same idea but more white in the mix – are angry. Instead, they are more
energetic and often, well, more creative than other cats. (“I wouldn’t adopt a
tortie,” one rescue worker told us. “They’re crazy.”)
In truth, Thisbe’s antics
could power a whole new book. There’s that drain cap, for example, or her
rather startling ability to knock any flying bug out of the air with a leap and
a swipe, as well as her ongoing narration as she races around like a Jack
Russell terrier in a wooly bear suit. And, yes, I’m now borrowing some of
Thisbe’s tortitude for Clara, the calico heroine of my new series.
If nothing
else, her energy and perseverance – I like to think of these as running
parallel to her loyalty and love – stand out in contrast to the dominant traits
of Clara’s fictional sisters, the longhaired Harriet or the sleek Laurel, with
her part-Siamese markings. (Yes, I let standard cat behavior guidelines dictate
the basic outlines of her littermates’ characters, with the heavier-bodied
Harriet being a tad more indolent and thoughtful, while Laurel is more graceful
and actively inquisitive.)
And I’ve spent enough time with cats to be intrigued
with how they behave socially – in a litter or a clowder – and to know that our
behavior (and our characters’) when we are by ourselves or among our own is
often much richer than what we may show when we know we’re on display.
So now I wish that friend
would ask me her question again, because I finally have the answer. I find new
things to write about my characters – all my characters, human and
feline alike – because they are individuals to me, as alive and vibrant as you
or I. Do we sometimes find people boring? Of course, and if we’re writers, we
get rid of them (or, okay, use them for comic relief). But the species? Never.
The day I can’t find something new or intriguing about any of the inhabitants
of my books will be the day I stop writing. Or give up on humanity entirely,
and go play with my cat.
Do you view your pet as
having a distinct personality? What’s it like? And what would her or his
crime-solving skill be, if set in the middle of a mystery?
HANK: Oh, my darling
tortoiseshell Lola (who died at age twenty, and the best cat ever--she still
comes to me in my dreams, but that’s another story…) would be a supercat. She
could incinerate people with her death stare. Lola was also very accomplished
at being annoyed.
And annoying. Here she is with Jonathan. It looks all cozy and adorable, but Jonathan was allergic to cats. Which she WELL knew.
How about you all, Reds and readers? What're your cat observations?
Clea Simon is the author of more than 25 mysteries, many
of which involve cats. Her latest, An Incantation of Cats, comes out
this month from Polis Books. She can be reached at http://www.cleasimon.com
When two new clients seek
Becca’s professional services, the fledgling witch detective is overjoyed.
Finally, she can use her skills to help her magical community. But as the young
witch finds the new cases intertwining, things grow more complicated. Becca’s
three cats – the ones with the real power – can smell something is wrong with
these clients. But not even Clara, the calico, knows what to do when a man ends
up dead and a powerful and poisonous root appears – and disappears – in the
case.
To make matters worse, Clara and her littermates are feuding – and she can’t tell them about an unsettling interaction she’s had with one of the client’s sisters. Is it possible that some humans may have the same powers as the magical felines? What does that mean for Clara’s beloved Becca – and for the potent poison that has already taken one person’s life? In this second Witch Cats of Cambridge mystery, Clara and her sisters must learn to work together if they are to save the person they all love.
To make matters worse, Clara and her littermates are feuding – and she can’t tell them about an unsettling interaction she’s had with one of the client’s sisters. Is it possible that some humans may have the same powers as the magical felines? What does that mean for Clara’s beloved Becca – and for the potent poison that has already taken one person’s life? In this second Witch Cats of Cambridge mystery, Clara and her sisters must learn to work together if they are to save the person they all love.
