Rasputin may have just given me the starting point for a new novel. This is a good thing, but I feel the tides of weirdness pulling strongly. I am not sure where this is going but it sounds like a lot of fun.
Joan loved her cats. She had six, unless one counted the three mostly wild cats who came to the patio in her garden apartment for food on a moderately regular basis. It was one of these cats, probably the yellow tom she called "Scrapper" who brought the fleas which were to transform her life.
To The Mc Millian Literary Agency:
I know this sounds crazy, and my therapist is concerned too if that is of any consolation to you, but please read on. It all started when one of "my" cats (I use the quotes because you can not really posses a cat - if anything it is the reverse) came home with what I initially called an infestation of fleas. Again, I know this sounds crazy, but these fleas are the direct descendants of a flea who inhabited Jesus' beard, and they have a truly lost Gospel which they want me to share.
No comments:
Post a Comment