MEET HERMAN aka TATTLECAT

Herman is known for intermewing his Anipal friends on his blog, but while we were waiting for a few of the interviews to come together, we decided to intermew each other:

Herman's Intermew

How old were you when you moved in with your family? Were you a rescue?

Not a rescue, I was a runaway. I loves to run, and so at 8 months old, I runned out of my house and kept running through the woods until I was good n lost. A very long time later...years probably!...I stumbled up a steep hill and saw a house that smelled like kittehs. And there was a little food on the front porch. So I ate it. It had spit on it, but at that time I wasn't pawticular cuz I was starvy. 

Anyway! I hung around, and this black and white kitteh tried to run me off cuz that was his job: to run off stray cats, as appointed by his boss, Moose, a tabby wif six toes. It was wintertime and very cold. My fur had gotten sticky and snarled and turned hard like a turtle shell. During a blizzard my future meowmy spotted me, called to me, and when I came, she took me inside the warm house n fed me. She also put me in a big cage in the kitchen cuz she didn't know if I...ya know...had an STD or sumthin. Then my future daddy came inside the house. I recognized him. He was wif that black and white kitteh who tried to run me off, and he threw a snowball at me, unknown to my future meowmy cuz if she had known, there would have been heck ta pay! She said to him, 'Meet James' and future daddy sez, 'He looks like a Herman.' So I became Herman James. I had to go to the vet where I wuz shaved nekked. But my new mom brought me home in a sweater and I've been happy wif her ever since.

Almost Famous

by Herman

I always knew I would be famous. Dad said years ago I wuz destined for stardom.

On Sunday, March 4, 2012 I finally met my public. My mom, author Kimberley Dehn, had a book signing at the B.J. Chain Library in Olive Branch, Mississippi.

She had posters made up wif me promoting her book, and decided it was time for me to make a purrrsonal appearance.

I sat in Mom's lap while she chatted with buyers about her novel, Southern Exposure.

Click on Book

Southern Exposure is a romantical novel about a Yankee heiress, Kat Hubbard, who is considered the red-hot chili pepper in her family of instant potato control freaks. Always out of step. Always out of favor.  On her wedding day, Kat learns her business barracuda brother used her as a bargaining chip to buy percentages of her fiancé’s company with each baby she pops out!  Furious to learn she’s been sold for a profit, Kat shoves a basketball under her gown and waltzes down the aisle to humiliate her family, then makes her getaway via her private yacht.  It doesn’t occur to her she can’t drive.

Dean Mickler is mayor of Potter’s Kiln, Georgia, a small town community of unemployed couch potatoes who let him carry the burden of keeping them out of financial hot water. He aspires to escape to Atlanta where a dream job awaits. Yet with the closing of the town’s only employer, he cannot leave P.K. teetering on the brink of economic disaster. To bring in revenue, he renovates his gristmill into a riverside restaurant, and is days away from escaping the chokehold his well-meaning townspeople have on him. Destiny has other plans.

When Kat rams her runaway yacht through Dean's restaurant and destroys P.K.’s last hope for survival, Dean is forced to use Kat in a last-ditched effort to save his hometown, at the risk of losing both his sanity and his heart.

Mom designed the book's cover. She takes a lot of fotoz and wanted a cover that was both eye-catching and intriguing. Be honest. You're dying to know what a red bra and jelly beans haz to do with the story. Didja see the shadow cleavage? I don't know what what da heck cleavage is, but Mom always points it out. While the cover gets a lot of notice and sales for Mom, she sez people think its erotica, which makes her cringe. She sez its a sweet romance, not a spicy one. After all, her daddy waz gonna read it, not to mention her mother-in-law, my Grammy!

Mom has won contests with her story and was also nominated for an EPIC award. I can't read but I hear people laughing while looking at the pages so I guess its real funny. Mom sez I don't haz much of a sense of humor so I don't know much about laughing. I know its got a pig named Junior Upchurch in it that threatens to steal all the attention since Mom loves pigs. It also haz a little girl named Stevie who everyone thinks is the true star of the story. Some say Stevie needs her own story.

It's available at Amazon.com where you can get it for your Kindle...whatever that is. 

Anyway! Enough about Mom and her book. Back to me, my favorite subject!

There I waz, sitting in her lap, shedding all over her pretty outfit, while hoomans lined up to admire me and say hello. I got pets on my head. And a few little kids hugged me and one even kissed me!

Daddy waz there and said later he heard people talking about how amazing I behaved. So calm. So sweet. So...floofy! The librarian, Miz Suzanne, was very happy I chose her library to make my purrrsonal debut.

And so, here I am, back home. Bored. Daddy sez my head haz swelled and probably won't fit through the door if I make another public appearance.

I say...get a bigger door.

Inspired by a Snake, Dirty Laundry and a Dentist Appointment

Nick performs reenactment of snake episode.

I have no idea what it's like to have Writer's Block. In fact I suffer from Overplotters Disease, but hey--that's better than staring at a blank page.

For me, the key to writing a story is imagery. And...hyperbole. Exaggeration. Taking a simple incident and expanding with humor and vibrant prose.

I have a scrapbook of news clippings filled with reports of human nature, Mother Nature, man against nature and the assorted odd-balls and weirdos to assure I'll never be at a loss for characters.

I keep a blank book filled with verbal bits, creative wording, quirky characteristics and Rayisms among the listings. The last is the stuff my husband says. He has a flair for imagery and a sharp-edged humor that has kept me laughing for over 25 years.

My life has given me enough incidents to keep me writing well into the next century. I wish I'd kept better journals through the years. I've done things that make for great character development in my stories. Instead I have to rely on memory.

One memory ended up in my romantic comedy, Southern Exposure.

Ray and I were living in Jacksonville, Florida. I had just waved Ray off to work, turned and there was a snake in my kitchen. It was not small either. I didn't whip out my ruler to measure. Instead I yelped. At first I thought it was fake. A Ray prank. Then it moved.

This is the so "me" part: I had a dentist appointment and feared I would be late. So I tried to broom it out the door. Instead it slithered under my cupboards. This was a cheap patio home and there was an opening under the dishwasher and cupboards. So I decided to stuff dirty laundry in the cracks and then deal with the snake when I got home.

Then the snake peeked from between the clothes (and I swear winked). I had to deal with him right then. Again, I swept him toward the door. It was spring and kinda chilly, so he battled to stay indoors warm and snuggy among my laundry. This went on for a long time. Felt like hours, more like minutes I'm sure.

Eventually, with my broom wailing, I sent the snake flying into the morning dew. A few months later we were scheduled to move from the state. The moving man removed my stereo from the armoir and asked if I wanted to keep the snake skin. He held up a skin about sixteen inches in length. I understood then why that snake fought me so hard. He lived with me! And what is so incredible...I had three cats in this tiny house and not once did they alert me to the snake warming himself behind my stereo. I'm still shuddering when I think about this and its been twelve years.

So. How did I use that experience in Southern Exposure? Here's the scene:

Kat awoke before dawn to wonder why her hair moved when she lay perfectly still. She had gone to bed with her head wrapped in a towel because Dean did not own a blow dryer. She would sneak aboard her yacht later to stock up on female essentials, but in the meantime, why was her hair moving?

With a quick hand she threaded her nails through her unbound locks, and brushed something the size of a pink school eraser. The eraser felt warm, fuzzy and squishy... with ears.

Unable to stifle a blood-curdling scream, Kat bound to her feet and danced around the room, shaking her head. The faint moonlight seeping into the room through the loft window did nothing to reveal the whereabouts of her assailant.

“Kat?” Dean stumbled up the stairs, looking dazed. “What’s wrong?”

Kat managed to turn on the lamp. “You have rats, Dean.” The lamp illuminated his horrified expression. “There is a rat in here. It’s huge. Loaf of bread huge.”

Dean grabbed the lamp, turning wildly in search of the monster. “Get downstairs.”

Already halfway down them, Kat fled into the kitchen where Dixie’s boys were crowded together.

“Look, Aunt Kat.” Hootie pointed at something in the corner. “Mickey’s hungry.”

Kat saw something small and black move between the boys’ feet. “Get out.” She flung each boy by the arm through the door onto the side porch. There she saw the broom she had used to sweep suds. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she ran back inside to face her enemy.

The black rodent sat on its haunches, gazing up at her. His white whiskers moved with the constant twitching of his nose. He had one white ear and a white spot on his tummy. Kat raised her broom and with the force of an avenging angel, brought it down--only to stop a fraction from its head. She had never killed anything in her life. Not a spider, not a fly. She loved animals, more than humans. But this rodent had been in her hair. She did a little impromptu dance at the ickyness of the thought.

Whimpering, Kat used the broom to push the mouse toward the door. It scurried under the table, and ran along the baseboard. She followed close behind, determined to rid Dean’s house of the pestilence. The mouse darted into the open and she pinned it to the floor with the brush end. “Ray-Bob, hold the door open.”

“But, Aunt Kat...”

“Do it.” As the boy obeyed, Kat position the mouse in front of the door. She saw Hootie and Bobby-Ray in the way. “Stand back.”

Once the porch looked clear, Kat lifted her broom. The mouse streaked for the kitchen closet; she wildly swept it back toward the door, and with a final thrust, sent it flying through the air into the early morning dew. Exhausted, she sunk to the floor. “You boys okay?” When they nodded, she asked, “It didn’t bite you, did it?” She scanned their hands for signs of festering wounds.

Hootie knelt next to her. “No, Aunt Kat. Mickey doesn’t bite.”

She ruffled his hair. “This isn’t Disney, honey. That mouse could have bit you. It could be sick with rabies.”

“Uncle Dean wouldn’t let Stevie have a mouse with rabies,” Ray-Bob said from the door.

The boy’s words took a moment to seep past the hysteria ebbing through her mind. “That was Stevie’s mouse? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Where’s Mickey?” Stevie’s scream ricocheted through the house. She bolted into the kitchen, her eyes wildly seeking evidence of her pet.

Kat rose to her feet, using the broom to keep her knees from buckling. “Stevie, I...”

“You killed him,” Stevie accused, her eyes blazing. “You killed Mickey.”

“I didn’t,” Kat defended. “I just put him outside.”

Stevie bolted through the door, her hysterical cries rising along with the morning sun. Dean entered the kitchen, his expression confirming he had heard everything. Kat buried her face in her hands. “I’ll replace him.”

Dean nodded. “Good luck.” What else could he say?

Putting yourself into a scene ensures it will spring to life. Even now, rereading how Kat battled Mickey, I again found myself in my kitchen battling that snake. So if you're struggling to bring a scene to life, look at your own life first. Unless you live in a cupboard under someone's stairs...I'll bet you have an experience worth writing about.

My Cup Runneth Over...onto the Plate...off the Table...all over the Floor

For the past week I've been OVERWHELMED. I am prone to hyperbole, but I assure you, this time I speak the truth. So grab a cup of coffee, or a Coke and a bag of Cheetos cuz I need to vent.

Whenever my husband leaves on business all hell breaks loose. I am always at the center of the storm but unlike hurricanes my storm center is not still and quiet. My center is a huge ball of stress that deprives me of sleep, sensible nutrition and most of all…quality writing time.

It started when Chauncie showed up holding her leg against her chest and steamrolled downhill from there. Chauncie has recently discovered a way onto the roof. How she gets up and how she gets down is a mystery. The first thing I thought was, of course, she broke her leg.

Chauncie has been with me for about 3 years but only in recent weeks has given in to my constant efforts to touch her. Not pick her up; touch her. I fretted a bit about getting her into a cat carrier, but she must have been one hurtin’ pup—uh, kitty because she let me move her. Turns out, she had a caustic burn on her paw, the leg after shaved showed it purple and swollen with a puncture wound. Since Chauncie ain’t talkin’ it will forever remain a mystery as to what happened. However, she could not be released until her leg healed so she had to be caged…in my sunroom…because…the morning I took Chauncie in, I grabbed another stray. I didn’t plan to grab JayJay but there she was, glowing with motherhood and my sanity left me. However the vet was short-staffed and could not give her an ‘operation’ until Thursday. It was Monday.

I put JayJay in the cat apartment in a roomy cage with a bed and litter box. She's never been indoors before, plus she’s never used a litter box. So she pees in the bed, ruining it. I pitched it out and gave her a mat with the blanket she used outdoors. Since JayJay now has the cat apartment, and the baby pool I use for a litter box, I had to create two additional boxes in the hall and dragged two cat trees out as well so the boys wouldn't riot. Meanwhile JayJay's yowls inspired me to release her into the room so she could stretch her legs. No. She wanted outside. I assured her life as an unwed mother will complicate not only her life, but mine too.

Keeping two outside cats in my home with several cynical males and one ultra territorial Queen tested my sanity. I forgot to mention I have begun cooking for my cats and removed dry kibble. I lost two cats to kidney disease; I have two obese cats, one asthmatic, one diabetic; one with FUS. No more kibble! This means I am accosted by six cats every time they see me--especially Nicholas, who at 20# is eight pounds overweight. Nick tries to run me down and trip me as I walk through the kitchen. Cries, hisses, yowls--demands for never-ending banquets prepared to their own particular tastes--drove me to the sanctuary that is my office. Behind closed doors I turned up the music and lost myself in my private writing world…only to be constantly interrupted by someone shaking the door, wanting in or tattling on someone else, accompanied by screams and sounds of gut punches and low kicks to the groin.

Thursday morning I took JayJay in for her ‘operation’. I had run out of cat food so I had a lengthy stop at the grocery store. I also had a noon hair appointment (noting my stress Hope offered me a big ol’ glass of wine; I guzzled gratefully) and then had to run back to vet to grab JayJay who would be recuperating with me for 7-10 days. I repeat. SEVEN to TEN DAYS. Schnit! As I pulled out of my garage my van made an odd sound that had me getting out to see I had a flat. Double schnit!

I text my husband in La La Land… Should I call AAA or what? Do not text—call me. I am driving. I set out for the vet about 15 minutes away. So what does hubby do? He texts me. Questions. I ignore him. I get to the vet to find the reception room chaotic and crowded. Joyce spots me in the crowd. She’s checking people out and can’t wave me through. Dr. Joe then sees me in the crowd. He grabs JayJay and brings her out for me, to which I’m very thankful. You’re probably wondering why would I expect preferential treatment? Why would I expect to be waved ahead of all the others? Ha! You’ve no idea how many times a month I’m at the vet or how much I spend monthly let alone yearly. My vet in Jacksonville was able to buy a four-wheeler and put an addition on the clinic because of what I spend. Yep. I’ve become accustomed to animal clinics knowing me by name on sight and waving me through.

Back to my issue. I’m on my way home with JayJay when again hubby texts. So did they fix the flat yet? It’s been perhaps 45 minutes. Get real, bucko! I ignore him. This time he calls. Poor guy. He can’t get a word in edgewise. I finally stop ranting to grab a breath and he asks if I’d like him to call AAA for me. YES! Back in the cat apartment JayJay shows me her operation scar and swollen nipples. She can’t have food that night but I bring her a treat around nine just as AAA shows up. I am so ready for that day to end, but it’s close to ten when I finally remember I never ate all day.

Friday. I’m finally able to sit at my computer for a nice chunk of time. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing; my cats are getting along and I have the windows open for everyone to enjoy the fresh air. I’m thoroughly absorbed in my editing when I hear a feline conversation over my shoulder. I turn to see Opie sitting in the window talking to Peaches who is on the other side. My office is on the second story. Holy mocha!

Peaches discovered Chauncie’s mysterious access to the roof. Something inside me turns mean. "You got up there, sister, you can get down." I ignore her cries to come in through the window. Meanwhile Opie is pawing the screen, filled with admiration and yearns to run wild and free with his girlfriend. I close the window and shoo Opie out. Peaches disappears. Good. She’s figuring out how to get down.

Anyone who knows me knows it is impossible for me to ignore the situation. Soon I’m in the driveway watching Peaches amble along the roof, looking for a way down. She’s at the peak, half way into a hole. I shriek! God knows where that leads and she could end up inside the living room walls…to which I would move out. I would pack a bag, my lap top and leave. Hubby would kill me anyway. Best I just give it all up and go. I call her, and thankfully she leaves the hole to come. She stands on the edge of the roof and makes a motion to JUMP! I scream NO! I’m eying a ladder, wondering if a stay in a hospital with a broken spine wouldn’t be better for me than just leaving. Thinking of someone waiting on me instead of me waiting on them…boy it was tempting.

I return to my office, yank open the window. Peaches is there waiting. It takes me ten minutes to figure out how to open the screen…I had to do some idiotic thing to the window, pulling it toward me and then the screen pops. Peaches is ready to climb in, but the window is slippery. I grab her and pull her in. And grab Opie before he goes out.

The next morning I had a deadly surge of insanity and tried to grab YumYum, yet another pregnant stray--a Siamese, if you can believe that! YumYum has been on the road awhile and is clearly not charmed by me like JayJay is. She left me a couple bloody scars and the knowledge she did not appreciate being handled As she is a hit or miss kind of stray, I never know when I’ll see her, it saddens me to know she will be bigger next time I try to grab her.

Then I asked Chauncie how her leg was feeling. She held her paw against her chest. It was the wrong paw. Sorry sister, but your stay at the Kozlowski Ritz is over. I shoo her outside. She shoos back in and leads me on a merry chase around the kitchen and sunroom.

That evening I brought JayJay out of the cat apartment to hang out with me on the sofa. She was sick of her own company and I gave in. A couple of the boys came by and weren’t all that surprised to see me hanging out with a new cat. They’re pretty much used to my insanity. However when Peaches came over to investigate, she smacked JayJay’s face. Peaches likes being the only Queen Bee, obviously.

Later that night, I stood on the lawn gazing at the full moon glowing orange in the night sky. It made sense then, seeing that full moon, and recalling the chaos I’d endured all week. A friend once said she thought my life with the cats would make for a funny reality TV series. To which I made a rude hand gesture and crossed her off my Christmas card list. You cannot understand where I’ve been unless you’ve spent the day by my side scooping litter.

Just hearing what my week was like should make you all very glad you are not me. Now take pity and buy my book. Click the cover photo and buy. Go on. Shoo!

Peace and Love! Kim