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  • Writer's pictureRobert Sadler


Updated: Jun 20, 2022

Continuing the theme OEAB of my last blog. As One Ends, Another Begins.

Writing is an on-going, self-sustaining compulsion, at this stage. Writing is fun, Writing is hyperactive, both kinetically and mentally. Writing is consumptive of time and your mental space. Writing is also like being in a another or parallel universe of one’s own imagination.Writing therefore is inspirational in and of itself—when your characters bring their stories to you and share with you their actions, words, deeds, hopes, desires, dreams, etc., and you, the author, are then privileged to record their all, whether on paper or the luminous screen of a computer monitor, what a joy!

So even as I am days away from completing novel #23, Milk & Cookies. I have, yes, already started writing book #24 Cat With One White Stocking.

As of this blog post, I know not where Cat With One White Stocking is going. Just like I don’t know, even at this late stage, where or how Milk & Cookies is going to finish—I just know it is close.

But I do know where Cat With One White Stocking starts.

There’s always a beginning… and I am there. Would you like to go along?


SALLY APRIL WAS admiring her new shoes as she walked along the smooth cement path that led around the complex’s main attraction, a well-shaded, well maintained Japanese garden.

It contains two gray-black boulders with a green cedar bush in between, manicured like a bonsai-tree, and raked rows of gray-white sand on three sides of a coy pond.

Three large coy live there. One almost fire engine red and a white one with an orange spot on its head that encompasses his or her left eye. The third is a black and white calico.

Still ten feet away from the pond Sally heard purring and looked up.

A cat was stepping gingerly, as cats do, over several mottled rocks set at the side of the pond. The rocks were part of the pond and the path.

The cat had a dark brown face, was tan on the neck with a salt and brown-pepper coat, a white under belly and, Sally assumed, white legs.

When the cat moved beyond the rocks she could see it only had one white stocking.

“That’s Katherine’s cat! What’s she doing out?”

April called the cat’s name, which she thought was silly and appropriate at the same time.

“Kat-Kat. Here, Kat-Kat.”

The cat meowed, turned and lifted her left rear white stocking leg. Sally saw blood, then the trail of bloody paw prints on the path ahead of her.

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