My journal of big words and pretty pictures
From the beginning... “Were these actually used to cook in?” Jodie sat cross-legged on the hearth of the great hall fireplace facing the back of the firebox. She looked up into its black, soot-stained throat. “The logs they burned must have been ginormous,” she mused, her voice echoing in the capacious chamber. Flynn had jumped … Continue reading Bringing down the house
“Do you have the young wench under your control yet?” Flynn smacked the white squirrel’s nose in rapid succession until Cyril yelped in pain and scurried away. “You needn't have done that,” Cyril rubbed his sore snout, glowering at the warrior cat. “I won’t abide any disrespect toward Jodie,’ Flynn returned Cyril’s glare, hissing through … Continue reading What the squirrel knew
“Are all feline familiars black?” Jodie and Flynn curled up together on a tapestry rug in front of the smoldering fireplace like an yin and yang symbol. Of course not,” he purred. “I’m not entirely black.” Flynn swished his tail, gently touching Jodie’s arm with its white tip. “Do different colors mean anything?” She flicked at … Continue reading A sharp dressed man
“Life must be good, old sport,” Cyril sidled across the travertine terrace toward Flynn, his nose sniffing the air and his voice dripping with subservience. Flynn stretched languidly, eyes closed, mouth wide, his fangs flashing a brilliant white. The creamy, walnut-hued courtyard tiles remained cool even under the hottest sun. Flynn lounged there most afternoons, … Continue reading A proper introduction
“Back in the day, would I’ve been a villein?” Jodie and Flynn snuggled on her bed for their nightly chat. “I can’t imagine you as a ‘bad guy’ in any era,” Flynn purred, offering his belly for scratching. “No, silly, not ‘villain’, ‘ain’,” Jodie giggled, tickling him with both hands. “I mean ‘villein', ‘ein’, like … Continue reading Family history
Flynn luxuriated in a pool of sunlight pouring through the bay window, his tail lazily swatting at dust motes playing in the amber stream. His person, Jodie, was in a similar posture in a plush chair near the window snuggled under an old, crocheted afghan. She wavered on the edge of sleep, her eyelids heavy, … Continue reading Her man Flynn
Thin spiral notebook 