In memory of " Genoa "

who passed over last Memorial Day weekend. Don't worry, hon… good cats go to heaven. If they didn't, what's the point of people getting there? Sleep safe, and say hello to Sister Foozle 'til we all meet again.

And to the two new "Bubbas"

who turned up like the shepherd in Terry Kay's To Dance with the White Dog on the counter of the vet's office like serendipity. Mostly white-furred, playful, mischievous, clever, impish, and talkative Mosby and Forrest! You boys get outta the dish cabinet right now, hear?

Troubles hurt the most when they prove self-inflicted.

Sophocles

Supping with his father was not exactly Alan Lewrie's idea for how he had intended to complete his personal celebrations, after a day of honour and fame, but after the disastrous shambles in Hyde Park he found himself at rather greater than "loose ends," with his only ally in the world that cynical Corinthian, that shameless old rake-hell and charter member of the infamous Hell-Fire Club; to wit, Major-General Sir Hugo St. George Willoughby, Knight of The Garter, with his sardonic, acidic jollity, with his perpetual leer for all things feminine…

But he was paying, so…

Given Sir Hugo's "sportin' " nature, it was no wonder that they had ended the evening at The Cocoa Tree, one of the fastest gambling establishments in London. Ostensibly a proprietary coffee-house where men of the Tory persuasion were wont to gather, it set a magnificent table, and was all "the go" with those wealthy enough (or foolish enough!) to riffle the cards in the Long Rooms or lay side wagers, even to take an "insurance policy" on someone else's life; i.e., to wager just when a certain cove would croak!