The Pet Psychic, the Persian Pussycat, & the Pistol
Although I’ve always been an animal lover, my heart (surprise, surprise) belongs to cats. That does not, it should be noted, make me a “crazy cat lady” (perceived sanity and gender nothwithstanding). My house isn’t overflowing with feline tchotchkes, nor does my wardrobe contain even one t-shirt covered with kitties frolicking in a field of daisies. (Stray cat fur wafting about is a whole 'nother matter, but we won't go into that.) So, when yet another feline-centric mystery landed on my desk, I eyeballed it warily. Would it be that rare beast, a genuinely-good book that happened to feature cats... or would it be just another tired schmaltz fest? (I swear, if one more mystery is solved by an adorable cat who walks over and puts his paw on the exact place in a conveniently-unburied letter to name the killer, I’m gonna lob that book at the nearest wall.) (Unless it’s on my Kindle, in which case I shall resort to mentally lobbing it.) Been there, don...