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In response to a request from Barb Taub, I am reposting this article from 2015. I raised the insects for the Silence of the Lambs. How that happened is sort of interesting…     I got a phone call one day in my lab from a colleague at the USDA in Maryland, where there was an active entomology group. The first thing I heard was “How would you like to get involved in a movie?” Being the attention hog that I am, I replied, “Tell me more.” “Well, it’s a horror movie.” “A horror movie? I don’t think so. They’re so shlocky.”     “Even one with Jodie Foster starring?”      “Well…” “How about Anthony Hopkins?” “Okay, sign me up. What do I have to do?” He explained to me that they needed Death’s Head Moths for the movie. I wasn’t raising these moths, and besides, they were indigenous to Europe and Asia, and there was no question of the government allowing me to import them. However, the adult of moth I did work with, Manduca sexta (otherwise known as the tobacco hornworm), did look a great deal like the adult Death’s Head. Soon after that, I received a call from the “insect wrangler” for the movie, who told me roughly how many of each stage they would need (larva, pupa and adult) and when. He also asked me a lot about how to get them to “act” – move around, be still, fly. So I got to work. We bought a trunk to transport them in and separated it into three compartments for the three stages, equipped with lights and a self-contained fan. I beefed up my colony to fit their time line, and bit actors from the movie came twice to collect the trunk and the insects. The trunk flew back to Pittsburg first class. I don’t know about the actor. The second time an actor visited, I pumped him about the movie. He told me the scene in which the policemen come into the room where Dr. Hannibal Lector is caged, only to find him gone but a dead detective mounted on the cage, was not rehearsed. In order to get a real reaction from the actors, they did one take. He said it was indeed horrifying. I also learned the pupa extracted from the young woman’s throat in the morgue scene was actually a Tootsie Roll. The scene in the basement with all of my lovely Manduca flying or crawling around was wonderful , at least to my eye. The adults were made to look like a Death’s Head moths with the addition of clear false fingernails, painted with the skull, glued to their thoraces. I didn’t see the picture when it was first released. As I said, I am not a fan of horror and dislike being scared to death. I did see it when it was released as a video. From the comfort of my living room, I realized it was a darned good movie. One thing I should have done, though, is visit the set. I could have, although I would have had to pay my way. Opportunity missed… 0 0

I recently reviewed Raven’s Choice, a book by Harper Swan, the premise of which is based on the discovery that at some point in time Neanderthal and Homo sapiens commingled and as a result, we all have Neanderthal DNA. I remembered reading about this in passing, and my interest became piqued while reading this book. So I did a little investigation… Some 200,000 years ago, the ancestors of modern man evolved in East Africa. They spread throughout the rest of the continent and then moved out into eastern Asia and western Europe. By the time modern humans arrived there, some 45,000 to 80,000 years ago, the Neanderthals had already been there for more than 100,000 years and established their own culture. As Homo sapiens journeyed though these regions, they encountered Neanderthals and at least once in a while, they had sex.  Neanderthals were not a hunched over, brutish people, hairy and with dark complexions. More recent have studies have concluded that Neanderthals were fair-skinned and probably with no more facial hair than modern man. They may have communicated by speech, made and used a diverse set of sophisticated tools, controlled fire, lived in shelters, made and wore clothing. They were skilled hunters of large animals and also ate plant foods, and occasionally made symbolic or ornamental objects. There is evidence that Neanderthals deliberately buried their dead and occasionally even marked their graves with offerings, such as flowers. No other primates, and no earlier human species, had ever practiced this sophisticated and symbolic behavior. Nevertheless, Homo sapiens and Neanderthals did not merge into a single people, and Neanderthal culture and purebred Neanderthals died out 35,000-30,000 years ago. Hypotheses for the manner of their extinction include a failure or inability to adapt to climate change or competitive exclusion by encroaching Homo sapiens. However, there was enough interbreeding that around 2.5 percent of the DNA in Asians and Europeans is Neanderthal. The skeletal remains of an individual living in northern Italy 40,000-30,000 years ago are now believed to be that of a Homo sapiens/Neanderthal hybrid, according to a paper in PLOS ONE. Genetic analysis was done on the individual’s nuclear and mitochondrial DNA. The nuclear DNA was mainly Homo sapiens, but the DNA of the mitochondria, which is are cell organelles containing DNA transmitted only from the mother, was Neanderthal. It was concluded the individual was the product of a female Neanderthal who had mated with a male Homo sapiens. Anthropologists have long wondered why, if Neanderthal and Homo sapiens brains were the same size, did Homo sapiens dominate? A functional comparison has revealed it was a matter of allocation: Neanderthal brains focused more on vision and movement, leaving less room for cognition related to social networking. Homo sapiens evolved distinct genes related to cognitive functions, metabolism and the development of cranial features, the collarbone and the rib cage. So when I’m acting a little primitive (which my children used to accuse me of), I can blame it on my Neanderthal DNA!     0 0

I chose to read this book more or less as a challenge. I do not like the romance genre, but this book’s description intrigued me. A back and forth in time (I’m a time travel aficionado) along with some serious scuba diving off the coast of Ireland. I’m Irish, what more could I want? Bottom line, I really enjoyed this read. The story is character driven, with not a lot of sex and heaving bosoms, but a real feeling of love between the four main characters: Margaret O’Donnell and her true love, seaman James Gallagher from the 1850s and Catherine Fitzgerald and Daniel Costello from modern time. James returns to Margaret from a long voyage, just before her marriage to a truly dislikeable man, Barnaby Athol. They drown at sea on the day of the marriage, supposedly as the result of a curse Barnaby had put on them that day as revenge for being jilted. A century and a half later, Catherine Fitzgerald, well known underwater photographer, is pulled from her lavender farm in Provence, France by the lure of a deep sea dive on a Spanish treasure boat off the coast of Ireland. The National Geographic wants her to document the find and any treasure recovery because the leader of the dive, Kurt Hennesy, has been linked to scavenging of such finds previously; her documentation will provide the basis for a special, while perhaps keeping Hennesy in line. Catherine is haunted by dreams from a near-death experience on a previous dive, but she convinces herself she needs to get back into the water. The adventure begins when she buys a very old Claddagh ring, a wedding ring, whom the outdoor market vendor got from a man who found it in a cod caught off the Irish coast. You can see where this is leading! It fits Catherine perfectly, but when she wears the ring to bed, her dreams become more intense, with a breaching sailboat and an old man with a white beard trying to save her. Then she meets Daniel Costello, a member of the crew and a nautical archeologist to whom she is relentlessly drawn. Unfortunately, Daniel is already engaged to an overbearing society woman. But wait! There’s more! Wonderful descriptions of colorful underwater life to which even this snorkeler could relate, a truly caring and perhaps still interested ex-husband, a daughter Catherine leaves with him while on the dive and worries about losing – perhaps to the ex-husband’s new girlfriend? – visions of a woman in a white dress who appears while Catherine is diving, and a very real elderly man with a white beard she meets while walking about the Irish village where the crew is staying- is he a ghost? Not to mention the growing feeling between Catherine and Daniel, complicated by his engagement, and the stealth of Captain Hennesy. There was enough tension to keep me reading as fast as I could. I recommend A Cry from the Deep. Give it a look! Diana Stevan is from Winnipeg, Canada. She has a Bachelor’s degree in Home Economics and a Master of Social Work.  Her career has been varied and interesting: she’s worked as a professional actress, model, family therapist and CBC television sports broadcaster. From all these experiences, she weaves her stories.  You can visit her at  www.dianastevan.com, https://www.facebook.com/dianastevan and on Twitter @DianaStevan           Welcome 0 0

I like books that travel back and forth in time, and this novella didn’t disappoint. The author uses the recent discovery that Neanderthal and Homo sapiens interbred and weaves just such a story. It begins in the present when Mark Hayek finds out from a company called Genetics and Me – which he had hoped would help him with Parkinson’s research – had actually tested his genome for Neanderthal DNA. And found it. The book then drops back in time to the Late Pleistocene era in western Asia, where a band of early modern humans, led by Bear and including Raven, a healer and sister to his wife, come upon a group of Neanderthals hunting bison. They drive off the Neanderthals and take the bison the group had killed for meat, but also take one who was injured in the attack as a prisoner. Raven takes a deep interest in the man, watching him closely. Bear throughout treats Raven, the new member of his family, with disdain, but nevertheless takes her as his mate, once the hunters have returned to their tribal home. Raven then uses what little hold she has over Bear to be allowed to reset the prisoner’s dislocated shoulder. As a former EMT, I found the description of this process to be spot on. Two things occur to confound Raven: her sister treats her coldly in response to Bear’s absence from the tent at night, and suddenly the prisoner is gone, freed to return to his own tribe. Intermingled with Raven’s adventure are details of early human life in tribal groups and wonderful descriptions of the tribal hierarchy, food, and hunting, creating a rich palette against which the story is told. You absolutely need to read this book to find out how Raven will handle her sister’s rebuke and whether Raven cares enough about the Neanderthal to follow him when he leaves. And what about Mark’s Neanderthal genes? This story is, to my untrained eyes, meticulously researched, and has a great premise. I am hooked and looking forward to the next novella. Harper Swan lives in Tallahassee, Florida with her husband and two sweet but very spoiled cats. She is the author of has Gas Heat, a story of family angst taking place in the Deep South, and is currently working on the next book of the Replacement Chronicle series. She has drawn on her interests in archaeology,genetics, ancient history and archaeological finds from Paleolithic sites to create the world of Raven’s Choice. You can find her on Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10769023.Harper_Swan) Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/Ravens-Choice-Replacement-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00QOGLFVM) and twitter (@HarperSwan1) 0 0

Part IV When they all returned to the living room, Mister, now ensconced in his special chair, asked them, “What in heaven are you three up to? You sounded like a herd of elephants going up the stairs!” “What’s an elephant?” Puss asked Willow, who had resumed his place on the end of the sofa and had extended his leg, licking it furiously. “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll tell us.” But no explanation was forthcoming. The next day, midmorning, Boots once again issued her challenge to Willow, who, although he was cleaning his rear end yet again, was ready for it. Once again the three cats raced out of the living room, slid into the far wall of the hallway as they tried to get a purchase on the wood floor, and galloped up the stairs. And once again, with a superfeline effort, Boots managed to be sitting on the edge tub when Willow ran into the bathroom, slid on the rug and hit the tub. “I’ll win tonight, I swear,” gasped Willow. Yes, you will, thought Boots. And none too soon. I don’t think I can do this again. *** At eight that night, Boots went quietly up stairs and found Mister running a bath. Perfect! She thought. I just have to wait until its half full. “Boots,” said Mister, as Boots stropped back and forth and around his legs. “What are you doing in here? You’re not going in my bath again.” And with that, he picked her up, deposited her in the hallway and shut the door. Boots sat on the floor like a Sphinx and looked at the bathroom door in despair. What do I do now? she thought. How can I get him to open the door? She thought some more. Of course, pretend I’m Puss! So she went to the door and pawed at it, meowing piteously. What a surprise!” she thought sarcastically when Mister opened the door, leaned down and petted her head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t want you in my bath, understand?” Boots darted down the stairs before he could turn and close the door. She didn’t hear it close, so the game was on, the only problem being the split second timing. Boots raced into the living room and hopped up on Mister’s chair next to Gracie, who was kneading away at an old sock. “Where’s Puss?” she whispered. “In the kitchen,” Gracie replied. “Where else?” “Time to start the diversion.” Gracie got up slowly, jumped down from the chair, and even more slowly hopped toward the kitchen “You owe me one,” she called back to Boots. Boots in the meantime had wandered over to just below the end of the couch where Willow was curled up. Ready, set… Just then the sound of hissing and yowling and food bowls clashing emerged from the kitchen. Missus got up from her end of the sofa and yelled to Mister, “Dear, get down here! Something’s wrong with Gracie and Puss.” Boots heard Mister’s steps in the upstairs hallway. “Ready to race?” she asked Willow, who was never interested in anything smacking of a real cat fight and was more than ready for the race. He leaped over Boots and ran straight for the hallway, sliding into the far wall with Boots on his tail. They encountered Mister coming down the stairs, while the howling and spitting continued from the kitchen. Gracie’s doing a good job of it, thought Boots. Willow hit Mister’s left leg, which elicited an exclamation Boots had never heard before, but he bounced off and continued up the stairs. Mister jumped and managed to avoid running into Boots, who arrived in the bathroom to find Willow sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at him with thinly veiled contempt. “Told you so,” he said. Boots leapt, propelling Willow into the tub and landing on top of him in the warm water. A great thrashing ensued, as Willow struggled to get out, clawing at the side of the tub, howling and spitting water. Eventually he figured out he could put his feet down on the bottom and he jumped out and sat on the bathmat, dripping and shaking himself. Boots continued to sit in the bathwater up to her neck, enjoying the warmth. Mister could be heard running back up the stairs. “What’s going on in here?” he exclaimed, taking in the sight of a wet and pitiful Willow on the bathmat, and Boots sitting in the bathtub. “Bad cats! Bad cats! What has gotten into you all tonight?” With that, he wrapped a towel around Willow and called Missus to come upstairs and take him away to dry. Missus showed up a second later and burst into laughter when she saw Boots wallowing in the tub. “Here, take him,” said Mister with not a little irritation. “I’ve got to get that cat out of tub so I can run another bath.” He leaned over and picked up Boots with one hand, pulled the plug in the tub with the other, then wrapped the dripping cat in a towel. Mister and Missus went downstairs and dried both cats with a hair dryer. Finally, peace was restored. Mister went back upstairs to draw another bath and this time, shut the bathroom door firmly. Missus returned to her end of the sofa and resumed reading her book. Gracie was already curled up in Mister’s chair, apparently none the worse for her ruckus with Puss, while Puss, the hair on her tail still ballooned out, was sitting on the bottom level of the cat tree, glaring at Gracie. Willow took his place at the other end of the sofa and began licking himself clean in long strokes of his tongue. Occasionally he paused to lick his paw and run it over his face. Boots was already pretty dry and jumped up on the sofa, heading for Missus’ lap. She needed some cuddling after all the turmoil, but she

Part III That afternoon, Boots and Gracie were curled side by side on the sofa. Gracie heard “Pssst!” and looked up. “I’ve got it,” Boots told her. “What have you got? Worms?” “No, silly, the way to get Willow in the tub.” “Shhh. He’ll hear you.” “No he won’t. He’s up on the kitchen counter, sniffing around for food. Puss is waiting below with her mouth open. Mmmm, I wonder if there’re any blueberry muffins up there?” “I don’t understand why you like blueberry muffins so much, but I doubt there’s any just lying out on the counter. Don’t change the topic. What’s your idea?” Gracie asked. “You and I are going to challenge Willow to a race up the stairs. Make it a game – who can get to the bathroom first? The first few times we’ll win, and we’ll finish up sitting on the edge of the tub. The third time, we’ll let him win.” “And then what?” “I’m working on it.” “But I’m not sure I can beat him up the stairs on only three legs.” “Well, I’ll win and you can follow him up, like you’re chasing him. Anyway, the night of the big dip, Master will have to be taking a bath and you’ll have to create a diversion to get him out of the tub.” “And just how do you think I should do that?” “Get into a hissing and spitting match with Puss. Roll around on the floor. Pull out some fur.” “Are you kidding? She’ll flatten me!” “Use your claws. You know she hates claws.” Just then Puss meandered into the living room, but not before crouching on the hardwood floor at the edge of the rug, sneaking forward and attacking a knot in the wood. “Honestly, Puss,” called Gracie. “You do realize that it’s just a mark in the wood, don’t you?” “Well, sometimes I think it moves,” Puss responded haughtily. “What are you two talking about? I saw you, you’re conspiring to get Willow, aren’t you? “Maybe,” answered Gracie, in an I-know-something-you-don’t tone and a wiggle of her whiskers. “And you know what I’ll do to you if you say anything?” “Not exactly, but I’m sure it won’t be nice. Still, I don’t like you ganging up on him. He’ll blame me and I won’t be able to snuggle with him anymore. I know he prefers Boots. He never hisses at her and he even tried to wash her last week.” “Yuck. Like that’s ever going to happen,” replied Boots, lifting her nose in the air. “Is that a blueberry muffin I smell?” And she ran to the front door, where Mister and Missus were coming in with packages.   That night after dinner, Puss, Boots and Willow were lying in a row on the couch with Gracie in Mister’s chair, all of them licking their whiskers. Boots said to Willow, “Race you up the stairs to the bathroom? I’ll bet with all that food you ate, you won’t even make the top stair.” “You’re on!” Willow assumed a crouch, wiggled his rear end, and with that, both cats, with Gracie following, raced out of the living room. As they rounded the curve into the hallway, their rear paws scrabbled on the wooden floor, and they slid in to the far wall with a mighty thump, then regained their feet and thundered up the stairs. Boots won by a hair and sat on the edge of the tub looking down at Willow, who walked back and forth in irritation. Gracie came in last and sat down to rest. “Wanna go again?” asked Boots. “Maybe tomorrow,” replied Willow. “I’ll be up there looking down at you the next time.” “I hope so,” said Boots under her breath. 0 0

Part II After dinner that night, Boots called a meeting with Gracie and Puss. Willow was on the cat tree, washing his face, and the ladies convened in the wash room, next to the kitty litter box. “Phew,” said Boots. “The box was just cleaned. What’s that stink?” “It’s Willow,” replied Gracie. “He can’t hit the box and just sprays everything. I think it’s a male thing.” “Can’t he be taught better manners?” asked Boots, flopping down on the floor and gracefully swishing just the tip of her tail. “I think Mister and Missus have tried, but I heard them saying they didn’t know what to do at this point. He can’t help it, he’s male. What they need to do is put a cover on the wall behind the box,” Puss suggested as she rubbed her face against the door jamb. “What about one of those enclosed boxes?” suggested Gracie, who was delicately sniffing out the location of the odor. “They had one where they kept me after whatever they did at the vets.” “Think, Gracie,” counseled Boots. “Would you like to crawl into a covered box with walls all covered with Willow’s spray? No, better to keep him in the open.” “Yuck, you’re right,” said Gracie. “So Boots, exactly why are we here?” “I’m tired of Willow ruling the roost. He complains constantly, eats from all our food bowls, and insults us from morning to night. Plus he’s always stalking me. He needs to be taken down a peg or two.” “I don’t think he’s so bad,” whined Puss. “That’s just because you are always mooning after him and trying to lie next to him. Have some pride,” exclaimed Gracie. “Look at how he insults you! So just how do you think you’re going to do this, Boots?” Gracie hunkered down on the floor and gave her coat an absent-minded lick in apparent disinterest, but kept one ear cocked towards Boots. “Well, that’s where the three of us come in,” Boots answered, walking over to the food bowls and looking to see if there was anything left. “I figure it will take the three of us to figure out what to do and three of us to do it. Are you in?” “Well, he did take a swipe at me on the couch this afternoon and then he tried to trip me when Mister and Missus called us for dinner,” commented Gracie. “And he took my place on the bed last night,” complained Boots. “You know I like to sleep curled up next to Missus, but he pushed me away and I had to sleep between the pillows where he usually sleeps.” They both looked at Puss and said at the same time, “Okay, what about you?” “Well, I don’t have that problem. I have my own bed.” Puss went and sat with her back to her two friends, looking out into the kitchen. “Yes, and you like to sleep under it. What a dodo. You’re supposed to sleep in it.” Puss’s tail switched back and forth in annoyance. “I don’t want any part of this,” she said rather crossly. “Then you’d better keep your mouth shut,” warned Gracie. “If you tell him what we’re up to, you’re toast.” “Hummpph,” said Puss, getting up and walking through the kitchen and into the living room, where she jumped up in Mister’s lap and mewed piteously. “Good grief,” said Gracie, as they followed her out. “There she goes again, crying for treats. Mister will give in to her, wait and see.” The next morning, after Mister and Missus had left for the day, Gracie and Boots met in the upstairs hallway. “So have you given any more thought to what we talked about last night?” asked Boots. She sat calmly, looking down the stairs to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard by Puss or Willow. “Where are they by the way?” “The last time I looked they were on the sofa,” replied Gracie. “Willow was washing his nether parts and Puss was inching her way over to lie beside him.” Gracie was crouched on the hall rug with her one front paw tucked under, watching Boots and switching her tail from side to side. “And yes, I’ve given it some thought, but no, I haven’t got a plan. How about you?” “I think I’ve come up with something. I had to. Willow ate my entire breakfast this morning,” and here Boots gave a half sneeze that sounded like a hair ball coming up. “All I had to eat was that tasteless stuff Mister gives to Puss to help with her weight. There was nothing else left. I’ve simply must get downstairs earlier in the morning.” “So? What’s your idea?” “It’s got to involve water. You know Willow hates water.” “Well, I don’t like it much myself,” commented Gracie, “but I notice you like to be on the edge of the tub when Mister takes his shower. Do you like water?” “I do. It’s wonderful stuff! I like to put my paw in the water when Mister is shaving in the morning and splash it around. I actually got in the bathtub with him one night, you know. The water was nice and warm and I was enjoying it, but he didn’t like me in there with him because he yelled at me and threw me out.” “What did you do then?” “I ran downstairs. It took me two hours to lick myself dry. Don’t you remember the morning Missus sat in the wet spot on the sofa?” “Oh yeah, all the yelling at Mister. Did she ever scold you?” “No. I heard her telling Mister she couldn’t scold me because it had been too long a time from when I got it wet and I wouldn’t understand. As if. Anyway, I got to thinking maybe there’s a way we could get Willow in the bathtub. The tub has to be full, of course.” “But how could we do that?”

PART 1 Gracie, Willow, Puss and Boots are four cats who live together in an uneasy truce, part of a loving household run by their two humans, Mister and Missus. On this particular day, Gracie lay curled on the sofa, soaking up the late winter sun that poured in the floor-to- ceiling windows of the living room. Willow, the only male in this clowder, joined her at one end of the brown leather couch, taking a swipe at Gracie’s head before plopping himself down on Missus’ favorite pillow. “You missed,” purred Gracie lazily. “And you’re not supposed to lie on that pillow.” “I missed on purpose,” replied Willow. “And I can lie anywhere I wish. You deserved a swat. You ate part of my breakfast this morning.” “Did not. That was Puss. Look at the size of her. She’s put on so much weight, it takes her five minutes just to get upstairs.” “I still think you did it. What do you think, Boots?” Willow asked. Boots, who was Puss’ slender sister, meandered into the living room, flopped down on the rug in the sun and began licking her sleek grey fur. “Oh it was my sister alright,” answered Boots. “Look at me, sleek as ever. I didn’t even like what they served for breakfast.” “You’re all so picky,” complained Gracie, the matriarch of the family. “You should just be happy you have a home. They’re nice people and they love us.” She began a vigorous tongue-washing of her light gray calico fur, arching her neck and extending her tongue to reach her chest. Just then Puss, the larger and darker gray version of Boots, waddled in to enjoy the sun, her middle swaying from side to side. “Are you talking about my weight again? I’m just large-boned, you know.” With that she flopped down next to Boots and started licking her paws. “Large-boned, my whiskers,” taunted Boots. “It’s getting so this rug isn’t big enough for the two of us.” And she gave Puss a pointed stare and rolled over, stretching out on her back with all four limbs up in the air, letting the sun warm her belly. She extended her toes in sheer pleasure. Puss looked at Boot’s belly as if contemplating a strike, but then looked at Gracie, still curled on the couch. “Who made you Queen Bee, Gracie?” she asked meanly. “You’re just sucking up to Mister and Missus because they rescued you from that wheel well. You’d be in a cemetery or landfill somewhere if Mister hadn’t taken the wheel apart and pulled you out. And then they tried to save your leg. Look how that turned out. You’d be better off pushing up daisies than hopping around on three legs.” “What bit you this morning?” Gracie replied. “I can run faster on three legs than you can on four!” With that, Gracie gave her coat one last lick and jumped down off the coach, hopping nimbly over the prostrate mound that was Puss. “Say what you like, but we’re all lucky cats. Look where they found you and Boots. Living under a trailer and foraging for food. I heard what they said. A lady who worked in the trailer claimed you ruined the insulation and gave them fleas!” Gracie shuddered. “At least I was clean.” And with that, she three-pawed it toward the kitchen While Boots continued to luxuriate in the sun, Puss lumbered ungracefully to her feet and ambled over to the cat tree. She leapt onto the bottom level, stretched up almost to the next perch, and began picking at the rugging on the tree. “Keep doing that, Puss,” called Willow. “With enough exercise, you might be able to get to the top.” Puss didn’t answer but finished stretching and picking, then sat upright on the platform and stared at Willow longingly. Boots continued making starfish paws while thinking, Willow’s meaner than Puss, but what can you expect from a male? Worse, in this case, he’s right. Puss hasn’t been able to leap to the top of the tree for several months. The last time she tried, she didn’t make it, hooked a paw on the edge and dangled until the tree fell over. Boy, she scared all of us. Boots rolled over back on her stomach and tucked her paws under her. He needs to be put in his place. But how? And what to do about Puss? She just moons after him all day.   0 0

The Haunting of Secrets by Shelley Pickens is really a YA novel, but I decided to give it a read because the premise – a high school girl who sees and feels all the memories of anyone she touches –seemed rather intriguing. Also, I’ve found a lot of other YA books very enjoyable (think the Harry Potter series, the new volumes of which I anticipated as much as my daughter). This book indeed held my interest, and I had a hard time putting it down – but looked forward to picking it up again, like a treat. The author has teenagers pegged: their brattiness and snide senses of humor, their brutal honesty, and of course their bullying. There were also rare kindnesses, providing sweet spots in the narrative. The action moved briskly and the author provided a few tantalizing hints of whom the villain might be. Sixteen year old Aimee protects herself from touch by dressing as a Goth in long black pants, long sleeve black shirts and black gloves. During her escape from the high school’s cafeteria following the explosion of a bomb in the room, her clothes are torn and she inadvertently makes skin contact with another student. This student is a butcher of young girls and the memories that flood Aimee’s mind are devastating. Worse, she has no idea who this boy is. Worse yet, he knows that she knows. Aimee is faced with a conundrum: how can she find this person and how can she identify his victims without revisiting his terrifying memories. She is helped in her search by her one friend, Dejana, who is willing to overlook Aimee’s idiosyncrasies and who brings in another student to help in the search. During this time, Aimee is bewildered, flattered and ultimately warms to the attention paid her by Logan, a handsome young jock who wants to protect her from her demons and the killer who begins to stalk her. The author does a great job portraying a first love with its angst and tremulousness. If there is anything of a drawback to this book, it is the fact that there was a great deal of narrative, particularly at the beginning. In other words, a lot of telling instead of showing, and there were areas where this repeated later in the book. The dialog is great, and I would have liked to see more of it as a way of telling the story. That being said, this book was really enjoyable and the ending had a kicker of a twist. It kept me on the edge of my seat and since it is obvious from the ending there will be a sequel, I am looking forward to reading it! From her blog site (shelleypickens.wordpress.com), I learned that Shelley is in love with anything on the dark side of paranormal. She is a former high school Spanish teacher who decided to take what she had learned about teenagers in the classroom and apply it to her writing. She’s done a great job in The Haunting of Secrets, which is her debut novel. This review will also be published by Rosie Amber; I am a member of her book review team. 0 0