Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

Pen looked at the man laying on the ground in front of her. He was older, heavy set, slightly disheveled looking, and he was familiar. But the mustache there was something about the mustache. She reached out with one gloved hand, took the outer edge of the mustache between two fingers, and pulled. The mustache began to come away from his face. She recognized him. “Scotch, could you come here for a moment.” She whispered into her microphone. “Please? We have a problem.” “Was the job done by another agency again? Relax Pen, it’s another freebee.” “It’s not that he’s already dead. It’s the victim. You need to come over here.” Pen responded. “We are working out in the open this time. Need I remind you that you are on a timer.” Scotch looked up and found Pen glaring at him. “Stop acting like such a...supervisor and get over here.” She said as she took him by the arm and led him to the body. Scotch’s smile disappeared when he saw their ta

“Too dangerous? Why? What’s going on? Does it have something to do with our new friends?” Pen’s questions were met with silence. “That’s a great big ‘yes.’” She said. “What?” Pen rose from her seat. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘No answer is an answer?’” Scotch shook his head. “It must be something that circulates through the colonies.” He responded without looking at her. “The colonies? First I’m a rotten spy and now I’m, what, an errant child?” No answer. “Scotch. Scotch are you with me?” She asks, snapping her fingers. Scotch does not respond. It had been a very long night and Pen was losing her patience. “Do this. Don’t do that. Go here, don’t go there. You’re a spy, figure it out. No, nothing is wrong. You can’t leave because you’re in danger. Your inconsistencies are infuriating.” She said. As she turned on her heel the fabric of the robe flowed around her legs. “It’s classified.” He muttered. She turned to face him. “What?” Pen asked quietl

(Late Afternoon –Office Setting) Scotch leans over and whispers to a woman at a desk who is typing. Scotch: You know what I think you should put in the story? The bad guys following me around is cool and everything but I think that it’s time for another dead body. Maybe I could hear something and chase someone into the darkness, a gun could go off and then Pen… Pen: What are you doing? (looks around) This is work. We aren’t supposed to be here. Scotch (looks at Pen and smiles): She’s typing, where else should we be? Pen: Waiting...at home. She’s work-ING. Scotch: Exactly she’s working. We need to be here to help. (Scotch leans in closer) What we really need is some action. Big action. You know what I’d really like to do? Bungee jump off of Big Ben. It’s dangerous, it’s exciting...readers will flock to us. Pen (To Scotch): She’s working. Let’s go home. Scotch ignores Pen and watches the woman type. He stops smiling. Scotch: My name is not on

Let’s try something new this year. A holiday message. A reflection on 2019. My hopes for 2020. It was cold last night but much of this winter has been warm so far, in my neck of the woods, anyway. Rain instead of snow. There have been only a couple of mornings of frosty roofs and windows. Regardless my bed is still piled high with blankets, old houses can be drafty at times. We still have wind. If we have nothing else these days. We have wind. Plenty of wind.  Christmas came early this year. Did you notice? People put up their trees and lights when I was still saying good-bye to Halloween and as a result Christmas decorations have come down early too. I’m the only one I know who has not already packed up Christmas. I remember when people didn’t put anything away until after New Year’s had come and gone. I miss that.  With my father passing in November, once I found the energy to decorate for Christmas, I have held fast to the changes around the house. I don’t want to g