bw-cats-12Pardon this imagery, but…

Picture, if you will, a weathered old tom cat whose long ago lost its tail in some horrific incident involving a chainsaw, moonshine and a soused-to-her-gills granny. Now, this old cat is a mouser, a darn good mouser. He takes pride in his kills and occasionally, just ever so occasionally, drops his ratted booty at your feet to share.

You cringe, throw up just a little bit in your mouth, and then force a smile. “Thank you, Tom. Good murder. But it’s all yours.”

Not satisfied, Old Tom picks up the prized carcass, in lightning speed jumps and spits the dead mouse into your lap.

What are you to do? You love Old Tom, but frankly the ol’ fellow scares you a bit. It’s a healthy fright, one you’ve built a decade’s long relationship around. He occasionally kills for you and you occasionally slip the sweet kitty a bowl of milk. But still, you don’t have the balls to screech and run away from the assassin. Old Tom would catch you. So, again, what do you do?

You poke at the offering a little with a long stick (dropping it off your lap; you’ll burn your jeans later), grit out another grin at your mouser and coo “Let’s get you some cream to go with this, boy.”

End of unpardonable imagery.

Why the heck have I shared this grisly tale with you?

My creativity coming off a killer of a headache is Old Tom.

The dead mouse: my bloody poor writing.

I’ll leave the rest to you.

Until tomorrow…


Acclaimed author of 17 novels (my dogs and mother adore me), World traveler (I’ve felt the Sahara Desert between my toes… still gobsmacked over the stars in the Sahara) And survivor (of three dirty-fighting gremlins named Anxiety, Panic and OCD)… My name is Chloe Stowe. Hello. If you’ve found your way here, you’ve most likely arrived on the coattails of my blog, The Words and Madness of Chloe Stowe. Started in 2012, my daily rantings now number in the thousands. Ranging from humorous to moody, poignant to absurd, these tiny tidbits of thought began as a way to get my name “out there.” It has long since morphed into an effort just to “be there” for anybody out there struggling with words or madness, like me. Quick biographical sketch of me? Nerd turned nut at nineteen. In my sophomore year at Auburn University, I was taken out at the knees by severe panic attacks. Chronic anxiety soon joined the dogpile, followed shortly by OCD tendencies. Oh, it was ugly. I eventually had to quit school and soon quit life, as well. I spent a good chunk of my 20’s not able to leave my room. Twenty years later, it’s still can get ugly in my head. Thanks to meds and doctors, however, I am able to lead a better life, now. I still can’t work outside the house, but I can live and smile and write. So, here I am. Broken, but stubbornly present. I hope my voice proves company to someone lonely out there. Thanks for reading! Chloe Stowe

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