It’s been a terribly exciting time on the kitten front. This week we agreed a UK publishing deal with the fine people at Hodder & Stoughton, which places us in very good company indeed, sharing shelf-space with such literary giants as Stephen King, the Dalai Lama, Louise Wener and yep, you guessed it, the mighty H&*h F#@^$#%y-Whittingst*ll. Serendipity all round.
What’s interesting is that people are now taking my fascination with animal cuteness a great deal more seriously than they ever did before: get a book deal, become an expert. Three examples:
1. I get a phone call, out of the blue. Someone has just read a piece about panda bears in the Daily Telegraph. Would I like them to scan a copy and put it in the mail?
2. I receive at e-mail, out of the blue. Someone’s cat is just about to give birth. Can I offer any advice to make the process a little easier for all concerned? Yours, Tammy, aged eight and three quarters.
3. Another phone call, out of the blue. Someone has just taken in an abandoned kitten. Before they call the animal protection league, would I be interested in offering the little fella a home? It’s the loveliest kitten ever, no really.
This is all very nice, of course, and I don’t mind one little bit. I’m just a little concerned that my reputation will become infused with such grotesque levels of fluffiness that I’ll find it impossible to find a home for my next project, in which I travel the World cooking outsize food for the crazed, despotic leaders of widely reviled regimes. Accompanied by a penguin.