Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales

It was just a little research for a book. How could it possibly go wrong?

Irecently submitted my new book Confessions of a Cat sitter (available on Amazon Kindle NOW! Plug, plug) to a publisher in the hope of a paperback release.

Anyway, the publisher came back with a strange request. They said they loved the book but would like me to completely re-write it. OK, so what bit of “loving it” had I misunderstood? Not only that but they’d also like it to be re-written as a romantic novel.

So, I thought, they want a different book, in a different genre, and very possibly by a completely different author. No, apparently the same book would be fine, I was assured, but the cat sitter of the title should find love in the course of his day-to-day cat sitting – and not with a tabby named Misty Mouser or the like, but with an actual human female.

The cat sitter being me, I wasn’t at all sure how my wife would react to my suddenly finding love while out cat sitting, and quite frankly, it would be very foolish to find out.

Obviously I am very foolish, so I began thinking the idea through. My first obstacle was, being mainly of no interest to women whatsoever, I’ve had no experience of flirting for over quarter of a century. To write

I’d research the thing by subtly flirting with the cleaners

a romantic novel, I’d at least need to know how people flirt nowadays – but how to find out? How could I switch from feline fatale to femme fatale when, by the very nature of my job (visiting houses occupied only by cats) I don’t actually see anyone, let alone flirty women.

However, I remembered, I do occasionally run into on-site cleaners and builders. Most of the builders tend to be male, and that would represent a genre switch too far, so I decided that I’d research the thing by subtly flirting with cleaners. I met two. The first spoke no English and kept pointing at the downstairs toilet every time I spoke. If this was a “pull” it wasn’t the stuff of romantic novels, and I’m pretty sure my nervous, twitchy attempts at mild flirtation just gave her the impression I was desperately seeking a lavatory.

The second cleaner’s first language wasn’t English either, but she spoke enough to make me feel an idiot (you don’t need much). After I’d given her three big friendly smiles, she finally asked “Why is your face like this? Are you not right, do you have the pain?”

So, with no source of flirty research available, I decided to give up on my publisher’s idea. I only know one other publisher and they, when I declined their offer for my first book, sent me a letter which included the line “Having read your book, and met you in person Mr Pascoe, I have to conclude that you are very much like your cat.” Bearing in mind the cat in the book was a clumsy lunatic, this was a cutting line indeed. I’m far too scared to talk to them again, so I think I’ll just stick with Kindle for now.

At least that way, Lorraine will never read a book involving “love among the litter trays”, and I get to stay married… and in one piece.

Chris Pascoe is the author of A Cat Called Birmingham and You Can Take the Cat Out of Slough, and of Your Cat magazine’s column Confessions of a Cat Sitter.