No, I don't own a cat in a woolen hat, but I wish I did because it was so cold on Saturday -- at least by my wimpy Bay Area standards. I did bundle up in gloves and jacket to drive to the Alameda Library for a solitary writing session. It was well-heated there, but I was cold on the way home and even colder in the house. I could have used a kitten as an energy-saving device -- a purring heater curled up against my body as I read my mystery, which ironically took place in the dead of winter in Quebec. The characters huddled up next to fireplaces, sipped hot chocolate and ate buttered croissants to escape the cold. There was a lot of snow in the book. I haven't seen snow in years, but I imagined myself holding my mug of chocolat chaud as I sat there with them, discussing the case as I watched snowflakes freeze against the windowpane.
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