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This Novel eVersion is the last PDF version before I was forced to evacuate for medical treatment.  What in this book possibly led to someone increasing harassment and Laser Taser Zapping?  If you can find it Join our WHO DUNN It CHALLENGE.

Scene opens to a beautiful golden-brown cat with dark tipped tufted ears and a baby Siamese kitten 3 feet behind her playing follow the leader. The mountain looking cats slither out between louvers in a Spanish casa window. If you’ve never been to outer islands, windowpanes are akin to slats on blinds, where louvers are the panes of the window itself. It’s easier for the 4-month-old top cat o da litter to squeeze through than it is for mama. Single file on tip toes, they tightrope walk the 1-inch top of the black wrought iron balcony railing that spans the house. It’s a 20 foot drop below. In sync, mama and her baby jump 8 feet to the pool house roof next door. They scamper across only to jump down an angling tree branch then prance down to the lawn below.

No fireman is needed to get these cats down from anything. If you didn’t see it yourself, you’d never believe it. They let themselves out that way every day after they come to greet me when I get home. Never did catch them inside, so not sure if this is only a one-way routine. I do often come home or wake to gifts on my front doorstep. Mostly dead baby chicks. The little one is so much smarter than mama. The first time that baby kitten brought a half dead baby chick inside mi casa, I screamed “GET THAT OUT OF HERE” loud enough to wake the dead, as my beloved grandma used to say. I chased him out before he set it down. He never brought me such horrific gifts again. Mama cat is not nearly so bright. She keeps bringing n bringing these unwelcome gifts.

Me, I’m inside, sitting in my red recliner. I didn’t pick it. Came with the house. Too high quality to toss; too expensive to replace. I’ll just live with red leather in an otherwise not red room. Seriously? A glitch in the software again as I turn on the computer. OMG almost lose the whole file. WTF? Plus, 3 days in a row, a large heavy indoor palm plant moved all by itself. The one right in front of the window. The second night I awoke from that unsettling dream — someone running across the hall. Or was it a dream? Did they plant a bug in my computer? Try to crash it? Are they copying files?

Or are they here to check out 5000 pages of draft copy? That fits with the couch moving on its own again too. Really? 8 inches forward and 6 inches to the side? Yes, a man’s 8 inches. Right where you can reach my diary, log, and drawings. Sure makes accessing my papers easier. It appears someone is interested. If only I knew who. The crazy thing is that there are so many unusual suspects who’d benefit from my schtuff. This ain’t no Clo-Dumbo episode with only one suspect. NOTE: Since I submitted this to the Publisher, they reviewed old records and busted the guy who took down the PanAm flight that took down PanAm. Not implying causation, just citing facts.
So many possibilities exist that it blows one’s mind. My diary, pictures, visualization boards are rife with great sex scenes, stunning underwater panoramas a lot of drama-trauma from love unrequited and requited. There’s quite a bit about how men mess up the life of a good woman, and vice versa. Well not so much versa. Its love stories. Its corporate plagiarism. Its paintings. Its pictures of paradise found in a vivid colorful world under clear blue tropical waters. Serenades abound from a hot young musician’s guitar that transports me to outermost galaxies. The trip is now in full color thanks to NASA’s recent release of Webb Telescope photography. Before my flight was in a black box, now it’s in full color as I hop n skip from galaxy to cartwheeling galaxy.

The hard part, the pain, the death-grip hold someone puts on love consummated by outlandish deals crosscutting underground drug dealers, prescription and otherwise, international intrigue, all under the auspices of Big Brother’s ever watchful eye. How to distinguish between coincidence and intricate connectivity? Does he want me as much as I want him? Or is it just another illusion to trap me in this limbo where everyone else profits from my work and disability? Damn even Rehab is happier with me home 95% of the time. Even my cat’s life is better than mine! Not that I begrudge him that for he is my little lover boy. Yes, even that statement was twisted by those inclined to discredit me, as though that is a sexual statement. I mean, REALLY. When there are so many hot willing young men, why would I need a cat? Gimme a break!
I’m just a dive instructor who wanted a Mom n Pop Scuba Shop of her own and couldn’t get it together with the right Pop. We can all agree, not for lack of trying. Oh, the stories I will tell, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Another habit I just can’t kick. I’m either ahead, behind or doing 3 things at a time. FOCUS, they say.

My reply? I am focused. Just on many things at once. They say most people can handle 2 or 3 things going wrong at once. Many can handle 4. 5? Very few. 5 or more is where that universal answer lies to a plane crash or inexplicable ship run aground, Pilot Error. Me? I’ve gotten pretty good at handling 8, 9, even 10 crises at a time. Can’t seem to get out of that rut. So many hurdles leaves no time for taking care of me.
That sliding glass balcony door ain’t moving itself either. The rail is NOT self-cleaning. It was way too heavy for me to move it before, much less now that I’m hobbled. House Bound. Chair Bound. Can barely walk. Unless you call it walking and normal when you must use bands to lift your legs so you can take a 12 to 18 inch stride, lift your legs more than 1/2 an inch and crutch for a block once, maybe twice a day. I don’t.
My crutching is pretty much limited to what you can do with Achilles Tendons, hamstrings and toes. Toes strong and skinny now after 2 months balancing my full body weight on crutches. No longer my typical 125 pounds, 139.9 ain’t bad, but it’s more than I’d like and now mostly about my middle. UGH. That is until this injury. One teensy tiny sliver of silver Christmas tinsel in an otherwise long, bleak winter is my middle looks better. Yes, that is a palm tree against an emerald green volcanic mountain backdrop, or as they say here, Esmerelda Verde, in the background. Bleak is a matter of perspective, is it not?

Unfortunately, the Workman’s Comp doctors are calling that walking, and normal. A far cry from my former yoga dancer-cise routine, which to jazz it up included doing the YMCA with my legs and cheerleader high kicks and splits. Yes, still can do the splits. In high school, I was the one they’d lift to do the splits across two sets of shoulders. I’ve done some version of leg exercise a couple times a day ever since. Tina Turner legs don’t just happen, now do they? Had I only taken out the policy she has with Lloyds’ of London all my worries would be over. But who would ever think after all those daily leg exercises my entire adult life either leg would ever fail me, much less both. At the same time! I could leg press 220 pounds, for heaven’s sake.

Yes, I finally get back in the pool by dropping down on my bum and bouncing in. Then I do a few bounce laps. A week after I start my bounce, “Big Miracle” hit my music feed again. That’s the movie about saving three whales trapped under the ice where they bounce out of the water just long enough to catch a breath before going back under. Must be what I look like if you’re flying a drone over or watching from a neighboring high-rise. Couple weeks later a new reggae song, “Bounce” a collaboration of 3 favorite musicians hits the radio waves. Next thing, all the little kids in the pool are bouncing too.

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