Fledgling sorceress and indomitable cat. A mob’s fury. A sinister contact. Can they and their master-sorcerer protector survive it all?
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Author: P. M. Griffin

An outburst of her newly awakened, uncontrolled sorcery talent made twelve-year-old Dory a fugitive. Trouble, her indomitable cat, led her into a walled garden minutes ahead of the mob pursuing her. There they encountered the owner, Martin, a powerful sorcerer. He listened to their story in growing excitement and offered to teach and conceal his guest – but the price would be high.

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Title TROUBLE the Cat
Author P.M. Griffin
Genre Fantasy
Release November 21, 2017
Designer Charlotte Volnek
Length 59 pages
ISBN 978-1-77127-976-5
Price $3.99
Tags Sorcery, magic, cats, mob, poison


Shouts, the bellowing of many voices sounding together, shattered the early morning stillness.

Trouble yawned and, wriggling free of the girl’s hold, stretched himself. Stupid human herd! Did they imagine she would come to them when they summoned and threatened in the same breath?

The girl, however, was terrified. She leaped to her feet. “Oh, Trouble! They’re sure to find us! They’re on the street, and there’s no other way out of this alley!”

“The fence, foolish one. That is why I brought you to sleep here in the first place.”

She could not hear him, of course. That would not come for another few months, not until the attaining of her physical womanhood opened her inner ears and voice, but for the moment, that was just as well. Humans were trying, all of them, and he sometimes found it difficult to restrain his sarcasm when dealing with them. She did not need that right now, poor kitten.

Dory looked about her in despair. Three-story buildings towered on either side, and a fifteen-foot brick fence walling off some comfortably fixed person’s courtyard was in front of her. Behind was the only exit, and that was blocked by the presence of Jocko and his cronies.

She had to do something! The communal voice of the mob was getting distinctly louder, and those comprising it were indeed searching every possible hiding place for her.

The fence had to be it. Trouble was already sitting upon it, patiently waiting for her.

It was too high for her to reach its top unaided, but there was plenty of debris scattered about including a number of big wooden crates, empty, fortunately, but sturdy enough to support her not terribly crushing weight.

With fear to drive her, she soon had the biggest of them, that in which she had slept, dragged over to the fence and a second, smaller one placed on that. By standing on them and stretching herself to the full, she was able to get her hands over the top.

Voices! Those hunting her would be on her in a moment! She half scrambled, half hauled herself up the rough-set bricks and hoisted herself over the narrow top. Without pausing even to look, she dropped down the other side, first lowering herself on her arms as far as she could to make the actual fall as short as possible.

Dory sat up. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. She had escaped one firepot, temporarily at least, but it was only to leap headfirst into a second. She had landed in a garden, in a bed of alternating yellow and white flowering shrubs, and the gardener was standing not twenty feet from her.







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