A cup of coffee on my desk. Me, squinting at the second proof copy of Dark Partition, hunting for one more flaw. At the same time, making final changes in Scrivener.

Will it ever end?

Well… it has to.

Malta—so much has been written about this island. But I’m not here to write another tourist guide or add yet another ‘sugar-coated’ opinion to the unrealistically sweet image that resides in the minds of millions.

Instead, I want to share my story.

Why would I write about psoriasis?

Because I have it. Because I thought that if I shared my experience, it might help or inspire someone.

Every cat I served, and continue to serve, was and is The Cat. But that cat was the one that actually had the patience and willingness to teach me things about cats. He was old, 12...14 years of age, when we met. Maybe he knew he didn't have much time left, and I was the only one who followed him.

I’m not one of those who wake up at night to check their IG feed... or FB… or Twitter… Sorry - X. I don’t sit on the toilet half-awake, half-asleep, squinting at my phone, struggling to see through blurry, sleepy eyes how many likes a selfie with a giraffe’s balls—or wait, was it an elephant’s?—received in the last three minutes.

When Cookie was just two months old, he jumped and broke both his hind legs. The X-rays showed transparent bones—severe calcium deficiency at its best. Nasty stuff.