The pleasures of cozy

It was only this year that I learned what exactly a cozy mystery is. I sort of find the term odd. I guess I’ve read a few, particularly if you count Dorothy Sayers. And this year I have started the Stephanie Plum series of cozy mysteries, which I love. I first read #2, and later #1, which was so excellent—wow, could I ever feel the first book energy in it.

Anyway, the central drama these days in my life is our beloved cat, Petunia, being sick with cancer. She has been for months, but she has continued being her kitty self, so it was okay for the most part. But now she seems to be getting worse, and she’s become less often her kitty self. I can’t tell you how much we love this cat! Anyway, after a very sad day today of agonizing over what to do when, some books arrived in the mail from Amazon. I am such an addict of ordering books. And in spite of an outstanding roster of books I am currently reading: Demon Moon, My Fair Captain, and Karma Girl, there was the third Stephanie Plum mystery in that box, and it’s like the only thing I can think of reading.

I want Stephanie’s mom to make roast and exhort me to sit at the table and ask about my day, and do I want dessert? And what about that nice nephew of somebody? And for Grandma Mazur to appear wearing something outrageous, and for the father to be grumbling from behind the newspaper. And I want Morelli to be just this dependable guy, attracted, interested, but nothing dramatic. And Ranger always willing to show up. Cozy mystery seemed such an odd term, but now it doesn’t seem odd or wrong at all. There is something so wonderfully cozy about that world. It’s all about that world. Cozy and familiar. Always waiting for you.