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There's an old saying: "If wishes were horses, we'd all get a ride." But what if wishes were schools of fish? What if they were prides of lions, or pods of dolphins? What kinds of wish could you get from those? This illustrated fantasy poem is a lighthearted romp through the animal kingdom and the names of their groups. For ages 3 to 9. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// Anne L. Watson is the author and/or illustrator of a number of children's books, including the Katie Mouse and Coco Mouse books, as well as the author of numerous craft books and novels for adults. Her illustrations for this book are imaginative collages of art by herself and by artists on Etsy, assembled and manipulated in Photoshop. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// SAMPLE "If wishes were horses, we'd all get a ride!"That's what you'd hear if your wish was denied. But when I consider, it leaves me perplexed -- If wishes were animals, what could come next? If wishes were fishes, whose groups are called schools,I'd wish that the teacher would sink all the rules. Or a passel of possums, the jills and the jacks,I'd wish I could hang out with them to relax. If they were flamingos, whose group is a stand,I'd wish for good balance, and strength in my hand. If wishes were elephants -- called a parade -- I'd wish for a clown and some pink lemonade. (lib)

Christmas is coming for Katie Mouse and the rest of the Mouse family! Papa strings lights on the house and takes Katie and her little brother, Dylan, to get a tree, while Mama puts up decorations and bakes cookies for Santa Mouse. Now, if only Katie could decide what she really wants for Christmas, so she can let Santa Mouse know!On Christmas Eve, Santa Mouse and his mouse elves arrive to leave gifts for Katie and Dylan. But Alvar, the newest elf on the sleigh, wanders off to explore, and winds up meeting the Mouse children face to face. From the elf, they hear all about the North Pole and the magical Christmas Door, which shows you what you want and need the most. Can Alvar help Katie discover her deepest Christmas wish? And can Katie help Alvar, when Santa Mouse accidentally leaves him behind?For ages 4 to 9./////////////////////////////////////////////////ABOUT ANNE AND MOUSE TOWNIn 2016, Anne L. Watson fell in love with felted mice by Bulgarian artist Diyana Stankova. Anne happened to be working on a housekeeping almanac, so she started photographing the mice, posing them in scenes with miniatures in dollhouses, to illustrate the book. Soon she was writing little stories about the mouse family, while learning to use Photoshop to manipulate their poses and composite their props and settings in a creative blend of toys, other photos, and purchased and free art. As Anne added more mice and other felted animals from Diyana and other artists, Mouse Town began to take shape. As might be expected, these adorable but pushy critters eventually demanded their own books, and Anne obliged with the Katie Mouse series. Besides her children's books, Anne writes literary novels and how-to books for grown-ups, on such subjects as housekeeping, soapmaking, and baking with cookie molds. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, with her husband and fellow author, Aaron Shepard, and a growing family of critters. /////////////////////////////////////////////////SAMPLE"What's the Christmas Door?" Katie asked with new interest.Alvar's eyes shone even brighter. "When the Christmas Door opens, it shows you what you want and need the most." "That sounds wonderful!" said Katie. "I can never decide that for myself." She sighed. "But I guess I could never go there."Alvar thought a moment. "You don't really need to. I could show it to both of you, right here.""Really?" said Katie, all excited. "Just close your eyes and look for a red and green door at the end of a path. I'll help you."Katie and Dylan closed their eyes. Snow swirled all around them, thick and soft. As it settled, they found themselves on a misty forest path with Alvar. The mist grew thinner, and out of it, a door slowly appeared before them -- red and green with gold trimmings, brighter than their Christmas tree. A gold key hung from the doorknob."What do we do now?" said Katie."Just touch the key, and the door will open," said Alvar. "Who's first?" (lib)

When Coco the mouse slips under a young spruce tree on his morning walk through the forest, he discovers a village of gingerbread houses and "Gingers" -- gingerbread men and women brought to life by magic. But all is not well in Gingerbread Village. The Magic that built the village and protects it from outsiders seems to be fading, and the Gingers don't know how to revive it. Can Coco find a way to help the Gingers? And even if he does, can they trust him enough to let him? Anne L. Watson creates a magical tale of friendship offered, rebuffed, but finally rewarded. For ages 4 to 9. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// Anne L. Watson is the author/illustrator of the Katie Mouse books, as well as the author of numerous craft books and novels for adults. Her illustrations are imaginative collages made from photos of felted animals, miniatures, and real-life objects, along with graphic arts creations and textures from Etsy and elsewhere, all assembled and manipulated in Photoshop. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// SAMPLE "But how did you come alive?" asked Coco in wonder. "We don't really know," said Leo. "When Cassia and I woke up, we were in a batch of cookies cooling on a kitchen counter. But none of the others came alive." "Somehow, we knew we were going to be eaten," said Cassia, "so we climbed down and ran away." "We didn't know where to go," Leo went on, "but the Magic led us to this forest. Then just like you, we came in under the Tree -- the door to Gingerbread Village." (lib)

"Dealing with a dog, to put it crudely, is like dealing with a person who's a bit dumb. Dealing with a cat is like dealing with a person who's more than a bit crazy." When a stray kitten romps into Lynne's life, she has no idea what she's getting into. As Lynne describes in letters to her friend Angie, Skeeter is all cat -- high-spirited, contrary, and inventive. He's so goofy that he reminds Lynne of her own nuttiest escapades; so irrepressible that even Lynne's neighbor, Mark, gets wound around his paw. And when Angie visits to see Skeeter for herself . . . Well, no one who meets Skeeter will ever be quite the same again. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// ABOUT THE AUTHOR Anne L. Watson, a retired historic preservation architecture consultant, is the author of numerous novels, plus books on such diverse subjects as soapmaking and baking with cookie molds. A former resident of San Pedro, California -- the setting of "Skeeter" -- Anne currently lives in Friday Harbor, Washington, with her husband and fellow author, Aaron Shepard. ///////////////////////////////////////////////// SAMPLE January 29, 2000 Dear Angie, Skeeter is not entirely happy about the way we live. For example, he doesn't like my going to work. With more justification, he disapproves of some of my attitudes. Most of my experience with animals is with dogs. In a relationship with a pet, I elect myself pack leader. Cats are not pack animals. Skeeter, a democrat, considers us equals and resents my bumptious ways. This is particularly true when it comes to food. I buy various kinds of food for Skeeter so he won't become too set on one type or flavor. I had a friend in high school whose cat, Sparkles, would eat nothing but Kitty Queen Tuna. No other brand would do, even people tuna. Kitty Queen Salmon would not do, either. My friend's family had Kitty Queen Tuna crises, when none could be found. "Did you try the all-night drugstore?" "We went there last time, remember? They don't have it." The cat probably would have starved before it ate anything else. My friend's mother had a strange relationship with the cat. She believed Sparkles to be the reincarnation of her own mother, long deceased. So the cat ruled the household. I am not going down that road with Skeeter. A gauntlet has been thrown, though, regarding turkey. Till last week, he ate it with obvious enjoyment. The two cans I've given him this week have gone untouched. Someone said it might be spoiled, that I should smell it. A longtime vegetarian, I think meat always smells spoiled, but I gave it a whiff. Disgusting, but not rancid. I won't buy it again, though, if he feels that way. This morning he got beef, which he accepted. In fact, he made a pig of himself. After breakfast he returned to the bedroom, belching alarmingly. "Would Monsieur like a potato with the steak next time?" I asked. "Perhaps a small glass of red wine?" Monsieur looked interested. "A salad?" No sale. I think I'll continue being pack leader. Like all despots, I perpetuate Skeeter's servitude by monopolizing the means to freedom: the checkbook, the car keys, the can opener. It's unfair that I should be the leader just because I'm bigger and smarter and have opposable thumbs. But it's going to stay that way as long as I can manage it. If Skeeter is the reincarnation of my mother, she can learn to eat what she's given. Love, Lynne