"We have to make a confession," Owen said to Gilbert and Anne.
Leslie corrected him.
"You mean "you," not "we," Owen."
Owen said, "I have to make a confession."
"Sit down, Ford," said Gilbert.
"Thanks for the offer, Dr. Blythe, but - I think that it's best that I tell you, and then get out of here."
"Go on," said Gilbert.
Owen said, "My next book was going to have a doctor as the protagonist. A country doctor living on Prince Edward Island. A country doctor who led a respectable life as a Presbyterian elder, but who led a secret life as the devoted grandson of French Catholic Canadians."
Gilbert coughed.
Owen said, "But don't worry. Mark Twain killed the idea. Twain killed it after I killed one of his cats."
"You - what?" said Anne.
Owen said, "I killed one of Mark Twain's cats. When I went to visit him in Connecticut last week."
Anne said, "I don't understand."
Owen said, "I've always wanted to drive one of those new automobiles. As you know, they're banned here on the island. And, well, it just wasn't practical to drive one in Toronto. So when I was in Connecticut, I rented one. I drove to Twain's house for my meeting with him. Thought that it would be fun. Except - well, I ran over one of his cats in his driveway. Then, Twain killed my book idea about the French-speaking doctor. "
"Oh, Owen," said Anne. "You forgot the most important rule ever about having a writing career."
"Which is?" said Gilbert.
Anne sighed.
"Don't kill the cat."