A couple of Miss Mousie's friends wrote about her on blogs today. Miss Mousie wants to say thank you and tell people about their posts.
Lynn Kerstan, Lymond's can-opener if you've read her Author & Their Cats "Aristocat" post, wrote about Miss Mousie and the West Columbia Gorge Human Society in a post titled Lives In Our Hands on Storybroads. Click http://storybroads.com/2012/08/lives-in-our-hands-lynn-kerstan/ to read it.
Romance writer and cat lover, Bailey Stewart also mentioned Miss Mousie and our fundraising endeavor on her blog, Long and Writing Road. Bailey tells a touching, bittersweet tale about how she knows what it's like to have a cat, in her case the beloved Devlin, who needs expensive medical treatment. You can read her post titled For the Love of a Cat by clicking here.
Thanks again for everyone's support of Miss Mousie. It's much appreciated!
Interview with a Multi-Genre Author
Meet Jane Toombs and Kinko...
Cat's name: Kinko
Sex: Female
Age : 17
How long have you had the cat?: Since she was a kitten.
Where did you get the cat?: Private home. The lady put seven kittens down in front of us and this white calico with the black tail walked straight toward Elmer and me, then sat down to check us over She’d picked us out, so of course we had to take her home.
Favorite pastime: Kinko used to be hang on the back of a wooden chair batting at her tail, She still does this occasionally even as an old lady.
Interesting quirks? Kinko’s not really fond of anyone except us--Elmer and me. She’s learned to be a great traveler in her cat carrier because we always took her when we went places. She’s been everywhere. But she always wanted to be safely in the carrier, never outside it when in the car.
How does he or she like being a writer's cat? She curls up in an adjacent chair so she can keep an eye on me, making a remark now and then so I know she’s still there. She isn’t interested in in what I’m doing, just wants to be close by.
Has he/she ever been in one of your books?: Not her, but I do put cats in my books.
Anything you else you might want to say about your cat or your cat about you? Both Elmer and I have been cat people from the get-go. I got my first cat, a black and white tom, when I was four. My father, a Conservation Officer at the time, picked him up in the woods as a half-starved kitten who’d tried to climb up his pants leg, named him Merriweather, because that was the name of the town he was near and brought him home to me. Merriweather grew up, spent nights out tom-catting around and come home tired out. I’d put a doll bonnet on him and wheel him around the house in my doll buggy. He’d sleep soundly all the while. I loved him dearly and I’ve never been without a cat since. And the first story I ever wrote at seven was about Merriweather.
Elmer grew up on a farm where there were cats in the barn to keep down the mice. His mother would let the kids in the family bring kittens in the house to play with, but they always were banished back to the barn at night.
Note: Kinko survived surgery for a cancer on her eyelid three years ago. The vet told us white-faced cats tend to get this from lying in the sun. He removed it without her losing the eye and, yes, it was malignant, but not the kind that metastasizes, thank heaven. He calls her his miracle cat.
Other cats: The only really vocal cats I’ve had in my eighty-six years were Siamese. I loved how they’d talk to me. They were smart as well. I had a big tom named Zorro who once, when we went from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to California for Christmas, we had shut in the basement where his sandbox and food were. We had a neighbor check on him and give him more food while we were gone.
Well, every time the neighbor came in, Zorro would happily greet him at the door as he entered the house. He couldn’t figure this out because he shut him back into the basement every time he left. Once day he pretended he was leaving and snuck back in to stay and watch, Pretty soon he noticed the doorknob of the basement door jiggling. Then it started turning, the door opened and out Zorro came. Checking inside the basement door, he noticed a small shelf with nothing on it right beside the doorknob on the stair landing. Ah, problem solved. Zorro had gotten onto the shelf and learned to paw at the doorknob until it finally opened and out he came. With the door ajar he was free to use the sandbox or eat whenever he felt like it.
Then there was my female Siamese we finally named Kitty because the kids couldn’t agree on a name. After I was divorced and living alone with the kids, who were in school, Kitty decided it was time to have her kittens. They would be Siamese, I knew, because when she went into heat a male Siamese appeared out of nowhere and mated with her before leaving. I was headed out the door, but she followed me, obviously in the throes of birth. So I walked back to her birth box and sat on the floor. She got back in. I thought maybe after she had one kitten she’d be content to stay there while the rest were born. No such luck.
The first kitten was born and she cleaned him up. By then another was being born, a much smaller one than the first, so I figured it had to be the runt. Well, she wouldn’t clean this kitten up no matter how many times I put it under her nose. Three more were born and cleaned up. When I finally again put the poor little runt under her nose after she was through with the others, she finally cleaned him up. Then I gently put him where he could reach a free nipple. He found it and began to suck. After than Kitty accepted him as part of her brood.
He turned out to be a feisty little thing despite having the sniffles, a crook in his tail and crossed-eyes--all common afflictions in Siamese. I wondered later if somehow Kitty knew he was defective. Still, as they grew older, though smaller, he held his own against the tumble mock fights with all his brothers. Yes, they were all males--not uncommon with Siamese litters.
When the time came to give them away, I decided to sell them for a dollar each, which would pay for the ad in the paper. All but the runt were snapped up quickly. I had decided I’d have to keep him, when a woman called me and said she’d been away and she’d just seen the ad in an old paper. Her daughter had been begging for a Siamese kitten, but all they’d seen had been too expensive. I told her about his defects, saying that’s why he was left over. She said it didn’t matter. When they arrived, the little runt, tail up, walked right up to the little girl and charmed her. They left with her cuddling him to her and the kitten purring loudly. I didn’t want to take the dollar, but the mother insisted.
“It’s like he was saved for us,” she said.
Which brought tears to my eyes.
Jane Toombs
Cat's name: Kinko
Sex: Female
Age : 17
How long have you had the cat?: Since she was a kitten.
Where did you get the cat?: Private home. The lady put seven kittens down in front of us and this white calico with the black tail walked straight toward Elmer and me, then sat down to check us over She’d picked us out, so of course we had to take her home.
Favorite pastime: Kinko used to be hang on the back of a wooden chair batting at her tail, She still does this occasionally even as an old lady.
Interesting quirks? Kinko’s not really fond of anyone except us--Elmer and me. She’s learned to be a great traveler in her cat carrier because we always took her when we went places. She’s been everywhere. But she always wanted to be safely in the carrier, never outside it when in the car.
How does he or she like being a writer's cat? She curls up in an adjacent chair so she can keep an eye on me, making a remark now and then so I know she’s still there. She isn’t interested in in what I’m doing, just wants to be close by.
Has he/she ever been in one of your books?: Not her, but I do put cats in my books.
Anything you else you might want to say about your cat or your cat about you? Both Elmer and I have been cat people from the get-go. I got my first cat, a black and white tom, when I was four. My father, a Conservation Officer at the time, picked him up in the woods as a half-starved kitten who’d tried to climb up his pants leg, named him Merriweather, because that was the name of the town he was near and brought him home to me. Merriweather grew up, spent nights out tom-catting around and come home tired out. I’d put a doll bonnet on him and wheel him around the house in my doll buggy. He’d sleep soundly all the while. I loved him dearly and I’ve never been without a cat since. And the first story I ever wrote at seven was about Merriweather.
Elmer grew up on a farm where there were cats in the barn to keep down the mice. His mother would let the kids in the family bring kittens in the house to play with, but they always were banished back to the barn at night.
Note: Kinko survived surgery for a cancer on her eyelid three years ago. The vet told us white-faced cats tend to get this from lying in the sun. He removed it without her losing the eye and, yes, it was malignant, but not the kind that metastasizes, thank heaven. He calls her his miracle cat.
Other cats: The only really vocal cats I’ve had in my eighty-six years were Siamese. I loved how they’d talk to me. They were smart as well. I had a big tom named Zorro who once, when we went from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to California for Christmas, we had shut in the basement where his sandbox and food were. We had a neighbor check on him and give him more food while we were gone.
Well, every time the neighbor came in, Zorro would happily greet him at the door as he entered the house. He couldn’t figure this out because he shut him back into the basement every time he left. Once day he pretended he was leaving and snuck back in to stay and watch, Pretty soon he noticed the doorknob of the basement door jiggling. Then it started turning, the door opened and out Zorro came. Checking inside the basement door, he noticed a small shelf with nothing on it right beside the doorknob on the stair landing. Ah, problem solved. Zorro had gotten onto the shelf and learned to paw at the doorknob until it finally opened and out he came. With the door ajar he was free to use the sandbox or eat whenever he felt like it.
Then there was my female Siamese we finally named Kitty because the kids couldn’t agree on a name. After I was divorced and living alone with the kids, who were in school, Kitty decided it was time to have her kittens. They would be Siamese, I knew, because when she went into heat a male Siamese appeared out of nowhere and mated with her before leaving. I was headed out the door, but she followed me, obviously in the throes of birth. So I walked back to her birth box and sat on the floor. She got back in. I thought maybe after she had one kitten she’d be content to stay there while the rest were born. No such luck.
The first kitten was born and she cleaned him up. By then another was being born, a much smaller one than the first, so I figured it had to be the runt. Well, she wouldn’t clean this kitten up no matter how many times I put it under her nose. Three more were born and cleaned up. When I finally again put the poor little runt under her nose after she was through with the others, she finally cleaned him up. Then I gently put him where he could reach a free nipple. He found it and began to suck. After than Kitty accepted him as part of her brood.
He turned out to be a feisty little thing despite having the sniffles, a crook in his tail and crossed-eyes--all common afflictions in Siamese. I wondered later if somehow Kitty knew he was defective. Still, as they grew older, though smaller, he held his own against the tumble mock fights with all his brothers. Yes, they were all males--not uncommon with Siamese litters.
When the time came to give them away, I decided to sell them for a dollar each, which would pay for the ad in the paper. All but the runt were snapped up quickly. I had decided I’d have to keep him, when a woman called me and said she’d been away and she’d just seen the ad in an old paper. Her daughter had been begging for a Siamese kitten, but all they’d seen had been too expensive. I told her about his defects, saying that’s why he was left over. She said it didn’t matter. When they arrived, the little runt, tail up, walked right up to the little girl and charmed her. They left with her cuddling him to her and the kitten purring loudly. I didn’t want to take the dollar, but the mother insisted.
“It’s like he was saved for us,” she said.
Which brought tears to my eyes.
Jane Toombs
Isabelle aka IzzyB aka MissB aka Puss
Nikki Logan and Isabelle...
Hi from Down Under. I’m Isabelle and I’m a blue British Shorthair. Back in the day I was a prize-winning champion for my beautiful features but turned out I had dud kittens and so my breeder took me to the vets to be euthanized (the life of a breeding cat is kinda miserable). Lucky for me the vet was the sister of romance author Nikki Logan and she offered to use the fee to re-home me rather than put me to sleep. Within twenty-four hours I was sterilised and recovering at my new home with Nikki.
That was nearly sixteen years ago now and I’m getting on, but I’m still the same gentle, placid and beautiful natured cat I always was.
You can probably tell from these pictures what my favourite things are – tummy rubs (the only time my fur is ever shamelessly out of place) and sleeping. If it’s cold enough I even sleep right on my face. I also love food and snuggles. A lot. Dogs, not so much. We have two of them here and they’re like unruly teenagers. Fortunately one swipe of my paw is all it takes to keep them in line. When no-one’s looking I even snuggle up with them but if you repeat that I’ll deny it.
Anyway, I just wanted to tell Miss Mouse to hang in there. It’s a big operation but she’ll feel so much better afterwards.
Please donate if you can. I’ve been lucky enough to be healthy most of my life but not all cats are so lucky.
$5000 sounds like a lot but it’s not really when you think about how many people have years and years of enjoyment from their feline friends.
Anyhoo, that’s it.
Look me up if you’re ever down under. Or you can look Nikki up from wherever you are – www.nikkilogan.com.au She’ll pass any kitty fan mail onto me.
Isabelle (Logan)
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| I'm a blue British Shorthair! |
That was nearly sixteen years ago now and I’m getting on, but I’m still the same gentle, placid and beautiful natured cat I always was.
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| I love tummy rubs! |
Anyway, I just wanted to tell Miss Mouse to hang in there. It’s a big operation but she’ll feel so much better afterwards.
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| I sleep on my face when it's cold! |
$5000 sounds like a lot but it’s not really when you think about how many people have years and years of enjoyment from their feline friends.
Anyhoo, that’s it.
Look me up if you’re ever down under. Or you can look Nikki up from wherever you are – www.nikkilogan.com.au She’ll pass any kitty fan mail onto me.
Isabelle (Logan)
It's a dog's life? I think not!
Lorna Barrett and her fictional cat Miss Marple...
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| Miss Marple Feline Detective |
Hello, my name is Miss Marple, and I dominate a woman named Tricia Miles. She has provided me with everything a cat needs. A lovely home, a purpose and a place to work everyday, and sees to all my worldly needs: food, toys, catnip.
But recently when she goes out, she often comes homes smelling of DOG. One dog in particular. An incredibly self-satisfied bichon frise named (of all things) Sarge. Perhaps he is aptly named, though, as he tends to come charging into a room barking orders like a drill sergeant.
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| Sarge |
Just recently that DOG got Tricia into a lot of trouble. Not once, not twice, but three times! It started in April when she was about to abandon me for an overnight stay at a lovely local inn called Sheer Comfort. That DOG had to go and do his, er, business, and Tricia was forced to be his enabler. And what did that DOG find while sniffing around the inn’s backyard? A body! That got Tricia into all kinds of trouble with all kinds of people. Especially when Tricia had plenty to do around the shop, including hiring a replacement for our beloved Ginny, who always fed me kitty treats when Tricia’s back was turned. I hope Tricia can find someone new who will give me even more cat cookies. I think she’s close to hiring someone who is owned by two cats! We’ll see.
In the meantime, I must keep watch from my perch behind the register. Up there I’m safe from that DOG. I hope you’ll come and visit Tricia and me in the latest Booktown Mystery, MURDER ON THE HALF SHELF.See you there!
Miss Marple
Originally published at The Conscious Cat
Lorna Barrett also writes the new York Times bestselling Victoria Square Mysteries under the name Lorraine Bartlett and the Jeff Resnick Mysteries under the name L.L. Bartlett.
Owning My First Cat
Michelle Willingham and Fitch...
I never owned a pet when I was growing up. As a military family, we were constantly moving, and my parents never wanted the hassle of an animal. My brother also had allergies, so it wasn't an option. Whenever I visited people who owned dogs and cats, I enjoyed the animals, but I never really "got it" as to why people were so upset when their pet passed away. I was sad for them, but I thought these were animals, not people, right?
Fast-forward to last year. We were inundated with moles, voles, and bunnies who were determined to eat and destroy our yard plants. Humane traps didn't work. Chasing them off was ineffective. Putting down grub preventers did nothing to stop the voles from chewing through all of my roses. I'd had enough. I decided that we needed a cat—hopefully one who would chase off the bunnies and deter any rodents from setting up camp in our backyard. My husband initially tried to put me off it, explaining that pets were a big decision (he'd grown up with dogs and a cat). This wasn't something we could just pick up at the shelter. It would change our lifestyles, since we couldn't simply travel on the weekends without arranging for pet care.
I was still determined to get a cat. When I first visited the SPCA, I found a personable, sweet cat who was three years old. I liked him immediately and asked my husband to come and see him the next day. When he agreed, we arrived at the shelter and the cat I'd chosen had already been adopted. Instead, there was a new tabby cat named Fitch, who was almost two years old. He wasn't in his cage but was busy walking around the shelter, curious about everyone and everything. He walked right up to me and nudged me with his head, as if he'd already selected me to be his owner. I felt a bit awkward, since I knew nothing about cats, but when I petted him, he began purring and ribboning around my legs. He was an absolute sweetheart and we brought him home that day.
Fitch has lived with us for seven months now, and I can't imagine life without him. When I'm writing, he'll come and snuggle at my feet or he'll meow at the door when he wants to go play outside. He loves the freedom to explore our yard, and the bunny/vole/mole population has definitely decreased! (thankfully he hasn't brought me any "presents" yet.)
My husband was right. Owning a pet is life-changing. Fitch keeps me company when the children are at school, and he makes me laugh when he crawls into a brown paper bag to hide. If he's away for too long, I worry about him, and I'm always glad when he returns home. He's not just an animal—he's a member of our family. And I'm hoping to keep him for many, many more years.
Michelle Willingham
I never owned a pet when I was growing up. As a military family, we were constantly moving, and my parents never wanted the hassle of an animal. My brother also had allergies, so it wasn't an option. Whenever I visited people who owned dogs and cats, I enjoyed the animals, but I never really "got it" as to why people were so upset when their pet passed away. I was sad for them, but I thought these were animals, not people, right?
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| Fitch |
I was still determined to get a cat. When I first visited the SPCA, I found a personable, sweet cat who was three years old. I liked him immediately and asked my husband to come and see him the next day. When he agreed, we arrived at the shelter and the cat I'd chosen had already been adopted. Instead, there was a new tabby cat named Fitch, who was almost two years old. He wasn't in his cage but was busy walking around the shelter, curious about everyone and everything. He walked right up to me and nudged me with his head, as if he'd already selected me to be his owner. I felt a bit awkward, since I knew nothing about cats, but when I petted him, he began purring and ribboning around my legs. He was an absolute sweetheart and we brought him home that day.
Fitch has lived with us for seven months now, and I can't imagine life without him. When I'm writing, he'll come and snuggle at my feet or he'll meow at the door when he wants to go play outside. He loves the freedom to explore our yard, and the bunny/vole/mole population has definitely decreased! (thankfully he hasn't brought me any "presents" yet.)
My husband was right. Owning a pet is life-changing. Fitch keeps me company when the children are at school, and he makes me laugh when he crawls into a brown paper bag to hide. If he's away for too long, I worry about him, and I'm always glad when he returns home. He's not just an animal—he's a member of our family. And I'm hoping to keep him for many, many more years.
Michelle Willingham
Up and running!
Help Miss Mousie went live today. The PayPal donation buttons were installed, and we have a few Authors & Their Cats posts for you to peruse. We have more posts to upload and will continue to add to those as we hear from more authors.
Remember, no amount of donation is too small. It all adds up!
Thank you!
Remember, no amount of donation is too small. It all adds up!
Thank you!
From the Catio
Rebecca York and Ozzie and Beevel...
Last year I read an article in the New York Times that changed my life. It was about city dwellers who constructed “catios,” safe places for their cats to enjoy the outdoors. Basically they were decks or patios enclosed with mesh or screen where cats could safely take the air.
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| Ozzie looking out the "catio" door |
But I didn’t give up on her, and soon all three cats were coming out on the catio with me. Since the idea was a success, I went on to the next step–hiring a contractor to build a screened porch in place of the tent.
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| Harriet & Ozzie with Mom |
All three cats are relaxing at the moment. Other favorite activities out here include sunning and watching birds and squirrels.
Rebecca York
On Writing Romance blog
Family in need!
Melissa McClone and Miss Mousie...
You can read how we came to foster in the Meet Miss Mousie section here. I said most of what I wanted to say about our lovely lady there, so I'll turn it over to her now.
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| When subtlety doesn't work... |
Without me, they would never wake up. Well, occasionally that dog will bark or mommy will wake up automatically because she has a book due, but if not, morning wake up is left to me. I'm always on the job and have them up and about before that annoying sound box of last resort goes off.
Can you believe none of the other cats had even thought of doing this before I arrived? Now they reap the benefits of my brilliance. But that also puts pressure on me. I can't let them down. Starvation is not pretty. I think mommy likes my head butting and loud purring, too, because usually I ignore her.
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| I taught her how to do this |
Because I can.
I knew I'd won her heart over the minute she saw me in the cat house so there's no need for me to turn into that dog (named Chaos and she lives up to her name let me tell you) who just fawns and stares up at her in pure adoration. Mommy, aka the servant, puts two different kinds of icky drops in my ears each day. You'd ignore her, too, if you were me.
The one time I don't ignore her is deadline time. Why? Because she'd rather be left alone.
Deadline time is one of my favorites because she sits and types for hours. I can nap against her and know she's not going to move. It's almost like she's a cat because daddy brings her food and rubs her feet. I'm still trying to figure out what I must do to get the same treatment. Though I'd much rather have under my chin scratched.
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| This is how we nap while mommy works |
The black cats adopted from the West Columbia Gorge Humane Society.
Between you and me, they are severely troubled. We're talking really messed up in need of a animal behaviorist if not for my intervention.
Yoda, who turned three at the beginning of August, actually thinks he's a Ninja Cat. Mommy has encouraged his foolish behavior, allowing him to post on her blog. It really has to end. Cats might be two opposable thumbs away from world domination, but we are not Ninja. We are better than Ninja!
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| I'm teaching Beauty how to help mommy |
Well, my spot on the cat tree beckons. It's time for another nap.
Thank you for visiting my blog!
Donation buttons live!
We received the donation information for Miss Mousie's PayPal account this morning! You can now donate to her account. We will be bringing posts live later today! Thanks!
The Problems of Living With a Goddess
Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson and Sakhmet...
Of all the cats I have had, Sakhmet was the most memorable. Some backstory – sometimes back in the 1940s someone had dumped a pair of Siamese out in the country behind my grandparents’ barn. They had stayed and interbred until over the generations a recessive gene had become dominant, resulting in a tribe of pure-black Siamese.
I had just moved into my own place and was determined to have a cat, so – with a little cunning, a lot of luck and a great deal of smelly cat food – I captured a tiny little black kitten. I didn’t know what I was getting. Born feral, she never really domesticated. We lived in an uneasy truce for the next 20 years. I named her Sakhmet after the unpredictable lion-headed Egyptian goddess, and the name fit her to a T. Sakhmet could easily have been the last living saber-tooth!
Her vet, who both respected and feared her, said that she had all the Siamese traits – small feet, a heart-shaped face, a voice that sounded like a baby being skinned – but she was completely black (and never got a gray hair!) with enormous eyes that went from green (happy) to gold (better leave until she calms down).
Sakhmet hated people. I was tolerated because I was the bringer of food, but whenever visitors came to my apartment she vanished. People I had known for years swore up and down I didn’t have a cat, that I merely went outside, gathered tufts of hair from the bushes and rubbed them on the carpet so that people would think I had a cat!
Sakhmet was also the most intelligent creature (including some of the two-legged ones I dated) I’ve ever seen. She could turn lights on and off, loved to answer the telephone and could open any door in the place. I had to keep the front and back outside doors key-deadbolted just to be sure.
This was during the heyday of the dinner theatre, when you could have a buffet dinner and then see a play with some of the older luminaries of Hollywood. I was an actress then and was delighted to be cast in UNDER PAPA’S PICTURE, a piece of froth starring the late great Eve Arden. There are several blogs worth of stories from that play’s six-week run, but I’m going to tell only one.
It’s a well known fact that Miss Arden was a great animal lover, and as we had to spend a fair amount of time in the green room waiting for our cues, we would regale each other with tales of our furbabies. She became entranced with some of Sakhmet’s adventures, but I never dreamed where it would lead.
The play ran over the Christmas holidays, so I decided I would have a great big party for the cast. The party was a success, until someone asked where Miss Arden was. Well, I had seen her and her husband Brooks West arrive, and he was in the living room talking to someone, but there was no sign of Miss Arden.
I went looking. It was not that big a place, so I soon found her, and my heart almost stopped. She was in my bedroom, lying flat on the floor and scrunched about three-quarters of the way under my bed, cooing to Sakhmet, who was doubtless as far into the corner as she could get.
I thought I might die. Not only was Eve Arden (Our Miss Brooks!) under my bed, she was under there not only with a half-wild cat who hated everyone but a generous herd of killer dustbunnies as well!
It all worked out all right. She just got one clawing from Sakhmet, and it only took a minute or two to detach most of the dustbunnies, but for the rest of the play she talked again and again about meeting the legendary Sakhmet. She never mentioned the dustbunnies. Thank goodness.
Once when I had to take a trip I frankly blackmailed a police officer friend of mine into taking care of her at his house. He was a patrolman, over 6 ft tall and very fit, but he was no match for Sakhmet. I came home to find her back in my apartment, with a shredded pillowcase and a tray of food and water just barely beyond the swing of the front door. She had lasted exactly two days at his place before terrorizing his family so much that he gave in and brought her back. For the remaining three weeks of my trip he drove almost ten miles each way every day to feed and water her.
One Thanksgiving I came to stay with my widowed mother. I brought Sakhmet because the weather was deteriorating. We ended up being snowed in for a number of days. Before it was over the war between Mother and Sakhmet made me think seriously of abandoning the two of them and hiking back to my apartment through the snow. It was only four miles…
Sakhmet liked to lie on shiny, slick fabric. In the den Mother had two antique chairs that were covered in a glorious satin. Sakhmet loved them. Mother was afraid she would have an ‘accident’ on them. Mother covered the chairs with towels, but the next morning the towels had been scraped off onto the floor and Sakhmet was spread in luxurious abandon over the satin. The next night Mother tried pillows. The next morning they were on the floor. The next night Mother gave up and moved both chairs into the living room and shut the door.
The den was carpeted in a beige shag (this was a number of years ago) and there were definite impressions of each chair’s four legs. In the morning – as neatly as if it had been plotted with a ruler – in the middle of each chair’s impressions was a small, brown gift. Mother said she had been right, that Sakhmet had had an accident. I said no, that was no accident, it was a deliberate! The next day the snow melted – thank you, God! – and Sakhmet and I went home.
Though she was sometimes difficult and often downright weird, Sakhmet was also a loving companion. She would lie on my desk while I wrote and slept every night in the small of my back. She was a big part of my life.
Sakhmet lived for 21 years. Toward the end she was very frail and ill, and I was so selfish I could not bring myself to do the right thing and have her put to sleep. She took the decision out of my hands. I had to be out of town, so Mother – unwilling to have Sakhmet in her home again, though this was many years later – drove the 4 miles to my apartment every day to feed her. Sakhmet waited until I was out of town to die. Mother buried her in the most beautiful part of her back garden and put flowers in her grave.
I’ll never forget the feeling of coming home to that empty, empty apartment. I’ve had many other cats since Sakhmet’s passing, but none have equaled her in intelligence or personality. Or temperament. Unfortunately, all my pictures of her perished in the disaster of a flood caused by a burst pipe, so all I have of her is memories. Sleep well, my dear old friend. I still miss you.
Janis Susan May/Janis Patterson
Angel Kittens
Teresa Hill and her cats Inky and Khleo...
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| Khleo |
At the end of my kids’ second and fifth-grade years, we met a new family whose kids would be attending our kids’ school. The mom, Laura’s, son was a year younger than mine, her daughter a year younger than my daughter.
Over the years, the kids ended up on the same swim team, soccer team, basketball team, too. We carpooled to all and became quite close.
But within weeks of us meeting, Laura, found out the breast cancer she thought she’d defeated two years ago had returned, now in her lungs. It was bad, really bad, and her kids were still so young.
She fought bravely through tons of chemo and a lot of pain.
Three years later, school had just started again, her kids in fifth and eighth grades, and she was feeling great. Her stem cell transplant had been declared a success. Her hair was coming back in, her coloring good. She’d even regained a bit of weight.
One beautiful fall day, as I dropped the kids off after school, we found her working in her yard. She was so happy, said she’d been there all day, so pleased to have the energy for the work.
That evening, as I turned into the neighborhood to drop the girls off from soccer practice, there was an ambulance leaving, sirens screaming
.
When we got to their house, we found out Laura had been in that ambulance with no pulse, no respiration. She’d collapsed in the front yard. I had her daughter in my van.
It didn’t make any sense. You don’t literally drop dead from cancer. All the doctors could say was that she’d had a lot of high-dose chemo, and it could be really hard on people’s hearts.
She lingered in a coma for a few days, but never regained consciousness. There was no chance for goodbyes to anyone.
Two other things happened that week that some people might say were coincidences, but I really don’t believe in coincidences. I believe things happen for a reason. I have faith that things work out as they’re supposed to.
One, a stray cat showed up at our house, and from the look of her, we were certain she was pregnant. We had two dogs and never planned on adding cats to the mix.
But the cat was going to be a mother, and I knew two kids who were in the middle of losing their mother. Life was crazy, scary and stressful. I took the path of least resistance and fed the cat, and I know what people say happens when you fed a stray cat. It becomes yours.
The second thing was that I was finishing a book, due in eight days. And I’m not saying a deadline was important in that moment. It’s just that the book happened to be about four adult children trying to come to terms with the death of their mother from cancer. The mom dies in the first chapter.
No way I see that as a coincidence.
I remember saying, “Really, God? I’m supposed to find something to say in this book to help make sense of the loss of these kids’ mother? Because I don’t have anything to say that makes sense about this.”
There was a third thing that happened, so unexpected and so bad, that if I put it in a story, people would swear I was being melodramatic. A week or two later -- I honestly don’t remember exactly when, it was such a horrible time – a little girl, in fifth or sixth grade, on our girls’ soccer team died. A bicycle accident.
So these poor, traumatized girls who’d just watched one of their teammates lose her mother, now had to deal with one of their teammates dying, and a mother had to deal with the loss of her child.
Like I said, crazy-bad, scary times.
What do you do? You go on. There’s really no other choice.
The dad and I carpooled for years to come, until my son started driving and he took over some carpool duties.
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| Inky |
It’s really hard to be sad all the time when you have kittens. Milano produced five in my son’s closet one day when we’d been at a basketball game.
They were adorable and so sweet, so funny, a real blessing.
We still have two of her kittens, Inky and Khleo, our Angel Cats.
The book I was writing at the time was Someone to Watch Over Me, and the message I realized it already included was to not be afraid of letting yourself love, even if you had already lost someone you loved.
There were no cats in the book, but it does feature one of our dogs.
Dogs are little angels, too, I believe.
Teresa Hill
An Unexpected Kitten Gift
Karen Rose Smith and Zoie Joy...
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| Karen Rose Smith |
As we get older, our lives become filled with anniversary dates. I try to find positive ways to deal with those anniversary dates and holidays and when I miss someone I love. June has one of those anniversary dates for me--my parents' anniversary.
When I was growing up, I always had a cat. My mom cuddled them. My dad tolerated them. But he knew how much I loved each one we befriended over the years. So when I got married, it was natural to have a cat or two. We have two now who are eleven years old. We hadn't expected to bring any more into our lifestyle. After all, don't we all know our place? Aren't our lives settled the way they are?
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| Zoie Joy |
We named her Zoie Joy. Zoie after a character in one of my books who runs away to find bliss...and Joy because that's what this kitten has brought us.
And yes, I believe my parents sent us this little gift because we needed to remember that life isn't just about routine and busyness--but about those unexpected joys.
Karen Rose Smith
©2012 Karen Rose Smith
A Writer's Cat or a Cat's Writer
Kato (age 9) and his property Laurie Bishop...
Almost two weeks after losing my Tojo, my orange multi-toed boy and companion of 18 years, I saw a picture of an orange male cat at the local shelter...and he had two huge front feet. He was it—I had another orange boy. In keeping with tradition I gave him another "toe" name, and he became Kato.
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| Kato the Boss |
Is Kato another writers' cat?
I will let the picture tell the story. He is next to me whenever I am writing, and this can mean on my desk...or my printer....
And now, here is Kato's story in his own words:
My name is Kato. At least, that's the noise She makes when she sees me. This house is mine. The couch is mine. The porch is mine. The bed is mine. The big soft chairs are mine. And the food is mine. My only issue is the food, since She has to be maneuvered into giving it to me. But it pretty much works out okay.
Let me tell you, I had to train her. It took me a little while, but she's okay now. She didn't understand that I'd lived two years in the street and had my own methods. I am a MAN cat, unlike those other two boys she brought home. I don't mind them at all, though, because they know who's boss.
Life is pretty good now. I spend a lot of time basking in the sun and generally overseeing my domain. Oh, and since you ask--I do help her to poke those funny things on what she calls a keyboard. But mostly I am just nearby supervising. It's a good thing I am around.
Aristocat
Lymond and his Can-Opener, Lynn Kerstan...
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| Lymond |
I am an aristocat, a well-bred specimen of the noble Abyssinian breed, with all the beauty, arrogance, and noblesse oblige that befits my position. Presently, I live in Coronado, California with a reasonably dutiful Can-Opener who attends all my needs, if not all my desires. To be candid, I will never pardon her for the Unfortunate Neutering Incident.
She did, however, present me with a multi-layered throne known by her breed as a Cat Tree and a large window through which I may view the humans, dogs (a great many dogs), seagulls, crows, and other birds that wander by. Most days, I bask in blades of sunshine and nap in the lap of luxury.
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| The Can Opener |
I hope many kind humans will band together to save Miss Mousie. I shall certainly do my own part, as will my C-O.
For now, it is my naptime. Au revoir, mais amis.
Lymond, Monsieur le Comte de Sevigny
Forever in an author's heart
Trish Jensen and Foxy...
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| Foxy |
The vet estimated she was about six months old when I adopted her, and she was well over twenty years when she gave me the "I'm ready" look that broke my heart. A long-haired calico, she became Foxy because her tail was so fluffy, and she had fox-like ears. And she was also wily as a fox, too. She knew exactly how to bend me to her will. I made a ton of tuna salad over those years because she loved lapping up the tuna juice and bits. Obviously, the sound of the can opener had her galloping to the kitchen from any corner of the house. She was the greatest kitty, right to the end. She put up with the dogs, often cleaning their eyes without complaint when they'd nose her to do so. But as you can see, this was her favorite nap spot, as the sun warmed her and she could watch all of the birds flying around outside of the window. It's been a few years, but she's forever in my heart.
Trish
Phantom and his humans
Meet Phantom, the proud owner of Anne Stuart...
I wandered onto the property of my pet, Anne, one fall afternoon. Foolish girl, she had an excitable dog and another cat at the time, and I was going to poke around and then move on when the daughter of the house appeared with cheese. I cannot resist cheese. So I allowed them to lure me in and what do you think the first thing they did was?
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| Phantom & Anne |
Of all the indignities.
However, I was more than a year old at the time, maybe closer to two (I didn't pay close attention, living on my own like that) so I figured a warm house and nice human pets were worth a couple of testicles.
I quickly showed the other cat who was boss—the same with the silly dog, and claimed Anne as my particular pet. I like to crawl on her chest and shove my nose in her face—she calls it my "hello kitties."
Sigh.
I do like to sleep on her stomach at night. I just curl right up and go to sleep, and fortunately she's learned to sleep that way as well. I'll settle for Richie if she's away on a trip, but I do prefer her. She's softer.
I'm not sure I'm crazy about the name they gave me. When I'd slip around outside they called me "The Gray Ghost," which had a certain amount of dignity to it, and then they changed it to Phantom as a temporary moniker. Unfortunately they took one look at my face, which, as you may notice, has one side dark and one light, and decided Phantom would remain, since Anne's sentimental and loves Phantom of the Opera. I forgive them, though, because they adore me, feed me Fancy Feast and never put me off their laps. When I'm sitting on Anne (or occasionally Richie) they make the other one go and open the door so I'll get up on my own.
Silly humans.
But they do know how fond I am of open doors. I've never met one I haven't adored. I can walk in the front door and go straight out the back if it's open, which confuses Richie. Anne simply says "he's a peripatetic kitty" and I thank God she didn't name me that.
All in all, they're pretty special, as pets go. I think I'll keep them.
Phantom
UNDER CONSTRUCTION AND UPDATE
We are currently getting this place cleaned up with the assistance of Julie at Blogger Boutique and waiting for the donation information for Miss Mousie's medical fund. As soon as all this is in place, we'll go live!
Until then, here's a Miss Mousie update...
She received a new medicine for her ears today. She doesn't like it much but her vet thinks it will help with the swelling. Otherwise, she's doing well. She has two more antibiotic pills to take and will continue with her daily ear drops. The best part is she's back to acting like herself. She's eating and climbing the cat tree to her fave spot and sleeping next to her daddy! She'd stopped doing these things a little over two weeks ago so we are thrilled to have her behavior back to normal!
Also if you know any authors (they don't have to write romance!) who are cat lovers and would like to contribute a photo of themselves and their cat (cat only is okay, too) along with a brief write up the info is on the menu bar above under "Get Involved!"
Thanks!
Until then, here's a Miss Mousie update...
She received a new medicine for her ears today. She doesn't like it much but her vet thinks it will help with the swelling. Otherwise, she's doing well. She has two more antibiotic pills to take and will continue with her daily ear drops. The best part is she's back to acting like herself. She's eating and climbing the cat tree to her fave spot and sleeping next to her daddy! She'd stopped doing these things a little over two weeks ago so we are thrilled to have her behavior back to normal!
Also if you know any authors (they don't have to write romance!) who are cat lovers and would like to contribute a photo of themselves and their cat (cat only is okay, too) along with a brief write up the info is on the menu bar above under "Get Involved!"
Thanks!
Welcome!
We are currently under construction, but hope to be live very soon in order to help Miss Mousie!
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