About Amir

 

Somewhere in July, a black and white Persian cat started hanging out in our yard. Very skittish. Would not address us, ran when he saw us. Poor sweetie. Collar-less cats are not unusual in our neighborhood. Charlie, for example, is a grey cat that is also skittish, but he belongs to my neighbor Joyce. She can't keep a collar on him. We lost five collars on Grendel before Dan found him a puppy collar.

So when we saw this cat, we tried to approach him. No dice. We left kibble out, just in case. And yes, Charlie eats from it too. Grendel also eats from Charlie's stash that Joyce leaves out in her garage. Joyce would ask me if the Persian was my cat. No,  I thought it was hers. Apparently, there's another man down the block who wondered the same thing. 

So we left food out for the Persian. Timid cat. Didn't want much to do with us at all, very wary, and we couldn't touch him. He'd run and jump if we tried. 

I'm going to condense this. Too many boring details, so let's talk about November the second. 

It had snowed the day before, and I was concerned, of course. I went to put food out, and found him waiting as he sometimes did. But THIS TIME...

I invited kitty in. I stood guard as he ate, but this time I held the door open and asked if he wanted to come inside. He followed me up the porch stairs. It might have taken five or seven minutes, but it felt like twenty before he crept his way into the kitchen and I quietly shut the door. 

He looked alarmed when the exit closed, but still ventured inside. I used my most soothing voice, as he slinked into the living room. He sniffed Grendel's face. Grendel has always been nice to him, and sniffed back.His sniffed Freya's face, She gave him The Swat. 

Once he figured out there was a basement, he hid in the spare bedroom, under the futon. I left him a dish of food and let him diffuse. A day and a half, I left food, and left him alone. 

That evening, a different cat came up the stairs. He was shouty and purring. He demanded pets, and rolled around being adorable so we would indulge him. We won him over! Yay! He's been here ever since.

Here's the thing....He's not a stray cat. Someone must be missing him. I'm doing the right thing and looking for his owners, But...

I had other names for him. I thought about naming him Balder, Norse god of all things pure and innocent.(Bald-er. People wouldn't get it, and would think that was a dumb name for a fluffy kitty)  I thought about calling him Helios, for the Greek god who drives the sun chariot, based on his beautiful yellow eyes that look like an eclipse when his pupils are large. I started calling him 'Amir' because he was a little prince and he was a Persian longhair. Many people know this...Yes, 'Amir' is the Persian word for 'Prince'. 

I'm not sure I like it. I catch myself saying, "C'mere Amir." and it sounds dumb. And Amir Milward sounds like 'A mere Milward.'

Not particularly imaginative of me, but he suits it. He's a little prince. He yells for affection and food. He likes to be held. I tried brushing him, and he knows the routine. I wouldn't say he likes it like Freya does, but he accepts the brush and rolls over accordingly. He's taken over the couch and has taken other surfaces accordingly. What do I mean by that? I mean my desk, the couch, my makeup table, the kitchen counter. Everything, everywhere. But he's rather polite about it, if that makes sense.  He knows how to play with toys and he SHOUTS for attention. 

We're in love with him, but he clearly belongs to someone. I've put him on all my social media, including 'Next Door', the neighborhood app. No answers, no replies in ten days. Currently looking for posters about him. 

The truth is, we don't need another mouth to feed, but what could I do? Leave him to scrounge kibble from our yard? What if it gets REALLY cold. Today was -20 Celsius, and it's early yet. There's still December and January to get through. . I can't imagine. Here's another thing. He's been here for ten days and NOT ONCE has he asked to go outside. He isn't fixed either. He also hasn't sprayed. He's an impressively good cat. Like he's been trained. He even knows not to scratch the furniture with a simple "Noooo."

There is no microchip. That doesn't mean this won't end in heartbreak. I do believe someone else owns Amir. In the meantime, I will look for his owners and hope that they will let me be a part of his life once we find them. In the meantime, Amir is a part of this family. He will be safe, warm and loved. 

When a Cat Learns to Love You.

 

It's been about a year and two months since Grendel became a permanent member of our family. A year and two months since we brought Grendel inside and got his broken leg fixed.  No regrets. 

He's a sweet. happy and loud boy. I don't mind when he yells at both two and five o'clock in the morning. Okay--I mind a little bit, but it sure beats staying up late worrying and keeping an ear open for him at the door. 

Freya used to hiss at him. He was always following her around, getting in her space. 

He bonded with Dan immediately, shouting for his attention and jumping on his desk. He would boop Dan's hands while he pet him, and Dan would call him Sweetie-Doodle and tell Grendel how happy he was that he was here. 

It was me Grendel wasn't quite sure of. He liked me well enough, but I hadn't earned his trust yet. I always seemed to startle him. I'd let him sniff my hand, and sometimes he would tolerate my petting. Sometimes I'd get a kiss. Sometimes he would back away from my touch. Dan was his rescuer and I was the human that lived with his rescuer. 

I tried to give him space, tried not to be too handsy. According to Jackson Galaxy, trust equals love to a cat, and trust takes time. I did my best to learn what Grendel needed. When he sat at the window, I opened it for him so he could smell outside. When he cried and paced at two in the morning, I learned that a small snack would calm him down. If he ran around the house trilling, it meant he was bored and he wanted to play, so we learned what he liked to play with. 

His favorite toys are the green ball that dispenses crunchy treats if he rolls it right. He loves to stalk and pounce on Mr. Bug, a pink spider on a string. Dan puts the string under his shoe and drags it around the kitchen table.

I have a close friend who trapped three feral cats from her garage eight years ago. She brought them in because she was sure they'd never survive the dropping temperatures. She told me it took years to earn their trust.  They are Mama, (RIP)  Baby and Lookie. Mama eventually became a friendly cat to other humans, but Lookie still hides from company and I can count on one hand how many times I've seen Baby. 

My friend told me some cats never warm up to humans, and maybe Grendel might not accept me. I was okay with that. I knew he got along well with Dan--they make each other so happy-- and now that she feels better, Freya has started playing Chase with him. That might just have to be enough and that was okay. I love him anyway.

But something happened yesterday. It was like a flipped switch. Grendel jumped up on my desk and chirped at me and looked me in the eye. That was a surprise. He never jumps on my desk, only Dan's. I said, "Hello, Sweet Boy."  I extended my hand to him and he rubbed his face all over my fingers. I pet his nose and head and he leaned into it hard.  He let me cradle his face in the palm of my hand. I tried not to get too excited. 

But this was a new day. I opened a window for him and together we looked out at Squirrel and Bird TV.  When I looked over at him, he leaned in and booped me. I was so delighted, I kissed his nose. I worried that I may have offended him, but he didn't seem to mind. I decided not to push my luck and let him be. 

Later that night, Dan and I were sitting on the couch. Grendel jumped into Dan's lap and asked for love. It's not the first time he's jumped into Dan's lap, but it's the first time he's done it while I was sitting there too. Dan stroked his ears and I reached out and hoped my affection would be accepted. Grendel responded by purring louder than I've ever heard him and nuzzling into both of our hands. 

I'm writing this because I need to tell you, in that moment it felt like our family was whole again. For the first time since we lost Spartacus, I felt like our little family was complete and at peace.  I was hoping Grendel would eventually love me, and now I believe that he does. 

When he grew tired of Cuddletime, he crawled up on Freya's towel and fell asleep next to her, and I snapped that picture. I think he understands now that he truly belongs here and he knows how much he is loved by all of us. 

The world has become a comic book, but I have a corner of happiness.  It's a fantastic feeling that I thought I'd share. The world feels just a little brighter, just because I've earned the love of a cat. 

Week Eight and it's Not Over Yet

 

My poor sweet Grendel. Two weeks ago, we went to my vet, sure that the cast could come off. We got a disturbing x-ray. What was that leg bone doing floating unattached to anything? What  does it mean?

So we got an appointment with Dr. Fowler, the same guy who did his surgery. Because I couldn't understand...How is Grendel able to jump and run and play with that one bone just hanging out in the middle of nowhere? 

He was doing so well...He was darting around like crazy, with not even a limp. He'd declared war on the shower curtain, and he and Freya were starting to play with each other. 

So, it turns out that the gap I saw is fine. That's actually a fifth bone, (!)  and it's okay to float there. Over the course of the year it will evolve and adapt to his body. He will grow a callus and Grendel will still walk normally. 

I was excited for Grendel. I honestly believed that once that cast came off, he'd be ripping around this house like a cat reveling in his freedom. I thought there would be no stopping him, and my biggest worry was how we'd keep him inside for another month. 

I opened the carrier on the floor, waiting for Grendel's triumphant entrance. He crawled out, shaking his leg hard. We were told he had sores. There were raw spots where the cast had chafed, we expected that. They said if he licks to put a cone on him. I figured maybe I'd put some Polysporin on the bald spots. 

Minutes later I checked on him, He'd torn skin and fur away with his teeth, and had a small pile going on the bed. His leg looked like a half raw, half eaten drumstick. On with the cone!!  But as for the Polysporin? Forget it. That leg IS raw, don't even touch it. Grendel hasn't hissed or growled at me in months. I was saddened to hear his pain and anger, but don't blame him for his outburst.

I called my vet and explained the new situation, as they all know and love Grendel. I begged for pain meds and the very sympathetic vet tech  said she'd text when they were ready. I walked into the bedroom to see Freya kindly vacate her favorite bed on the dresser so Grendel could crawl in. She did it without hurry or fuss...just got up and stepped out, as if to say, "Yes, of course. You look like you need it more."

He's resting there now. I noticed he was awake, so I put a couple of  Tuna Squeeze-Ups on a plate and mixed a dose of painkiller in. Then I held it up to his face, inside his cone so he didn't have to move. Freya got some too, not just because Grendel got treats, but because she willingly gave her spot to her brother. 

He'll be okay. We know. As soon as the skin scabs over, Grendel will feel better. It's only a couple more days. It's almost over and Grendel can have a happy, pain-free life again. Soon. Sigh. Also: Thank you Guardian Veterinary Hospital and Mayfield Veterinary Hospital. We can't wait until this is over.

Day One and We're Exhausted

                 

If you follow this blog or my personal Facebook, then you've met Grendel. Grendel is the stray cat we've been feeding since late July. We've welcomed him into our home and let him stay as long as he likes. We've encouraged him to stay overnight, giving him treats and toys, with moderate success. We'd hoped that with the arrival of winter, he would just stay in.

He didn't want to. He likes us and trusts us, but he didn't want to be our cat. That became clear when the closer we tried to get to him, the more he resisted. If we kept him in against his wishes, he punished us with absences. We tried to give him space.

But he always came back eventually, if it got too cold, or he got too hungry, or if he'd been injured from a cat fight. We took him to the vet twice. He comes to us when he hurts. 

Then THIS happened: 

He came home three days ago, clearly in pain. We thought it was another sprain perhaps, but he couldn't put any weight on his foot. We kept him in, despite his protests, and watched it overnight. In the morning, it seemed to be worse, so we called our vet. (Mayfield Veterinary Animal Clinic)

They were exceptionally busy. Is it urgent? Describe his injury. They made the time to see him. Vet said it looked pretty bad and she recommended an x-ray. This is that x-ray. She only took one because the problem was obvious, no need to cause him more pain by repositioning him. 

The next two hours were a flurry of phone calls to Guardian, trying to find the best course of action. We had a make him fast the rest of the night, in case he could get in a morning appointment that required sedation. Long story short- after many more phone calls Guardian had a cancellation and could take him in for surgery. THANK GOD. And yes, they could neuter him as well. We'd been meaning to do that anyway, and we felt that without neutering his recovery would take longer, due to his wandering, somewhat feral nature. 

As you can imagine, the surgery was expensive. He now has two plates in that leg. I'm not going to tell you how much. Partly because the price was the decision of the vets involved (It was a bit less than expected. Maybe they cut us a break.) ) and partly because I'm a little bit embarrassed. Why would we pay so much for a cat that isn't ours? Some might think it was a dumb idea. It's just a cat, right? I know pet owners and animal lovers would understand.

Number One, it's a cat we love. Number two, he's a creature in need. He came to us, because he trusted us to help him. What else could we do? Like what? Abandon him? Hell no. Put him in a splint? Not with that injury, it would lead to ...Amputation? God, no. That would destroy him! So, you see...no other options. 

The trip home from the south end of Edmonton to the west was hard. Grendel yowled, cried and thrashed violently all the way home. I was terrified he would further injure himself. He was angry coming out of the carrier, struggling to stand and walk, not that he's supposed to...Two medications were due, we had to remove the bandage on his front leg where the intravenous was, and put his cone back on. Dan went out and purchased a fabric cone for his comfort. We had it on him for less than an hour before it completely disappeared. Twenty-two dollars gone with no trace. More medication tonight after he has a good solid sleep and more food. As I write this, he's stretched out on the basement futon, out like a light. 

This is day one and we're pooped, and he will remain indoors with us for a minimum of six weeks.  (For good, if we can convince him.) More splint changes, new newspaper pellet litter, blocked off passageways, closed doors and keep him separated from Freya.

Dan and I often thought he had a couple of families looking after him. A neighbor told me that he lives in a green house across the avenue. I'm prepared for someone to come to my door, demanding to take him back. I will hand them the receipt we received from Guardian. I will ask them: "Where were you when he broke his leg? Why did he come to us, and not you?" 

We have accepted that he may never be our cat, he might actually belong to someone else. He might not stay after all this is over. 

But the more Dan and I talk about it, the less embarrassed I feel about our choices. Why shouldn't we do this? We have no mortgage and a clean VISA. Animal shelters and organizations all over this city, all over this continent do more with less. And there's no shame in helping defenseless animals. It's the RIGHT thing to do. Dan and I promised each other when Spartacus Jones died that we would help homeless animals to the best of our ability. 

We're keeping that promise now. 

Carry On Our Wayward Cat

 

If you've read the previous post, you'll know we're trying to bring a stray cat we've named 'Grendel' into our household. A lot has happened since my last blog. 
He got a bad infection in his leg. He came to our house very much later than usual, and when he did, he could not walk  He looked like a three-legged cat, and we made a decision. 

We shut him in, and made him an appointment for the vet. He was so tired and so sick, he didn't bother fighting us.  He just hobbled downstairs to sleep. 

As the night wore on, he growled, he pleaded, he lost the energy to argue. We did not let him out. The next day, I picked him up, intimidated by his terrible, monster growl-it's truly scary-But....He's all bark, no scratching or biting. I spent less than thirty seconds tucking him into a cat carrier. He didn't know what it was. He knew it seemed bad, but he didn't know how to fight it. Plus one leg didn't work right.

The vet gave him a shot of antibiotics, and he spent the next four days indoors with us. (Apparently, he's about two years old, and they gave him the birthdate of September 15, 2018.) That meant lots of love, lots of food and nip. Still he yowled and scratched at the door. Not wanting to stress him out, we released him after he stopped limping. 

He didn't show up for a day and a half. I was relieved it was only that long. I expected him to disappear for three or four days and it felt like it. But he returned, and now we have a new half established routine.

I feel like I live with a teenager. Grendel stays out all night, coming home to eat like a horse before passing out in the basement. He wakes in the afternoon, wolfs his breakfast/lunch/whatever and disappears. I told my Mom about it and she was blunt. "Donna--That's payback." I cracked the hell up, but wow...I suddenly feel mighty bad for my mother. He stresses me out a bit.

But as I sit typing this, my heart sings. Grendel rests on the floor by my side. It gives me so much pleasure to watch him play with a honeysuckle stick. It makes me so happy to make him feel safe. It feels like love. And maybe he loves us enough to stay. 

He just left to sleep the morning away downstairs. Typical teenager.

Edit: Yes, we still plan to get him fixed. He seems to know it too. His appearances have become random and unpredictable.

Spartacus Jones is Seven

Seven years old. We think.

It's my sweet boy's birthday, and I am determined to make it a good one. He's an angel, and he's had a hard month. He made a new friend named Luna, and one day she left in a cat carrier and never returned. Sometimes he still leaves a bit of his wet food, and looks for her. It breaks my heart. Maybe we SHOULD get another cat....

But like I said, this birthday will be special. It starts with tuna for breakfast, and new toys. We bought him a new laser pointer and a 'Kicker.' A Kicker is a long stuffed toy filled with cat nip. The cat generally wraps their paws around it, biting and kicking the crap out of it. Thank you Paws Cat Cafe in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada for that. It's filled with Meowauna, a blend of Valerian, cat nip, honeysuckle and cat mint--all the good stuff.

Speaking of good stuff, there will be other treats, all day long. There are the Squeezables....That's essentially chicken or tuna flavored baby food in tubes like squeezable yogurt--but for cats. Available at various department stores, grocery stores and pet places.

I still have some cat nip wine I've been saving. The last time they had it was Freya's birthday in December, and I have embarrassing pictures to prove it.

Freya had a bit too much nip wine last year.

I've been growing catnip from seed, and I intend to give them each a bowlful.

When I get home from work, I will engage in The Basement Cuddle. Spartacus prefers the quiet coolness of the basement, and frequently asks me to join him. It is a great bonding experience where we lie down on the downstairs futon and I cradle him until his purrs turn to snores. I will ignore how cold it is down there, and the fact that the house creaks and groans and there are spiders.

Bowl of homegrown nip.

Finally, just when we are all settling in for the night, I will present him with his favorite thing in the whole world.....A roll of paper towel. I will place it on the floor and call him. (I did get video, but wasn't able to download it here.If you want to see it, check my Instagram donnamilward6)

I'd like to say thank you to Paw's Pet Cafe. They do great work getting cats adopted and they also sell the very best cat merchandise. Does anyone know a good recipe for a cat birthday cake...?

Five Facts About Her True Name:Volume One

Cover by Anima Black

Her True Name is an open-ended series about the reincarnated lives of two lovers named Sage and Virtus. I'm not sure how many volumes there will be, but I can tell you Volume Two takes place in early Sweden in the time of the Funnelbeakers, and the second edits have gone by without a hitch.

But we're still talking about Volume One which takes place in ancient Egypt. Here's stuff you may not know about this book.

1. It's inspired by a highschool pal: Nicki Cole was my best friend in junior high, and loved aaaalll things Egyptian. She even dressed the part. I had her beta read this novella, and dedicated it to her. It's funny how you can reconnect with an old friend on Facebook, and find a little inspiration. Oh...and she just had a viking wedding. I can't wait to see what she says about Volume Two. She beta reading that one as well.

2. Of course there's a cat: Egyptian's worshipped cats. Bast(or Bastet) is a cat goddess, and a main character, so there had to be a cat. Kitty's name is Hetepheres. I Googled Egyptian girl names for her, and it's actually the name of  an Egyptian queen and it means, "She who wears a satisfied face."  It's pronounced Het-a-fair-us. Although Hetepheres is a Sphynx cat, the breed didn't actual exist the way it does in ancient Egypt. The breed is a genetic mutation from our time.

Photo by:Warren photographic

3. Odji is another villain who wrote himself:  I often wonder how it is that I write villains so easily. When I chose Odji's name, I didn't realize he would truly become 'Wicked'. Plus, I'm a plotter, not a pantser, but I gladly made room for him. His unexpected attitude changed the book in great ways, and it wouldn't be the novella it is without him. Sorry...no spoilers, but if you love a good villain, Odji will satisfy your craving.

4. Did you know?: In ancient Egypt glass beads were as valuable as pearls? Or that the Egyptians were the first to develop clear glass? Or that silver was considered more valuable than gold? That's the cool thing about research. You learn interesting tidbits you wouldn't have come across if you weren't trying to create authenticity for your work.

5..I have always loved the idea of reincarnation, and I truly hope it exists: I have believed in reincarnation since the age of six, because it feels like it has all the answers I seek.  I think this world would be a better place if people knew they would always answer for their wrong doings if not this life then the next. These novellas are about--finding your contented place.and returning to those you love regardless of death and time. BUT I'm using my research for fictional purposes. I've no desire to convert anyone. The reason I bring that up, is because a religious woman I met at a book club had read Thoeba, and was disturbed by my ideas of reincarnation. I had to assure her I write for entertainment purposes only, and I have no intention of being the next L. Ron Hubbard.

So there we are--Five facts about Her True Name: Volume One. I hope you enjoyed it, and that you'll enjoy Volume Two when it comes out.

Next installment will be Five Facts about Chasing Monsters.

Five Interesting Facts About Aphrodite's War

Wicked cover by Terra Weston

Aphrodite's War is my second novel. It had a rough start, and you'll find out why, but you'll also find out how it bloomed too.I shouldn't have favorites...but yeah. Aphrodite's War is probably my easiest labor.

1. Ares wrote himself:  He was supposed to be a charming rogue type. But in the prologue he said, "Harpy slut! No one needed you to teach humans how to fuck." My hands literally flew off the keyboard, and I realized he wasn't going to be who I thought he was. He pretty much did and said whatever he liked from then on.

2 Amir was supposed to die: Near the beginning of the book, the kitten named Amir was supposed to meet his end in a microwave oven. After six solid weeks of Writer's Block, I realized there was NO WAY I could write that. I really didn't want to. So I changed the outcome, and changed the direction of the novel.

3. The change inspired me to get a cat: It may not be a big deal to other people, but going to the Edmonton Humane Society, and bringing Freya home changed my life. She's my very first pet, and the joy she brought to our lives changed the novel again in great ways. I even went back into the rough draft and changed the goddess Freya to resemble my new kitty. I was so in love, and writing this novel became effortless. And now I'm a proud crazy cat lover.

Perfect girl Freya

4. I learned Kendo for Adrien's sake: Adrien is a defense lawyer, and I worried that readers wouldn't like him. I'll admit, he wasn't likable at first. So he had to have a couple of cool interests. Someone at my husband's work recommended Edmonton Kendo, after I mentioned fencing. http://edmontonkendo.ca/ What better way to research than to truly experience it? It's engaging and interesting, and a fantastic workout. The people I met and the experiences I had I'll cherish for the rest of my life, and I recommend it to anyone. No one poked fun at me for how big I was, or that I couldn't keep up while jogging.. They knew I'd learn and get stronger, and adapt.. I learned a lot about respect, Japanese culture, and so much more. I lost at least thirty pounds. The reason I'm not still there is because I had too many other obligations, and not enough time or energy.

THIS is the coolness that is Kendo

5. SPOILER ALERT  for Strife: Readers might notice that I didn't mention what happened to Strife. That was not an oversight or mistake. Her character expanded in ways I didn't see coming. Like so many readers expressed, she became one of my favorites. I don't think she's finished...

Thorry You Didn't Stay

A writer never lets her readers dangle. One must tie knots in the ends of her threads, so here is the final Thor Report.

For those of you who don't know, Thor was the little orange stray we were trying to coax into our family. We were so close...I even have pictures to share. But we haven't seen the little cat with the big balls for weeks now. I guess it wasn't meant to be.

The last time we saw Thor, we fed him, and he let both myself and my husband hold him. He meowed a lot over it, but his body seemed relaxed. He stuck around for about fifteen, twenty minutes before trotting to the gate. He perched atop it, looking back at us. He looked reluctant. Like he was trying to decide if he really wanted to go.

A few nights later, I dreamed I was holding him. He had a collar and tag very much like the ones we have for Spartacus Jones and Freya. I tried to read the tag, wondering if I would find our address and number on the tag or someone else's, but he wouldn't let me read it. He kept squirming, and I woke up.

After a few days, and much thought, we stopped leaving food out. We hadn't seen him at all, but the neighbor's cat started coming into the yard, and we suspect she'd been eating the food. I think Joyce, her owner, probably wouldn't appreciate us getting her tubby cat even tubbier.

So I guess Thor wasn't meant to be ours. I'd like to think he's safe in someone else's house. That we weren't meant to have him, but we were supposed to help keep him alive so he could find his furever home.

Further thought makes me question whether we should get a third cat after all. Freya is the Greta Garbo of cats, clearly wishing to be left alone. Spartacus Jones might want a sibling, but perhaps he wouldn't like sharing his Mommy with another cat. He's jealous of attention I give to Freya.

I guess we will remain a two-cat household, and maybe that's for the best. I'd like to think that if another cat comes into our lives, I will know when it's right. We'll see. Goodbye, little Thor. It was nice knowing you <3 If things don't work out...You know you have someplace to go.

Thor Thpots.

This isn't Thor. I got this off the internet. Thor is smaller and thinner.

When did I become such a sap? Yes, this is a cat blog, but no, it's not about Spartacus Jones or Freya. It's about an orange cat with orange eyes I've named 'Thor'.

The first time I saw him, he was sitting in our driveway with Spartacus and our neighbor's cat 'Charlie'. He was skinny, skittish and didn't have a collar, so naturally, I had to try to befriend him.

Cats without collars stress me out. All I can think about is...Are you abandoned? Do you have a safe place? Are you hungry?

We've been feeding him. He lets us touch him, and Spartacus will actually watch him wolf down food without getting territorial or jealous. In fact, Thor follows Spartacus right into the yard. I think Spartacus wants a little brother. He never gets nasty with Thor.

Thor is polite, even though his table manners are atrocious. He scarfs down his food, rubs around my husband and I, chirps a little thank you and runs away. He's made it as close as the porch, but won't come in.

I worry. I hurt for the little beast, but my husband is far more stoic. Thor seems more like an actual stray than an abandoned cat. He's thin, skittish and clearly not fixed. (Is it normal for cats to have testicles the size of peach pits?) He's a little warrior.

Dan reminds me that this is his normal life, being outdoors foraging or scavenging food. He doesn't know he's missing anything. The weather is nice, and Thor doesn't seem to be suffering. He isn't cold, and he probably has a good hiding place during the day. We always have water out. Nights have been nice.

I've been reminding myself I have time to gain his trust. Summers are short in my province, but I have at least three months before the weather gets ugly. Maybe by then, he'll be ready. Maybe not. In the meantime, I'll just keep leaving a dish of wet food on my porch. I'll keep looking for that empty dish in the morning. I'll keep searching for a little patch of orange.

How to Tell if Your Human Worships You.

Psst...She's asleep!

My writer needs a nap. She's been working hard at looking for a job, writing and spring cleaning. We'll let her sleep, and I, Spartacus will point out to all you felines the various ways you can tell when your human is a little too obsessed with you. This will help you learn the train-ability of your human and allow you to determine their place in the event of the global cat domination.

1. That flashy thing. If you have a human, chances are your human has one of those annoying flashy things. They point it at you constantly, no matter what you are doing and will spare you no decorum or dignity. This is an unfortunate thing that cat obsessed humans do, and cannot be avoided. Be adorable whenever possible. It will lead to expensive toys and treats once you master 'The Cuteness'. Which leads us to...

Ugh! No privacy to be had!

2. Insufferable Cutesy Nicknames. It is the absurd habit of people to give you one name, but call you by a variety of others. These include, but are not limited to: Sweetie-kitty, Handsome-boy, Little-Man, Sweet-boy, Baby, etc, fill-in-your-humiliating-moniker-here. The good news is, you can pick and choose which one, if any, you will respond to. I myself only respond to Baby. You would too, with a name like Spartacus Thomas Jones Milward.

It could be worse...I could be 'Mittens'.

3.They will share their noms. Once you have mastered 'The Cuteness', stealing noms becomes easy. This also works on forbidden surfaces like counter tops. The worst that can happen is being 'shooed', and the rewards outweigh the possibility of needing to execute a hasty landing.

Always be photogenic when sneaking noms.

4. The Constant Cuddle. Obsessed humans always feel the need to pick you up, and cuddle you. I suspect it is due to their lack of fur. They covet the soft warmness that we have and feel the need to rub it upon themselves. This too can be used to your advantage, and for training. How, you ask?

Sigh...Mommy loves me. A LOT.

5. They will remain motionless for your benefit. The devoted human will endure extended minutes of discomfort to avoid disturbing you. It is the true indicator of gauging your human's commitment. Feel free to perch on whichever body part you find comfortable. A worthy human will suppress tingling nerves, hunger and even the need to urinate in order to maintain your happiness. Feel free to nap. Feel free to interrupt THEIR time on their poo-pond. If they are willing to sit on their wet white seat, in the dark, while you enjoy a siesta in their lap, you have an obsessed human, and therefore a dedicated minion when cats take over the world.

She makes a great cat bed.

These are but five reliable indicators of fanatical behaviors in the species Homo Sapien. If you are lucky enough to find such a human, congratulations. If you are not, don't worry. Humans are highly susceptible to cuteness and easily trained.  Maybe some time soon I will tell you the finer points of 'The Cuteness', and how to use it. 

Yes. They keep me on a pedestal.

Dear Universe

If you don't mind, I would like another cat. I am in love with my Freya, Mighty Huntress and perfect little girl. I am forever grateful for my best friend, Spartacus Jones, whose cuddles and loyalty keep me sane. But the Energy has made cats sweet, furry, purry, and addictive. I can't have just two. 

 I'm asking you, whatever powers that be, because had I never even voiced out loud what I wished to anyone when you took my mental list, and delivered Spartacus Jones.

Back then, I wanted another kitty, but he would have to be special. Someone I could not resist. Maybe a stray, starving and possibly injured...the weather would have to be bad. Because at that time I believed there was no reason to bring a stray cat indoors if it wasn't raining or snowing. He would have to be younger than my cats...I decided he would fit in better that way. Having said that, he would have to get along with Sully and Freya.

It was as though the universe said "That's your list? Here you go."

Spartacus Jones followed my husband and friend home. He fit all the criteria. It was raining AND snowing on April 29th, 2013. He came to us with scars and ribs showing. He begged for affection, which I gave until I decided he belonged here. I tried to find his owners, but he'd obviously been out for awhile, and despite the fact that he was a good kitty, fixed and litter trained, no one seemed to be looking for him. I couldn't let him be abandoned twice.

Does this cat tree make me look fat?

You did such a good job, Entity Upstairs, that I'm making a formal request for one more. Here's my list:

1) I'd like another stray or even a willing feral. Not just because they are such grateful kitties, but because they don't have anything.  They have no shelter, and don't know when their next meal may come from. They are unwanted. They suffer so much, and I know I can love them right back to health. They deserve it.

2) I'd like for this cat to fit in with Spartacus Jones AND Freya. In fact, could you let the two of them  choose? When we lost Sully, we lost the natural balance between them. It's hard enough to get Freya and Spartacus to get along now. I can't bring another cat into this family if it will ostracize any of them.

Perfect Little Girl

3) I don't care how old the cat is, what gender it is, or what breed I get. I will accept the responsibility of an injured cat, extra toes, missing legs, it doesn't matter. If you send me the one that can get along with my furchildren, I will give it a home. I will take in any stray sent to me anyway, and get them off the street to someplace warm, even if it's the Humane Society. I promise.

Did I mention I have a birthday coming up?

Freya is Four

It's been awhile since my last cat post, so I don't see any reason why I can't irritate you all to distraction and talk about writing at the same time.

It was Freya's birthday on Monday. She is four years old and still perfect. She is deeply adored by her human Mommy and Daddy and worshiped by Spartacus Jones, who makes her crazy, with his constant desire to play when she wants to nap.

I was working on Aphrodite's War when we adopted her from the Humane Society. If you've read the book, then you know there is a black Persian kitten named Amir in the story. I'd never owned a pet in my entire life, but I've met a few, right? . My heroine needed a cat.

Amir was supposed to die in a microwave at the hands of Poetry's vicious ex-boyfriend. Long story short, I couldn't do it. It was too heinous an act. I knew the ex was a psycho, but I am not. I couldn't write such an awful event. It was a smart decision that added depth to the book.

My feelings for Amir grew until I longed for a cat of my own. I asked my husband, and he agreed. It had been many years since he had a pet, and he figured having a pet would be good experience for me, since I'd never had one. He's such a sweetie.

We met Freya in the first alcove we entered. The other cats ignored us, but she meowed at Dan's feet until he picked her up. She stuck her face in Dan's beard and armpits, purring the entire time. When Dan introduced me to her, she crawled out of his arms, into mine and repeated the sweet gestures, minus the beard snuggling.

We decided to check other alcoves, just in case. Surely the first cat we met couldn't automatically be 'the one' could it? She was.

I remember Dan saying, "Honey, turn around." Freya sat watching us from a window with the saddest, most forlorn look on her face. He said, "I'm not leaving her here." And I agreed. Good thing too. As we waited for the adoption to be completed, we witnessed first hand why she wanted so badly to leave. The other cats had pushed her into a corner, hissing when she tried to sleep on any cat bed and growling her away from the food. She was smaller and younger than the rest of them. She spent a lot of time under Dan's chair, and he protected her until it was time to go, shooing away any feline who looked at her with narrow-eyed intent.

I named her Freya after the Norse fertility goddess. When my husband agreed to let me have a cat, I'd gone on line, checking for cat-orientated names from as many mythologies as possible. When I saw those beautiful blue eyes paired with pure white fur, I knew what we'd call her. She looked like a baby frost giantess. I would give her a NORSE name, because she seemed to feel powerless, and I wanted her to feel like a goddess. (The Humane Society named her 'Kendall'. We weren't keeping that.)

It was instant love. She explored our house and afterwards parked herself between us on the couch, to purr and groom, and absorb unending cuddling. Nothing got done for three days as a result of our bonding. Good thing hubby was on vacation. She even slept stretched out between us at night, her head on our pillows.  Now she's our brave little huntress.

I think it was her arrival that changed the novel Aphrodite's War. I was able to give Amir more personality, and Freya the deity took on a much larger role instead of a cameo appearance. I even went so far as to change Freya, the goddess, to look like my new cat. And speaking of cameo appearances, I put Freya-kitty in the book along with our next cat, a much missed Siamese cross breed, Sully in the book as well. They show up in the goddess' lair when Aphrodite visits.

Freya-kitty didn't just change my novel. She changed my whole life. I have a subscription to Modern Cat magazine, a room dedicated to feline comfort and demonstrate my devotion like a fanatic. I couldn't be more content with that. Happy fourth birthday to my perfect Freya. Mommy never knew she could love so hard.

One Year Later...

April 29th, 2013 Our first photo of Spartacus Jones

On April 29th, 2013 a little grey and white cat followed my husband and my best friend home from a cigarette run. I remember that it was raining and snowing, because that was the reason I didn't go with them.

They told me about him when they got home, and I could hear him crying outside the window, so I asked them to bring him in. I wasn't about to leave an animal out in weather I wasn't willing to go for a short walk in.

It turned out to be one of those really awesome decisions one makes in their lifetime. It's right up there with convincing the troll I would be a good girlfriend and buying a house when interest rates dropped to 5%. (3 or 4 months after we bought our house Edmonton housing prices skyrocketed)

I was soooo ticked at my best friend for bringing the responsibility of this stray cat upon me. I regret telling her that. Now I know that not only was it absolutely meant to be, but it was the right thing to do. And I would do it again. In half a heartbeat. No more questions asked.

The photo above is the one I took so I could put him on Petlynx and various 'found' posters. Poor baby looks so scared and so thin. What if Darci hadn't found him? What if we hadn't taken him in?

We wouldn't have experienced the pure love that is Spartacus Jones. He is loyal like a dog. When we go outside, he follows, staying within sight at all times.  When I cry, he cuddles close and comforts me. He makes us laugh everyday. I can't believe someone somewhere just let him go, not even caring what happened to him. It hurts to think how people discard innocent pets, family members. Where is the compassion?

Last Thursday, I found a receipt from my vet, pinned to my bulletin board, dated for May of 2013....I was like "What is it doing here? That's a decent chunk of change, what is it for?" I remember now.  I took Spartacus Jones to my vet, looking for a tattoo or a microchip. While I was there, I had his shots updated, including one for outside cats, just in case. I had his ear mite infection taken care of.

He sat as close to me as he could, as in rightbesideme. My vet said "Look how much he loves you already." I said, "The feeling is already mutual." I think I knew when I brought him to the veterinary clinic that I was going to keep him.

I could go on and on, I could tell you how he chirps with joy when I join him outside, or how he tosses his head when I goad him into a game of tag, as if to say, "Oh, it's on now!" I could tell you how he loves to nap on and under my broomstick skirts while I'm wearing them. I could go on and on. Rest assured this is his forever home, and there will be more stories to tell.

Spartacus Jones one year later.

So Happy First Anniversary to my boy Spartacus Jones, my cosmic gift. So happy here's here.

Goodnight, Sweet Sully

Sully--November 15/2010-July 31/2013

I knew this day would come sometime, but I never expected it so soon. It's the most painful thing I've ever experienced. I've had loss before, but never anyone so close--Two grandfathers, one long distance, one never known. A long time ago aunt 36 years gone, a grandmother only seen two or three times a year, and one uncle, with all appearances counted on my hands. Sully's death is killing me. My friends keep telling me, "It's not your fault." But it is...

It actually happened last Wednesday, the day before Spartacus' birthday, but I couldn't say anything, because Sully's original mommy was on vacation and didn't know yet. Besides, Spartacus should have his day too, and I tried to hide my pain.

Sully escaped the house at 11 p.m. Tuesday night. I heard "Damn it, Sully!" as my husband came through the door after parking the truck. Our Siamese was up and over the fence in a flash and gone.

We'd been out with friends that night, and were too tired. "Let him go," I said. "His stomach will bring him home. If not, then it will teach him a lesson about running out at night." Neither of us had the energy to search the neighborhood looking for him.

It was the last time we saw him alive.

At about seven the next morning, Dan left for work, but came back in after only a few minutes. "What did you forget?" I asked.

There were tears in his eyes, and he looked grief-stricken. Distraught.  In seventeen years together, I've never seen that expression on his face before, and I hope I never see it again.

"Sully's dead."

Sully's first day at our house

I raced outside and when I saw the body I started screaming. I didn't know I could scream so loudly and so raw. Now everyone in our neighborhood three blocks over knows his name.

Someone had wrapped him in clean baby blankets and left him outside our gate, placing his collar and tag respectfully on top.

I later found a message on my cell phone from a blocked number placed at 3 in the morning. A young man's voice asked if I could come outside because he had to tell me something. I missed that.

I'm not angry with the guy who ran over Sully. It was an accident, and he was clearly remorseful. At least he had the decency to bring our boy home and treat his body with respect. He tried to phone me. As far as I am concerned, his karma is clear. Thanks to him, Sully was not alone when he died.

How did he know where and what phone number? He checked the back of Sully's name-tag. It had our address and my cell phone number. My answering message gives my full name.

I need to be very careful what kind of energy I send out it seems. I thought maybe I'd like three cats and the cosmos delivered. Three months later I mused about how I almost wish I could go back to two cats because three was such a handful. I shut the idea out of my mind--I love my furbabies more than anything-- but it was too late. The powers that be heard me, and now Sully is gone.

It's ME I hate for this. I wonder, did he suffer? Would it have made a difference had I answered the phone? I should have gone out there, shaking a bag of treats until I got him safely inside. I shouldn't have left him out there. My husband and I feel awful because our last thoughts of him were 'irritation'. Dan hates how the last words he said to Sully were yelled in anger.

Did he know how much we loved him? As he died did he know how much we'll miss him? Or had he run away that night, trying to escape life with us and two other cats? DID I LOVE HIM ENOUGH?

Don't blame yourself, they say. How can I not?  I can still hear his voice outside our door. In my dreams I chase him through a maze-like house, hoping to catch him and bring him home so he won't get killed again. There's a list of close friends and family who have tried to convince me otherwise and I'm grateful. But it's going to take a LONG time before I forgive myself.

In the meantime, I'm going to pull myself together and change all my bios. I am now the keeper of TWO cats and a troll. We've picked up his ashes, in his tiny little box, and I'm going to take Kevin's advice and talk to his spirit. Then we're going to take Ashley and Kathleen's advice and plan Sully's memorial, with the baby's breath he liked to chew on, and a roll of toilet paper he'd love to shred but will be used instead to dry tears.

Hopefully, my next blog will be more positive and not about my cats. Wish me luck and I'm sorry about all the negativity lately. This just really hurts.

We love you, Handsome Boy <3

Damn You, Facebook!

Freya in a box

It's Wednesday, eight o'clock at night and I'm just writing my next blog now. I never procrastinate, but I had yet to think of something to write about.

I thought, "Maybe I'll skip this week, after all I have a special one planned for August 1st. and no one hangs on their computer in the summer. I should work on that one."

"But FIRST I'll just quickly check my Facebook." Can you guess what happened next?

Yeah...It took me over an hour, but I managed to escape social media's slorping, suctacious grip.

I made a quick post about being so tired I kept trying to text with my remote control. Of course I had notifications...like, thirty of them I needed to check out.

My favorite photo of Dan and Sully

Aaaand of course people liked and commented on my post. I made a comment back about how when I did the opposite, all I get is the 'Freya Channel.' Thinking some people might not know who my pretty girl is, I posted the screen shot for my cell phone, a photo of my white cat wearing pink wings. (I didn't give it here, because it's been done to death and that one isn't published. Exclusive to this blog only!)

THEN it occurs to me that that particular picture wasn't in the album for my kitties, and it really should be. So I updated the album with that photo and a few more including the one above of Sully. Suddenly, there's more comments, mostly about the adorability of my furbabies.

Next thing I know, I'm having conversations with three people about cats, and I'm not getting any work done. All this for CATS. Yeah, I got it bad for felines.

Spartacus Jones, first week

I had to yank myself away...Even now, I swear I can hear the chime that tells me something new is happening. I'll have to go back soon...

But I think it's kind of funny. My frustration with Crackbook led to a topic for my blog! What do you know...I DID find something to write about. Gee! Thanks Facebook...sorta.

Dear Spartacus Jones...

Spartacus the first day we met him.

It's your birthday, Spartacus Jones. Or at least it's the one we've given you, August 1st. You are approximately 12 months old now. We've presented a new toy just for you and tuna popsicles. You can have all the cuddles you need. My day is yours.

If I knew what your favorite wet food is, I would have given you that too. But your favorite is still, after three months, anything that anyone leaves unattended.

I wish I could tell you, little warrior, that you don't have to fight anymore. Your battle for survival is over, and you are Home.

Safe and Loved.

It rained as well as snowed on April 29th, 2013. You followed my husband and my best friend home from a cigarette run. You have Auntie Darci to thank for coaxing you here.

I didn't want you. My husband didn't want you. We already had two cats we love like children. But I couldn't bear the sound of your cries outside the window. I thought of Freya and Sully, lost and alone in weather I was unwilling to endure myself. So I brought you inside. I planned not to get attached.

I avoided you while Auntie Darci buried her face in your fur and called you 'Tom Jones'. We watched you devour kibble like you hadn't eaten in days. Judging from the count of your ribs, God only knows when that was. You were so small, we thought you were only four months old.

Still, we made plans to deliver you to the Humane Society, even though Dan insisted he should finally get to name a cat. He chose the name 'Spartacus'. For my husband the name represents bravery, and I think it 's appropriate.

In the morning, I gave you every opportunity to leave, but understood when you didn't. Alberta weather is cruel. Two winters,No spring. A tidy suburb was no place for a young stray, with lidded garbage cans and sparse restaurants and few dumpsters. You remained inside our warm house while I tried to find your owner in some non-committal, haphazard poster way.

Three days after your arrival, you climbed onto the couch with me. I watched you tiptoe your way to my side. You put your head and paws in my lap, pleading silently with your green and gold eyes for some shred of affection, and I surrendered.

It was then I knew. There was something about you. Karma. You belonged with us. You needed to be Safe and Loved...and you were already here. Why should I put you through loss again? If I gave you up now, would you ever know the love you very much deserved? That there was NOTHING WRONG with YOU?

I found your scars. I found your fear as well. Please know, precious Spartacus that Mommy will never hit you, no matter what you've done.

The story is much longer than this, but all the unanswerable questions of your past taunt me and bring tears to my eyes.

Why do you cringe when I say 'no'? Where did those scars come from? Why would someone go through the trouble of neutering you, only to abandon you? Why aren't you angry and feral? Who were you, and what did you endure?

I think how ferociously I love you. How you are learning to play again--both with me, and your new siblings. I see your anxiety dissipating, your night whimpers becoming less frequent.

I love to inhale the clover-cat musk scent of you, and hear your rumbling purr. I adore how you always seem so excited to see me, jumping and tossing your head like a puppy. I love how you stay so close to me, sometimes spending entire days by my side, whether we are writing or weeding the garden. I love how you seem to know I'm writing to you right now, because you keep jumping up on my desk and saying "RRRrrrrr?" You always ask me that.

People tell me all the time how kind your Daddy and I are for taking you in and how lucky you are to have found such a loving home. We are the lucky ones, and our family is complete.

Happy Birthday, Spartacus Jones. Know that for the rest of your life, you are Safe and Loved. I promise.

Spartacus Jones today

What's New Pussycat?

I'm late today and I'm using summer as my excuse.

Summers are notoriously short in Alberta and the LAST thing I feel like doing right now is blogging. So I'm going to brief so I can go play in my garden with my kitties.

I didn't win the Midwestern Independent Book Award for Paranormal, but that's okay. Apparently I lost to a lovely lady who gave my publisher a signed copy.

I still get foil stickers to put on all my copies that say I was a finalist.

Also, my publisher pushed back my release date to September, because Aphrodite's War will be made available in paperback as well as e-book. Yay!

In other news, Spartacus Jones is doing well. You can barely see his ribs anymore and he's happy and loving. He's stalking grass outside as we speak.

I think I'll take the laptop outside and join him. Enjoy the sunshine everyone!