Guest Post: A Special Chemistry

Guest author Sandra Carey Cody writes about the bond between people and their pets…

When Cheryl invited me to share a pet memory for her blog, I was delighted. It seemed such an easy thing to write about. It didn’t turn out quite that way. How do you choose a single memory out of years of pet love? Which pet do you write about? They’re all special in their own way and they’ve all added something special to our lives. I have wonderful memories of each of my pets, from my first dog, a mixed-breed I named Fancy Ann, through the snakes and other exotic creatures our younger son was always bringing home, to Missy, the rescued road-drop cat, who brings such joy to our empty nest these days.

The chemistry between humans and animals is a mysterious thing, a connection that seems to bring out the best in all of us.

When our children were growing up, our family did a lot of camping. For us, it was the perfect vacation. It was affordable. The kids (two boys Mark Twain would have loved) could experience the world in a way they only glimpsed in our suburban neighborhood. Equally important, we could include Lance, our pet-in-residence for many of those years. Lance was an energetic, half Irish/half English Setter who remained a puppy all his life.

One summer we were camping in Florida, near the beach at Pensacola. After our site was pretty much in order, my husband, Pete, took Lance for a walk. The boys stayed with me, ostensibly to help, but really to give Pete a chance to scope out the area and make sure it was safe for them to explore. Turns out, it wasn’t. There were multiple signs warning campers to stay on the trails. These, of course, meant nothing to a dog. Luxuriating in the wealth of enticing unfamiliar scents, despite Pete’s best efforts to rein him in, Lance poked his nose into the undergrowth at the side of every trail. After one such foray, he yelped, jumped back and began shaking his head like crazy. Pete barely had time to see a long, thin shape fly off into the brush, but it was long enough for him know that a rattlesnake had had its fangs in our dog’s nose.

You’ve probably all been there in one way or another – a vacation just begun – and a catastrophe. What to do?

Pete found the ranger, who gave him the number of a veterinarian, but by the time he was able to reach the vet (this was long before cell phones came into being), close to an hour had elapsed – enough time that he was told there was probably nothing we could do at this point. We’d have to wait and see. So the long night began. Lance’s nose swelled up like a small melon and he didn’t have to be coaxed to stay quietly by our side. It was a quiet we (especially I) usually longed for, but this time, it was not welcome. The next twelve hours were filled with both hope and dread. Lest you’re worried, I’ll tell you now – the story has a happy ending. Lance woke up the next morning none the worse for his misadventure.

The bright side to the story and one reason it remains so vividly alive for me, aside from Lance surviving, is the way other campers reacted. Campgrounds are like small towns. The kids get to know each other almost immediately and news spreads like campfires left unattended. Even before Pete was able to reach the vet, the other campers knew our dog had been bitten by a rattlesnake. All night, people, young and old, dropped by with treats for him - steak bones with lots of meat left on, bits of chicken carefully scraped off the bone, you name it - anything a big, foolhardy dog might like. Everyone offered their best wishes, some with tears in their eyes. The next morning, they all dropped by to check on Lance and all seemed genuinely happy to hear that he was alive and well.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to know so many strangers so quickly – all because of that mysterious chemistry between people and their pets. It’s a bond we all can relate to.

I’d love to share a picture of Lance, but it was so long ago, the only photos we have are dog-eared (sorry) and blurry. Maybe you’d like to see a picture of Missy, the current love of our life, who considers herself a mighty hunter - or one of David (the son who dragged home all the exotic pets) with Badger, his devoted Jack Russell.

Missy - mighty hunter!

Badger the Jack Russell Terrier with David, his human.

What a wonderful story, Sandra – thanks so much for sharing it with us and thank goodness it all worked out for Lance.

Readers, please click through to Sandra's Write Spot interview to meet the woman behind the words and take a peek at where she works her writing magic. You can also visit Sandra at sandracareycody.com, at her blog, Birth of a Novel, and on social media at Twitter and Facebook. 

Lethal Journal, the fifth and latest in Sandra's Jennie Connors Mystery series is available now. I love mysteries and thoroughly enjoyed this one. Here's my review. 

Jennie has been promoted out of the job she loves. But there's one thing she wants to do before she moves into her new position: Jake Appleton, known throughout Riverview as Sour Appleton, needs to be integrated into the retirement community's social life. It won't be easy.

Jake spends his days alone, staring out the window and mumbling that the world is full of crooks. Has he witnessed wrongdoing in the construction project going on outside his window? Or is he looking back over his own life. Jake's not telling. He shares his thoughts only in his journal.

Jennie doesn't give up - and, finally, one morning Jake surprises her. He taps the journal, says "it's all in here" and agrees to talk to her later that afternoon.

But someone else gets there first. Jennie finds Jake with a bullet in his head. The journal is gone - and Jennie is determined to find it and solve the puzzle of a lonely old man and restore peace of mind to the residents she loves. If you've read any of the other Jennie Connors books, you won't be surprised to learn that the residents insist on becoming involved.

Amazon.com | Amazon.ca

Barnes and Noble

Click-to-Tweet this post!

Permalink: A Special Chemistry

Subscribe to stillpoint – You'll receive email notification when a new blog is posted, no more than once a week and absolutely no spam, I promise!

stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

   

Samcat takes over...

Cheryl here. I'm taking some vacation time this week – off to see a play at the Stratford Festival, visit some galleries, eat some lovely meals (washed down with some very good wine), and just generally catch up on my rest and relaxation. I've asked Sam, my faithful sidekick and bookshelf cat, to keep an eye on things here at stillpoint and maybe tell you a tale or two. Take it away, Sam, the blog is all yours. Be good!

Really? Isn't that just like a human? She not only leaves me home alone but expects me to do her entertaining, too. Hmph. Like that's ever going to happen. But I guess you can hang around if you want. As long as you're quiet. Just sit over there in the corner and try not to be annoying while I find something to do. 

Ahh, look at all these beautiful books. I like the way they smell, especially when I ... oops!

What? You know I did that on purpose, right? I mean, how else would a cat choose a book to read? But... yawn! This story is making me sleepy. And I don't like the way you've been reading over my shoulder. Get back to your corner!

Hmm... Herself seems to have left the iPad on my footstool. Maybe I'll look at some pictures...

My, what a handsome cat. Haven't I seen you in the movies? Was it Catsablanca? The Great Catsby? The Clawedfather? Yes, I'm sure that was it. 

Care to join me for a snifter of catnip?

Oh. Are you still here? Then I'm afraid we have a problem. You've seen too much. Before I can let you leave, I need you to make me a promise. Place your right paw over your heart and repeat after me: "Everything that happened when the cat was home alone will remain our little secret. Forever." Right? Right. 

And now I think it's time for you to go. 

Now I lay me down to sleep...

Shhh. (Close the door on your way out.)

Click-to-Tweet this post!

Permalink: Sam takes over...

stillpoint is (usually) the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington, but this edition has been brought to you by Sam "the boss cat" Harrington. Meow.

animals of The Write Spot 2

The Write Spot began in July of 2015 with a simple question: Where do writers write? Since then, I've had the pleasure of meeting two dozen talented authors who've generously invited us into their personal writing spaces and shared their stories. It's been great fun getting to know the women behind the books.

Beyond our mutual love of reading and writing, I've discovered we also share a deep love and respect for animals. Some of us share our homes with companion pets, others bring animals to life as story characters, while still others take inspiration from animal encounters in the wild. I've invited all twenty-four authors back to celebrate this common thread in our lives with a three-part anniversary series called Animals of The Write Spot. Part one featured a splendid batch of dogs, cats, and even a few pelicans! Click through if you missed it. But first, please enjoy Animals of The Write Spot, Part Two:

Meet Trooper and George, handsome grand-dogs of Canadian mystery author Brenda Chapman. (If there's an award for cutest ears ever, my vote goes to Trooper!)

Brenda says, "While I do not have a dog myself, I’m lucky to have two daughters who do. I’ve become the puppy-sitter, happily helping out now and then in my daughters’ busy lives. Lisa’s pup Trooper is a four-month old Corgi and I currently mind him two days a week. Julia’s dog George is mainly Maltese but I don’t see him as often since they both moved to Toronto last year. The two dogs have not had a chance to meet yet and I’m looking forward to the day!" Check out Brenda's lovely Write Spot.

Mystery author Sandra Carey Cody gets a bit misty-eyed when remembering the many pets her family has loved over the years. "They’re all special in their own way," she says, "and they’ve all added something special to our lives." Now that Sandy and her husband are empty nesters, this fierce beauty is the love of their lives. Missy is a rescued road-drop cat, who obviously considers herself a mighty hunter. (She's really a sweetie, not fierce at all!) Visit Sandra's Write Spot.

This gorgeous boy with the heart-melting eyes is Monty, who makes his home with author Louisa Treger. She says, "Monty lies on the floor of my study while I write, or under my desk; he is the sweetest and most undemanding of companions. Through his constant presence, he has become almost part of my creative process." See Monty in glorious colour and check out the awesome South African view from Louisa's Write Spot.

Meet Nixon, a sweet girl who's very lucky indeed to have mystery author Anne Cleeland as her grandma. Just look at that doggy birthday treat! Anne tells me Nixon was a very small puppy in a Mexican pet shop when her daughter Aidan rescued her, many years ago. Since Aidan was living in a dorm at the time, the doggie-grandma had to step up and take her in, and now that Aidan has her own family, they share custody. "Nixon is named after the surf wear company, not the former president," says Anne. "It’s a generational thing." Apparently Nixon never takes a good picture, because she always views the camera with extreme misgiving. (I know how you feel, Nixon.) Visit Anne's Write Spot.

Romance author Sheila Seabrook shares her spacious backyard in Alberta, Canada with an assortment of ducks, bunnies, moose, deer, and a cute wee chipmunk that races around the yard. Moose have been known to wander right up to her veranda and several deer show up (mostly at night) to munch on the cedars. This mama duck came to visit in the spring and stayed to build her nest. She seemed to enjoy peeking through the family room window – keeping an eye on her humans, I guess… or maybe wondering where writers write! Once mama's eight ducklings hatched, the little family paddled around Sheila's pond for a few days before moving on. "We have another duck that we think is sitting on a batch of eggs," says Sheila, "so hopefully we'll see more ducklings soon." Sheila was my first guest at The Write Spot.

Mystery author Vicki Delany travels a lot and doesn't have a pet right now – her beloved dog, Shenzi, passed away a few years ago. But Vicki's love for animals shines through in her writing. Whether it's Charles the opinionated library cat in the Lighthouse Library series (written as Eva Gates); Norman the hard-working RCMP tracker dog in the Constable Molly Smith mysteries; or Matty, the loveable St. Bernard puppy in the new Year-Round Christmas cozy series, Vicki writes about dogs with humor and compassion – and readers fall in love. That's Mattie, up to his puppy-style mischief under the Christmas tree on the cover of We Wish You a Murderous Christmas. Visit Vicki's Write Spot.

Kathye Quick sent me this photo of a handsome trio, named Webster, Duffy, and Peggy. The only trouble? Kathye is not an animal person. Don't worry, though, Webster is on the job.

"I certainly don't wish any ill will," says Kathye. "I'm just not willing to take care of any animals. Selfish, I know, but you have to give me points for honesty. As the gods would have it, all of my sons love animals and have several. I would politely pat each one on the head and go into another room when visiting. Then came Webster. He's the biggest dog in the picture. He followed me everywhere and slobbered on everything I owned, but for some reason I didn't mind. For some reason l could not resist his tongue-hanging-out greeting, folded ear, and doofy walk. Don't know why, but I like him. Maybe there is hope for me yet. Now, as the sign on my car proudly proclaims – I Love My Grand Dogs!  Visit Kathye's Write Spot.

Meet Sugar the Bichon Frise and her sidekick Vanilla the Cockapoo. Heidi Ashworth tells me these two sweeties are an integral part of her family. "Sugar keeps all of us on schedule, waking us up each morning with a shake of her collar. She comes to me when I am writing at my computer and nudges me in the thigh when it is time to pick up kids from school. She seems to know how everyone is feeling and is always on hand to lick tears from your face or to crawl into your lap. Vanilla's human is Sugar, which irritates Sugar to no end. Vanilla's job is to sleep by the side of my disabled son each night and to accompany me when I bring him his medicine each morning. She is a drama queen with big, floppy ears which she comically flings from side to side when she is nervous or excited. The two of them are much more fun than the sum of their parts and we are so lucky to be their humans."

Readers, did you spot the violin in that photo of Sugar? Talk about a talented dog! True, it only has one string, but Heidi says we ought to cut Sugar some slack because she's just a beginner. ;-) Visit Heidi's Regency-romantic Write Spot.

Oh, and my own dear Sam the Cat says you should be sure to come back for Animals of The Write Spot, Part Three… Watch for it here on August 17th.

Click-to-Tweet this post!

Permalink: animals of The Write Spot (part two)

About The Write Spot:
I've always been fascinated by what goes on behind the scenes. Whether it's backstage photos from my favourite play, a peek into the kitchen where a chef is working her culinary magic, or simply a glimpse through an uncurtained window into a stranger's private world, there's an undeniable thrill of discovery, a sense of secrets shared. It's no surprise, then, that I'm immensely curious about where other writers do their work. I've blogged about it before in this post about my own 'write spot' and so enjoyed the comments, I was inspired to launch a regular feature here at stillpoint. Watch for The Write Spot every other Wednesday and join me as I discover the many and varied places where writers write.

stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

animals of The Write Spot...

Where do writers write? It's been almost a year since I first posed that question to launch The Write Spot. Since then, I've had the pleasure of meeting two dozen talented authors who've generously invited us into their personal writing spaces. It's been an adventure!

The Write Spots we've visited are as unique as the authors themselves and as varied as the genres they write. But beyond our shared love of books and writing, I've discovered something else we share in common: a deep love and respect for animals. Some of us share our homes with companion pets, others bring animals to life as story characters, while still others take inspiration from animal encounters in the wild. A celebration of this common thread running through our lives seems like the perfect way to mark the upcoming one year anniversary of The Write Spot. So here is part one of a three-part series: animals of The Write Spot…

Meet Jay, companion and feline muse to author Susan McNicoll. Handsome Jay is a Maine Coon Cat, named for Susan's favourite baseball team, the Toronto Blue Jays. Jay has heaps of personality, loves going for walks on his leash, and has even been to visit Santa Claus – twice! Susan tells me Santa and his elves were surprised by how relaxed Jay was. In fact, they told her he was the best behaved cat they had ever met. Check out Susan McNicoll's Write Spot where you'll find more photos of the amazing Jay. (And be sure to click through to Susan's web site where Jay has his very own blog.)

Roo is romance author Donna Fasano's Australian cattle dog mix. As a puppy, Roo ate socks and washcloths, chewed up shoes, tore around the house like a hurricane, and once she even swallowed Donna's engagement ring (everything came out in the end). Donna dubbed her "the wild dingo" for good reason! But Roo is eleven now, a little gray in the muzzle, and she's calmed down a lot. Although those early years were a little crazy, Donna says her life has been truly blessed by Roo. I believe it. Look at the love in those eyes! Visit Donna Fasano's Write Spot.

Doreen Pendgracs, author and chocolate tourism guru, captioned this photo, "Jimmy, hogging the bed as usual." But in this instance, Jimmy is lazing around in style, on vacation for the month of January, 2015 at the pet-friendly Spirit Ridge Resort and Spa in Osoyoos, B.C.  Jimmy also travelled to Vancouver Island with Doreen and her husband Reg for six weeks this past winter. What a lucky cat! Click here to feast your eyes on Doreen, covered head-to-toe in chocolate – all in the name of research. There's more about Jimmy and books, too, of course.

Meet Princess, a gorgeous husky with one brown eye and one blue. Princess shares her home in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, with Canadian author Annelies Pool. Annelies says, "Princess loves to lie down in a cubby hole by my feet when I am writing (particularly when she’s trying to escape the vacuum cleaner). When I’m stuck or I read a paragraph or two out loud to hear how it sounds, this is the look she gives me (if she’s not sleeping). Sheer adoration. She likes everything I write without reservation, doesn’t care about misplaced modifiers or self-indulgent diatribes. Everybody should have such a fan. She doesn’t buy too many books, though." To see more of Princess and discover Annelies' books, visit The Write Spot of Annelies Pool.

Meet Scout the dog and Phoebe the cat, best friends and companions to mystery author Peggy Blair. Peggy says, "Scout was alone with me until I found Phoebe on-line, about to be surrendered to the SPCA, and couldn't resist. From the moment she walked in the door, tail high, it was clear she was at home. Within minutes, these two were pals. Scout had never barked and so I often would let him outside and forget he was there. That first evening, I let him out and heard loud meowing at the back door. Since then Phoebe has always notified me if Scout needs to be let in; in exchange, he's taught her to shake a paw for a treat. They are inseparable. My friends say they are co-dependent." Scout and Phoebe make excellent subjects for Peggy's lovely paintings, too. Visit Peggy Blair's Write Spot for more about this dynamic duo and all the buzz about Peggy's new book.

Over fourteen years ago, this lady, Margaret, was living in author Jillian Dagg's garden. Jillian tells me she really didn't need another cat. "I already had two male, ginger and white cats who had taken eleven months to live in cat-style harmony. But through the summer Margaret migrated to a chair with a comfy cushion near the back door, and then inside. Sadly, the two boys are gone, but Margaret remains. She's about eighteen now and two months ago she had a tooth problem. Surgery and six teeth extracted, she returned home to her same diet, same routine. She's amazing." She sure is! And gorgeous, too. Visit The WriteSpot of Jillian Dagg.

Romance author, Fran McNabb, tells me she hasn't had the heart to get another furry pet since losing her beloved 14-year old cat over five years ago. Instead, she finds joy in watching the birds of the bayou where she lives.

"The ever-present seagulls, graceful in flight but noisy at times, make me happy," Fran says. "In the photo with dark clouds, they're following our boat down the channel. In another photo, the blue heron that skirts the edges of the marsh grass in search of food decided to rest on the bow of our boat. Hubby wasn’t happy! We also have pelicans, doing a fly-over in the photo to the right, shearwaters (skimmers), ospreys, martins, bridge swallows, and even a bald eagle that keep our lives interesting." Visit Fran McNabb's Write Spot for views of the bayou and info about her books.

Romance author Rebecca Kertz shares her home with this handsome blond fellow, whose name is Jameson. After an unfortunate buzz-cut, courtesy of an over-zealous groomer, Jameson is in hiding from the camera, so this is an older image. Poor Jameson – I understand how you feel, buddy. There have been a few bad haircuts in my past, too!

"Jameson barks at other animals," says Rebecca, "but when it comes to letting us know what he wants, he is as quiet as a mouse. If he's out on our porch, we have to check on him to see if he wants to come in. Otherwise, he lies with his nose pointing to the back door and waits patiently for us to come. When I'm outside working, he's content to jump on a chair and stare through the screen. Other times, he'll jump onto the chaise lounge and lie by my feet." Meet Rebecca Kertz and check out her Amish romance novels at The Write Spot.

The Write Spot will return in two weeks when we'll visit with Canadian mystery author Linda Wiken (aka Erika Chase), whose new cozy series, The Dinner Club Mysteries, from Berkley Prime Crime launches on July 5th with Toasting Up Trouble.

Oh, and Sam the Cat says you should watch for part two of animals of The Write Spot… coming your way on August 3rd.

Click-to-Tweet this post!

Permalink: animals of The Write Spot (part one)

About The Write Spot:
I've always been fascinated by what goes on behind the scenes. Whether it's backstage photos from my favourite play, a peek into the kitchen where a chef is working her culinary magic, or simply a glimpse through an uncurtained window into a stranger's private world, there's an undeniable thrill of discovery, a sense of secrets shared. It's no surprise, then, that I'm immensely curious about where other writers do their work. I've blogged about it before in this post about my own 'write spot' and so enjoyed the comments, I was inspired to launch a regular feature here at stillpoint. Watch for The Write Spot every other Wednesday and join me as I discover the many and varied places where writers write.

stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

It's May!

Instead of a story post this week, I'm sharing a few of my reasons for celebrating this merry month of May – the very best month of the year.

Lily-of-the-Valley blooms in May. It's always been my favourite flower, delicately beautiful and sweetly fragrant. In the language of flowers, lily-of-the-valley means "return of happiness" – the very definition of spring.

I was born in May, so my birthstone is the emerald, a glorious green and glowing crystal, considered the symbol of hope and love.

My mother's family name was May. Here's the clan in 1923, all looking a bit grim, no doubt because this photo was not taken in the merry month of May. My grandfather is the handsome fellow second from the right in the back row. (Bow ties are cool!) I can see myself in my grandfather's face. Grandma is seated directly in front of him, holding my Mom. 

In my part of the world, May means the end of a long winter and the return of balcony weather. Finally! Sam likes nothing better than watching birds, sniffing the breeze, and interrupting my reading every five minutes to open the door so he can go in… no, out… no, in… (Note to self: get a cat flap.)

This year, May marks the first anniversary of my retirement from The Day Job. A job which, much as I loved it, left precious little time for reading, writing, and long walks on the beach. I've spent an enjoyable year trying to catch up on all three but there are so many books and so many unwritten words … and the beaches! I shall soldier on.

This May also marks a full year of weekly Wednesday blogging and nearly a year of my every-other-week project, The Write Spot. It's been a good blogging year – a busy blogging year – so I've decided to take a break this week to relax, recharge, and concentrate on getting my favourite month off to a memorable start. Which begs the question: if I blog about why I'm not blogging does it still count as a blog? ;-)

I'll be back next Wednesday to share The Write Spot with Louisa Treger, author of the wonderful historical novel, The Lodger. If you haven't read it, you really, really should. (Here's my review.) 

Wishing you May flowers and sunshine … and May the Fourth be with you!

Tweet this post!

Permalink: It's May!

stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

window cats...

The black and white cat showed up one sunny afternoon, lounging on the front porch of our old farmhouse as if she belonged there. Tail twitching in response to my murmured, "hello, stranger," she eyed me warily as I climbed the steps to unlock the front door. When I turned to introduce myself properly, the cat had vanished.

She turned up again an hour later, nose to the kitchen window, gaze fixed on the chicken I was preparing for the stew pot. She opened her mouth and meowed loudly – a hopeful, "feed me now" plea. It is a wise cat who knows a soft touch when she sees one.

I found an old saucer, filled it with milk, and delivered it to the porch. Poor cat was obviously hungry and fell upon that milk as if she hadn't seen food in days. I sat on the steps and watched her lap-lap-lap until the saucer was clean. She gave her whiskers a quick swipe and sat back on her haunches to study me for a long, thoughtful moment. I spoke softly, inviting her to move closer, asking where she'd come from and if she had a name. The cat blinked and walked away.

She appeared at the window again at dinner time and scored herself a small plate of chicken scraps along with a chorus of can-we-keep-her-pleases from my three young sons. I was tempted. Their Dad took a firm stand in the absolutely not camp, claiming he'd never liked cats and we were all a bit allergic and there was absolutely no way that thing was ever coming inside.

Window cat came back the next day, and the next, quickly abandoning her stand-offish manner in favour of pats and strokes and much admiration from four out of five of the humans in residence – never inside, of course.

A few days later, I might have accidentally added a box of cat chow to my grocery cart. And middle son might have dug out an old curry brush, unused since the death of our much-loved dog the year before. Soon, the kids and I had christened our window cat Cookie – a name reserved for favoured family pets. 

Our window cat had managed to make herself a member of the family in less than a week. She was beginning to look quite plump and healthy, too, her dingy grey coat growing cleaner and glossier by the day, thanks to an entourage of willing brush-wielders. Somehow she'd even forged a truce with hubby. He grudgingly admitted she'd be useful for keeping the mice away from the chicken feed. She could stay, but only as an outside cat. It wasn't long before I noticed him leaving the greenhouse door ajar for her. Nobody likes to stay out in the rain, after all. (We did not speak of this.)

And did I mention that our window cat was looking a bit plump? The reason soon became obvious. Cookie was pregnant. First order of business was a trip to the vet, who pronounced her fit and healthy and sent us home with a vitamin supplement and a strict deadline for a follow-up visit and spay. Cookie was tremendously annoyed by the car ride, shredding her cardboard travel box in protest, but once home again all was forgiven, thanks to a little sweet talk and a generous handful of her favourite treats.

We set up a large wooden box on the side porch and lined it with newspaper, hoping Cookie would think it suitable for a nursery. A smaller, covered box at one end contained clean straw and a comfy old blanket for mama cat's nesting pleasure. She took to it right away. She also took to wearing the collar we gave her, complete with her name and our phone number on a metal tag. The latter caused much grumbling and rolling of eyes on the hubby front. But when Cookie disappeared just before her due date, guess who lead the search party?

Thankfully, Cookie hadn't wandered far. She'd given birth in a nest of dried grass, sheltered by a pile of rubble in a hollow on the far side of the lawn. Heavy rains were forecast and we feared her four tiny kittens would be washed away in the deluge. We needed to move the little family to the shelter of the porch, but in order to do that we'd have to coax Cookie away from her babies. Food was the answer. She'd been gone for three days and was sure to be ravenous. I gave the cat chow box a noisy shake and, sure enough, mama Cookie appeared, trotting eagerly up to the porch. While she ate her fill and lapped up some water, hubby rescued the litter, gently tucking the babies into their nursery box. I confess to holding my breath as I introduced Cookie to this new arrangement, half expecting her to either reject the kittens or stubbornly return them, one-by-one, to her den across the lawn. But she seemed quite pleased with the comfortable arrangement and settled in to enjoy life as a proud and pampered mama.

The kittens thrived. And while they ate and played and grew, (and grew!), I got busy. Four little kittens were soon going to need new homes. I put the word out to family and friends, pestered, cajoled, and described their adorable kitty paws and sweet pink noses until people ran to hide when they saw me coming. But honestly, how could anyone resist these little cuties?

This photo was taken on one of their first explorations beyond the big box. The wee cutie on the far right, sporting a single black dot on her left side, was an enthusiastic climber and extremely fond of my youngest son, J. He'd always been a bit nervous around dogs and cats, preferring to watch from afar but not touch or be touched, so when he named the kitten Dot and welcomed her onto his lap, we were doomed. Dot would stay with us. And not only stay, Dot would become an indoor cat. (Hubby, like the rest of us, would do just about anything for J.)

If you look closely at the far left of the cat family photo, you might spot a tiny black blob with four white paws, neck-deep in the daylilies. Always adventurous, that black kitten went home with Kate, my best friend since childhood. Named Pepper by her new family, she lived a long and happy almost-twenty years as a city cat in west-end Toronto. Here she is, still adventuring as an elder cat.

The two remaining fluff balls eventually found homes, too. One with my niece, the other with a co-worker's mum.

But that's not the end of the story. Not even close.

One evening a week or so after her kittens moved on, Cookie appeared at the window with a friend in tow, a calico cat, grubby and hungry and very, very pregnant. Hubby issued a firm and final pronouncement: "Absolutely not!"

We named her Patches.

The two cats settled into Cookie's big box nursery and together they raised Patches' litter of five. 

Somehow, we found new homes for all those kittens, too. Cookie and Patches both eventually visited the vet to be spayed and vaccinated, and both returned to the farm as carefree lady-cats with plenty of mice to chase and a warm greenhouse where the door was mysteriously always left ajar.

I'd love to end this tale with "happily ever after" but the truth is bittersweet. In 1993, we purchased a home of our own, a move that took us less than half a kilometre down the road from our much loved rented farm on the outskirts of Box Grove to a sturdy heritage home in the village. Unlike the isolated farmhouse, our new home sat close to a busy road. Outdoor cats Cookie and Patches would face danger from traffic there, and we knew they wouldn't willingly abandon the farm they knew as home. Our sweet Italian landlady came to their rescue, admitting she already loved her piccoli tesori (little treasures). It seems they'd been walking up the lane to enjoy second breakfast with her for months. Who knew?

Mama Giuseppina promised the cats would have plenty to eat at her house and said we should visit whenever we liked. Within a month, those two sly felines were sleeping on Mama G's bed, feasting on her table scraps, and toasting their toes by her fire – outdoor cats no more. It makes me happy to think of them that way.

Of course, little Dot moved with us to the new house. We did our best to take the right precautions, confining her first to her crate and then to a single room while we settled in. But somehow, amid the chaos of the move, she escaped. Our first hope was that she'd made a desperate run back to the farm, but there was no sign of her there or anywhere along the road. Weeks passed. Little Dot had vanished without a trace. I wanted to believe she had her mother's good instincts. That she showed up at a window and convinced some kind person to take her in, feed her, and care for her. But I couldn't help fearing the worst.

Months later, I was surprised to see Dot's sweet little face gazing out at me from a window on the far side of the village. At least, it sure looked like our Dot. When I tapped on the door to inquire, the woman who answered was brusque. No, she hadn't found a stray cat. No, her Molly couldn't possibly be our Dot because Molly had been hers "forever." Maybe that was true. Or maybe the woman simply feared I'd try to claim the cat she obviously loved. Whatever the truth, J and I chose to believe the little face in the window really was our Dot, gone from our lives but safe and loved in her forever home.

Tweet this post!

Permalink: window cats...

stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington