The Inspiration Behind the Blog

I was born to be a writer. When I published my first novel Wild Point Island, my orange and white rescued feral tabby Chuck decided he wanted to travel and see the island for himself. Chuck's desire to travel inspired me to begin the blog and take Chuck with me whenever I traveled, which I do frequently. This was not an easy task. First, I had to deflate the poor kid of all air, stuff him in my carry-on bag, remember to bring my portable pump, and when I arrive, I pump him back up. Ouch. He got used to it and always was ready to pull out his passport and go. Now it's Theo's turn. Smart. Curious. And, yes, another rascal.

Showing posts with label inoperable tumor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inoperable tumor. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Chuck or Mico--Be Still My Heart

     Okay. I'm not crazy. I know that my beloved Chuck, the official rascal cat of this blog, passed away a few months ago. He had an inoperable tumor. I was there when they put him to sleep. There are so many moments when I remember those final weeks and months. He wasn't his usual self. He had trouble climbing the stairs. He slept more than usual. He was eating less. All signs that he was slowly getting weaker. 

Chuck in his better days


     I've lived with a lot of cats. They each had a different personality. Like people, some are more lovable than others. When I adopted Chuck (and his sister Ella), he was my first orange and white cat. Big personality. Mischievous. Eternally curious. 

     I remember one day when he disappeared for close to an hour. He was in the backyard one minute and gone the next. Ella waited for his return by the patio door. Patiently. I was about to send out the search party (ie. look for him myself) when he scampered back into the yard. 

     Before I could react, Ella marched up and smacked him across the face. She angrily meowed. Chuck hung his head in shame. Later I found out he'd discovered a catmint garden a few houses down. Let's just say he came back slightly buzzed. 

     But that was Chuck.

     All of this is a necessary or unnecessary preamble to what I'm about to report. Of course, losing Chuck hit me hard. He was a one of a kind cat. Or so I thought.

     Imagine a cool morning sunrise. I stumble out of bed and make my way downstairs to feed the cats. There, sleeping on a blue blanket on my sofa, is Chuck. He's curled up and looking so cute. For a moment I forget that Chuck is gone. I am in a blissful non aware state. Until his eyes open. Golden brown eyes stare at me.

      Reality hits me. They're not Chuck's eyes. 

       It's Michelangelo. Mico for short. Barely a year old. Sometimes it seems as if Chuck has been reincarnated into my orange and white Mico. He has so many of the same mannerisms--playful, big personality, curious, active, mischievous . . . 


Chuck 


      







Mico - Can you tell the difference?


       But there's a difference. I lived with Chuck for fourteen years. I could sweep him into my arms, hug him to death, kiss his face and he tolerated all of it. When he settled into my lap, it felt like heaven. 


My darling boy


       Mico has only lived here for a few months. Because he was once feral, he has a hard time trusting. I can hold him for, maybe, ten seconds before he squirms to get away. if I try to kiss his face, he reacts as if I'm about to smother him to death. 

       I can hear what you're thinking. Life moves on. Change happens. Chuck is gone but you're really lucky to have Mico. I know all of this. 

       But still, in the quiet of the morning, I'd love to wake up and find that nothing has changed. Chuck is still there--wandering in a circle, waiting for his breakfast, waiting to be let outside on the patio so he can hear the bluejays squawk and watch the squirrels take suicidal leaps from one branch to the next. 

       All I'm saying is that I'd love to have Chuck back again . . . if only for a day.