The Animals in My Fiction

My pets have a way of creeping into my novels. Even pets I wish I had. My cat Wizzie is in two. That cat had the key to my heart. He appears as Malcolm in Beneath the Hallowed Hill, keeping Megan company on her first few nights in Avalon and escorting her to an audience with the Morgan. He is a healing, reassuring, and somewhat regal presence.

“Malcolm followed Megan to her cottage, hopped up onto the middle of the bed and proceeded to groom himself. She had to push him over to get enough room. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’ He regarded her out of his round, yellow eyes, then turned his attention back to his bushy tail.”

wizzie-at-top-of-stairsIn The Star Family, he appears as Marvin. I don’t know why I kept giving him “m” names. Here he is a member of the animal family that Jane inherits along with the English Tudor house. He is still himself, “an enormous black long-hair complete with ear tufts.”

Wizzie has left us now, although I feel him from time to time. Here he is next to his properly shredded corner of the stairs.

He lived most of his life with our calico Arwen, who is his companion in The Star Family as well. In that book, she goes by the name of Suzie B. In this scene, Marvin and Suzie B inadvertently reveal a secret passageway while in the midst of a midnight hunt. Jane has been awakened by strange music:

“She walked over to the windows that faced the front of the house, but they were closed also. The other set looked out on the backyard. Closed. A half-moon lit the new garden. The rose bushes looked like a pencil sketch in the muted light. Suddenly Marvin burst from the walk-in closet.

Jane screamed.

Winston barked.

Suzie B ran in from the hallway to join him.

A tiny, dark shape dove under the bed. The cats followed in hot pursuit.

‘You scared the crap out of me!’ she scolded.

The mouse made a dash across the floor and squeezed behind the chest of drawers. The cats took up positions on each end, tails twitching, ears perked, ignoring her. Then she realized the singing had stopped. The car must have driven away.

How had a mouse gotten up here? Steeling herself for more rodents, she walked to the closet and nudged the door open the rest of the way. She’d expected it to be stuffed with Miss Essig’s old clothes, decade after decade of fashion, but instead she found bare wood. Except for a shadow in the corner.

Her hand groped for a light switch, but slide down a smooth wall.

‘Winston,’ she called.

Loud breathing announced his presence.

She swung her hand over her head. A string brushed her fingers. She tried to grab it, but missed. On the second attempt, she captured it and pulled. Harsh light from the bare bulb flooded the closet. She closed her eyes against the glare for a second, then squinted.

The dark shadow in the corner remained. A panel stood partly open. She’d thought the wall was just that—a solid wall. But there was an opening. Winston sat in the doorway, his head cocked. The singing had started again, softer this time. It was coming from behind the open panel.”arwen-wizzie-together

Here is Arwen putting Wizzie in his proper place.

Winston is the bulldog I always wanted but never had. He has a bit of the boxer who was my childhood companion. His name was Mugs. Very imaginative name, don’t you think?

The hounds in Beneath the Hallowed Hill have never been tamed by any human hand. They are the fae hounds of the Wild Hunt.

The Egyptian Mau cats Vivienne and Merlin in Under the Stone Paw are also a combination of pets I’d like and pets I’ve lived with. I’ve always thought Egyptian Maus were beautiful and would be nice to have as friends. These two are reminiscent of our old Siamese named Persephone. She passed before we adopted Wizzie. She was one Queen Bee, let me tell you. She had a daughter named Ting Li, a tortie whom Persephone bossed around heartlessly. So much for mother love. That must be why there are two Egyptian Maus in Under the Stone Paw to match those two little loves.

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The Kindness of Cats

This last month has been intense. The astrological configurations have been through the roof, and for me with my planets, up close and personal. My favorite astrologers and sound healers have been sending out explanations and meditations to help with the rough waters. My cats have been the kindest of all.

Clcleo-in-front-of-the-new-tveo, our tortoiseshell, was raised feral. She’s the sweetest cat imaginable. One day after I was bemoaning all the challenges to Stephen, I came out to my garage office where she hangs out with me when the weather is wet or too cold. I found right next to my chair a headless mouse. How thoughtful.

Cleo comes to visit throughout the day. When I hear the cat flap, I look to see if she’s got anything in her mouth. She likes to share her catches with me. Mostly she brings mice in from the open space. I’ve become used to the crunching of mouse heads. Lately she’s been on a bird kick.

Image result for cat with snake this is perfection

The thing is, though, the critters are not always expired when she brings them in. She sets them down and then chases them all over again. Twice now, the birds have flow up out of her reach and I have to open the garage door to let them fly away. Cleo is so confused by this. “You don’t like my gifts, mommy?”

Arwen, the older calico, is more tradition in her consoarwen-on-chairling of her humans. She allows us to pet her. She sits on the couch between me and Steve and gets stroked from both sides. Seriously though, she is kind and expresses concern if we’re ill or upset. She stayed with Stephen while he healed from a recent surgery. I’ve felt a little paw placed on me from time to time when I’ve been upset. She grounds me. She tells me I’m loved.

Even Sekhmet, the famous warrior lioness, is kind. The first time I saw her at her shrine in Karnack, she looked down at me as if through several layers of worlds. I felt a deep compassion from her. She felt for us that we have to struggle in this world. She offered unconditional love.

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Fireworks: New Kitten

My blog at Mysteristas today.

“We fooled around and fell in love.” We have a new tortoise shell calico kitten.

“She’s of feral origins,” they said.

“Oh, but she’s so cute,” I said.

“We’ve had feral cats before and tamed them,” he said.

But we forgot about the Queen at home, a 10-year-old calico who has her own wild streak. It is my theory that cats allow us the illusion that they are domesticated. They hang out with us because, frankly, humans attract mice.

We separated them at first, like the experts say. The kitten had been recently spayed. Plus, we wanted to gain her trust before trying to get the two cats to bond.

Being feral, however, the kitten escaped into the whole house and hid in a place we really couldn’t reach her. Did you know you had such places in your house? We didn’t. The big girl waited patiently with an occasional yowl. When the kitten came down, she made her move before we could blink. Instant fireworks. We thought the older cat was fat and slow. Let’s just say kittens breathe new life into everyone.

Since then, we’ve had a divided house: one cat in one part, one in another, with occasional attempts to bring them together. They stare at each other, the kitten anxious to play, the cat anxious to put an end to this intrusion once and for all.

“Have you called the behavior specialist?” the animal rescue friend asks.

“Have you consulted with an animal communicator?” my meditating friend asks.

“Squirt guns,” says the vet friend.

We’ve gotten out the old spray bottle we used to help our cat understand the rules in our house in her kitten days. No, you may not put your claws into me. No, you may not climb the curtains. A small squirt will disrupt an impending attack. If you can get there in time.
Cats are fast.

Let’s just say it’s been a month of intermittent fireworks punctuated by long periods of stalking and sulking. But peace will come, even to the most devious feline heart and maybe even to the most thorny regions of the globe. “Hope is the thing with feathers.”

No, wait. Please don’t kill the bird.