Hi everyone! Welcome to Day 2 of the Paws with a Cause Donation Event! Today, my guest is Cat Cavendish!
I hope you enjoyed yesterday’s post and if you didn’t see it, just scroll down when you’re done here and enter to win some more prizes! Then hop over to all the other blogs for even more fun and games. There are 59 Blogs most of which have multiple bloggers, so for eight great days, you can hop around and read stories about pets, discover books about pets, and generally have a great time. On this blog, I blogged yesterday, Cat is today, and tomorrow is the wonderful PG Forte.
Today my wonderful Guest Blogger is Cat Cavendish. Cat’s books are so scary i can barely read the blurbs but she has devoted readers worldwide who swear by her chills! Cat is going to give away a copy of her new book, The Second Wife! Horror fans, do not miss leaving a comment WITH YOUR EMAIL on this blog.
But first, Cat has the most wonderful story to share:
Penny – The Little Black Cat Who Beat The Odds
She was a tiny little scrap. Just two weeks old, one of a litter of six semi-feral farm kittens who had been orphaned when their mother was run over by a tractor.
I was a shy, six year old child with no siblings and a burning desire to have a kitten of my own to love. So, when my mother handed me a shoe box, punched full of holes to let the air in, I felt a movement inside and couldn’t wait to get her home. All the way home on the bus, I cuddled that shoe box while other passengers looked on, some a little perplexed and others smiling, as they heard the sound of a very young kitten’s mewls. Meanwhile, I clutched my little box with its precious treasure and beamed. I had my kitten. She was mine. I would never be bored or lonely again.
Finally, we arrived home. I laid the box down, ever so carefully on the floor and removed the lid. My mother looked on, ready to step in if needed. Sitting with her tail curled around her, eyes still blue and round as saucers, the tiniest kitten I had ever seen turned a bewildered gaze on her new world and opened her mouth.
“Me! Me!” Her mew was unformed, little more than a squeak. And she was no bigger than a hamster.
At this point, I should mention that this was September 1960, in an industrial town in the heart of the West Riding of Yorkshire, England. The pet food companies had not invented kitten food or any means of nurturing orphaned unweaned kittens. Mum had taken advice from the local vet, and feeding time consisted of warm milk and glucose poured into one of my dolls’ feeding bottles, complete with teat. Mum would sit down with her and hold her while she fed. When Penny had drunk enough, she would pat the bottle away. She would then scramble off Mum’s lap and trot off, her little tummy distended.
Over the next couple of weeks, Penny learned how to wash herself. This took a little practice. Face, tummy and back presented no problem, but when it came to washing her paws or nether regions, life took a very different turn. She would tentatively lift a paw, wobble and then fall over, providing me with hours of harmless entertainment, until the day she managed it. Needless to say, her expression at achieving this wondrous feat was one of, ‘I could do it all the time really. Nothing to it.’ Then off she galloped, tail poker-straight, with just a hint of a kink at the tip. Happy kitten mode.
Purpose made kitten and cat toys were also in short supply in those days, but Penny had hours of fun batting a small, squashy ball across the living room where it would inevitably roll under the sideboard. Quick as a flash, she would dive over to the other end and grab it as it emerged.
Mum had the job of weaning Penny and, one day she decided that now was the right time. She placed a saucer of milk down on the kitchen floor and waited. The little black kitten turned beseeching eyes upwards at Mum, then down at the saucer. She repeated this a few times, while Mum made encouraging noises and hoped for the best.
Then, slowly, Penny inched forward until she was almost touching the saucer. She lowered her head, stuck out her little pink tongue and attempted a rather ineffectual lap. Then, to Mum’s great amusement, she hopped into the saucer, splashing milk over the floor, and began to lap all around her until the saucer was empty. Then, satisfied, she stepped daintily out, shook her paws and trotted off to give herself a bath.
From then on, she never looked back. Her milk diet was increasingly supplemented by Kit-E-Cat which, in those days, was all one flavour. I remember it was bright pink and, as ingredients weren’t listed, I have no idea what was in it, but Penny certainly loved it.
The years went by and Penny grew into a beautiful jet black cat with gleaming coat and eyes like emerald pools. She was my constant companion through childhood illnesses and teenage angst . She had almost infinite patience, enduring being wheeled around in my doll’s pram, dressed in a bonnet and shawl. On seeing her, Mum said, “Poor Penny,” and laughed while the ‘poor’ cat in question gave her a longsuffering look.
Penny was the one I would go to when I was upset and she allowed me to drench her fur in my tears before going off and washing herself from ears to tail tip.
Penny never perfected her miaou but her purrs were wondrous and she maintained a full set of pearly white teeth her whole life. She never had a single illness in her long life, but, in 1979, Mum realised she had become stone deaf. Not that my little cat appeared unduly phased by her disability
In late September 1979, I was staying at my parents’ house near Liverpool (where they had moved in the late sixties). I was due to leave shortly to catch the train back to Leeds where I then lived, but I wanted a little more time with Penny, so I followed her up the path in the back garden. She suddenly stopped, turned and gazed at me with those beautiful clear eyes. “Me-ah-ah-ah-ow”, she mewed a couple of times, (her version of a ‘miaou’). Something passed between us at that moment and I knew, somehow, that I would never see her again.
Penny died of renal failure two weeks later, on October 1st, The vet administered the merciful injection and, as those amazing eyes closed for the last time, she died in my mother’s arms. She was 19 years old.
That should be the end of the story but, for me, there has been a postscript. A couple of years after she died, I was staying once again in my parent’s house and, as I took some plates from the dining table out to the kitchen, I saw Penny jump out through the closed door of the cupboard under the stairs. It was like watching an old black and white film and the whole experience lasted no more than a second or two. I stood stock still in disbelief as a sudden feeling of euphoria washed over me. That feeling stayed with me for days afterwards.
Was she saying a final, ‘goodbye’? Or just letting me know she was still around, in spirit if not in body? I’ll never know. My mother still lives in that house and I live in hope that one day, Penny will pay a return visit. Although quite what my present cat, Mimi, would make of it, I can’t imagine!
Blurb for The Second Wife:
Emily Marchant died on Valentine’s Day. If only she’d stayed dead…
When Chrissie Marchant first sets eyes on Barton Grove, she feels as if the house doesn’t want her. But it’s her new husband’s home, so now it’s her home as well. Sumptuous and exquisitely appointed, the house is filled with treasures that had belonged to Joe’s first wife, the perfect Emily, whom the villagers still consider the real mistress of Barton Grove.
A stunning photograph of the first Mrs. Marchant hangs in the living room, an unblemished rose in her hand. There’s something unnerving and impossibly alive about that portrait, but it’s not the only piece of Emily still in the house. And as Chrissie’s marriage unravels around her, she learns that Emily never intended for Joe to take a second wife…
The Second Wife is available now from:
You can find Cat here:
http://www.facebook.com/CatherineCavendish
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4961171.Catherine_Cavendish
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Thank you so much, Cat. I’m still sniffling. Now everyone, leave a comment with your email to win a copy of The Second Wife and here is what you need to know about the wonderful Paws With a Cause .
Paws With A Cause® enhances the independence and quality of life for people with disabilities nationally through custom-trained Assistance Dogs.
PAWS® increases awareness of the rights and roles of Assistance Dog teams through education and advocacy. Founded in 1979, Paws With A Cause is dedicated to helping its clients who are challenged by many disabilities, such as Cerebral Palsy, Muscular Dystrophy, Seizure Disorders, and Hearing Disorders to name just some. Each of our dogs are trained to meet the specific needs of our clients. Tasks may include opening and closing doors, picking up objects, pulling a wheelchair, turning lights on and off, and alerting a person to particular sounds like a telephone, doorbell, smoke detector and many others. Our dogs change lives by enhancing the independence of our clients. By just opening a door, a dog opens up the world for a person with a disability and your donations will go to making that happen. PAWS thanks you so much for your donation and allowing us to open more doors.
Paws With A Cause
4646 South Division
Wayland, MI 49348
How to donate:
2. Click on “Make a Donation”
Comment with your email to win Cat’s prize.