Putting the Claws in Pens, Paws, and Claws

by Barb Goffman

I love a good animal mystery. There are tons of them aimed at adult readers that involve dogs and cats. So you’d think a large animal with sharp claws would appear in a lot of mysteries too. After all, the sharper the claws and the bigger the animal, the bigger the threat. But when I sat down to research adult mysteries involving one particular type of large, sharp-clawed animal … alligators, yes, alligators, well, let’s just say this swamp wasn’t so full. While there’s an abundance of mysteries for children and tweens involving alligators–it seems eco-mysteries for young readers are hot–mysteries with alligators aimed at adults appear to be few and far between. Here’s the few I found:

  • Hip-Deep in Alligators, by Robert Campbell — a mystery set in Chicago involving a crocodile, according to its online description. (Yes, crocodiles and alligators aren’t the same thing, but since the title mentions alligators, I think we have a winner.)
  • Rumble on the Bayou, by Jana DeLeon — the first in the humorous A Miss Fortune Mystery series, set in Louisiana. This book’s online description begins with, “Deputy Dorie Berenger knew the day would go from bad to worse when she found a stoned alligator in the town drunk’s swimming pool.”
  • Later Gator, also by Jana DeLeon — this ninth book in the A Miss Fortune Mystery series focuses on gator poaching.
  • “Gator Aid,” a short story by Lesley A. Diehl set in a rural Florida swamp chock-full of alligators.
  • The Sound and the Furry, by Spencer Quinn — this is the sixth book in Quinn’s fantastic Chet and Bernie series, about a PI named Bernie and his sidekick, Chet, a large dog who narrates the books. In this novel, Chet and Bernie travel to Louisiana, where Chet tackles with a legendary gator.

And that, my friends, is all she wrote. Or at least all I could find–except … last week a new anthology came out called Florida Happens. It’s this year’s Bouchercon anthology, full of short stories set in or inspired by the weirdness that is Florida. It includes two short stories involving alligators. (Well, maybe more than two. I haven’t read the whole book yet. But at least two!) They are:

  • “There’s an Alligator in my Purse,” a funny story by Paul D. Marks.

And … my newest story:

  • “The Case of the Missing Pot Roast,” by me, Barb Goffman. This is a story about aging with dignity. The main character, Bev, lives with her husband, Charles, in a retirement community near the Everglades. Their home looks out on a lake in which an alligator named Romeo lives. The couple has always loved watching Romeo. But now Charles has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and Romeo has become a source of stress. And these two don’t need more stress. Bev gets injured, so she hires an aide to help care for combative Charles. But when things start to go missing, Bev doesn’t know who she can depend on. A friend suggests the aide isn’t trustworthy, but Bev begins to wonder if the real person she can’t trust is herself.

You can read “The Case of the Missing Pot Roast” in Florida Happens, out now in trade paperback and e-book versions from Three Rooms Press. Here’s a link to the Amazon copy, if you’re interested.

And with that, I’m going to say farewell to all the readers here at Pens, Paws, and Claws. I’ve enjoyed being part of this blog since its start, learning about authors, their pets, and animal issues and mysteries. But I find myself stretched too thin, so I’m giving up my spot on the rotation to allow another author the opportunity to blog with you all.

Thank you, dear readers, for visiting and commenting on the blog. And thank you to my fellow PPC bloggers, especially our founder Heather Weidner, for making this blog a success. I will continue to check in and comment. And if you’re interested in continuing to follow me, you can find me–and many posts about my dog, Jingle, pictured above–on Facebook.

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Puppies and Panthers…

I LOVE FOOTBALL!!!

Sorry, didn’t mean to shout, but I really love Football.  I love High School football.  I love College football.  I love Professional football.  This time of year, I am one happy, happy woman because there’s not only baseball, but football too.  Today is college football day.  I’ve been doing chores and work all through the day today whilst watching college football. I’m also really excited about tomorrow’s Panthers vs. Cowboys game.  GO PANTHERS!!!

There’s a problem with this, however.

As many of you may remember, we adopted two fabulous Labrador retrievers in February of this year.  This was our second bonded pair (they have to be adopted together) from our fav rescue organization, Lab Rescue (part of the Labrador Retriever Club of the Potomac).

Our young Irish Water Spaniel, Tucker, whom we got as a puppy, is used to my reaction to football.  He grew up with it, and when I start hollering at the refs, the players or the drive, he just shrugs and keeps chewing on his bone.

Daisy and Dakota, however, are not used to this.  It was post-season when they come to live with us.  They have NO experience with me being the whoop-and-holler fan.

After a few moments of startlement in pre-season, Daisy, like Tucker, decided to ignore it.  She’s an athlete in her own right – she reminds me of a trim tennis player, active and fit.   She remains unphased no matter what down it is, or how bad the sack on my quarterback.

Dakota, on the other hand just does NOT know what to make of my football-induced hollering.

You have to understand that, on non-football days, I’m pretty quiet.  We start the day with a walk, and say hello to the neighbors if they’re out.  After that, we settle in with coffee to work for a few hours, do some social media, and generally get the day done.  There may be some singing – I’m not totally silent! – but there isn’t random shouting, hollering, and complaining.  There is often tennis-ball-throwage in amongst the writing.

On football days?  Oh, my Lord, is there hollering.

See, like I said, I love football.  I’m passionate about it.  My guys got me a really nice TV in the kitchen so I could watch football while I cook dinner.  I use it often.  You’ll see that despite the fact that I didn’t go to Nebraska, I was watching this game.  Why?  Because it was on and it was good.  Grins.

BTW, I was also watching a game on my computer – the high school from which my Eldest just graduated is ranked #4 in the nation in some polls and was playing a great team…St Johns won 37-34…but it took them into the freakin’ FIFTH – yes you read that right FIFTH! – overtime to do it!  Yikes!!

So amidst the whooping at St John’s Cadet’s win, checking to see if the rain delay on the Cubs vs. Nationals game had lifted, and the Nebraska game, I was fully immersed in sports.  Love me some sports.

My husband thinks it’s hysterical that I love football even more than he does.  However, Dakota, our big, black rescue Lab (part Great Dane, we think) is NOT amused about this sport thing.

He fled the kitchen for the safety of the family room.  He refused to come into the kitchen while football was on.  The only thing he came in for was to eat.  Otherwise, he avoided me and my football like the plague – or like I was holding the nail clippers.  

Tucker joined him for part of this day-long sulk, but then Dakota decided to go hang out upstairs with my Youngest, who’s just as anti-(team)-sports as he is.  Dakota and the Youngest Son think I’m nuts.  Ha!

What about you?  Are you a sports fan? 

Or are you a sports widow/widower?

What’s your sport?

What’s your team?

Do you have team gear?  (Love my team gear!)

Did I mention….GO PANTHERS!!!?

 

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My First Aussie, Sydney

My First Aussie, Sydney

After saying goodbye to Gretchel, our White Shepherd, my husband and I chose our first eight-week-old, red-merle, Australian shepherd, and gave him a unique name, Sydney! We had been told Aussies could learn words like a two or three-year-old child. Since I was teaching special needs children, I had to give it a try.

We spoke to him, using one or two words at first. I named his toys and when he knew the word ball, he also distinguished the difference between a ball or a football. After doing research to see if dogs saw colors, I taught him the names of colors. He recognized shades of blue, light yellow, darker yellow (sort of brown), and very dark gray.
Sydney craved learning new things. My husband and I started spelling words, thinking he’d not understand. But he listened to us spell and picked up on the meaning by our actions. His favorites were: BED! GO! CAR! TRIP! WALK!

He was a red, brown, and white bundle of energy, and needed to be kept active, mentally and physically. His instinct of herding became a problem when our petite, three-year-old niece visited. She could not walk down the hall. She ran. Her rapid movements made Sydney want to nip her ankles. We kept him on leash when she visited, until she grew larger and he matured.

Every year we traveled to Edisto Beach with our best friends and spent long, delightful weekends in an old house, overlooking the ocean. Digging in the sand, chasing seagulls, and biting the waves kept Syd busy. Unfortunately, he learned the hard way not to drink the salt water. A tablespoon of pumpkin everyday helped the bad effect of the ocean water.

My husband and I fell in love with the high maintenance of an Aussie personality, and have had three other Aussies. After Sydney’s death, I wanted to keep his memory alive and he became my main character on Edisto’s setting in Seven Days to Goodbye. I had as much trouble writing the last chapters as the readers who were affected.

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A Virtual Zoo — All in One Book

by Barb Goffman

It’s July, the perfect time for a beach read. You know, a book that’s fun and not too dark. Something you can read on the sand in between naps. And what could be better for the beach than a book of mystery short stories? Especially one filled with animals–perfect for the fun factor.

I’ve talked briefly before about Chesapeake Crimes: Fur, Feathers, and Felonies, which was published this spring by Wildside Press. But you haven’t had a chance to meet the stars of this book. So without further ado, I present both the fur and the feathers. In this book you’ll find stories with all of these animals. I hope you’ll check it out:

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Making It All Work…Or…How Time Management Makes Me Nuts!

I like to plan.  I really like it.  I use markers and colored pens.  I allot my time judiciously.  I build in time-buffers to make sure I get my stuff done.

Then, life happens.

It’s been crazy busy around Chez Adams.  We’ve got a high school graduate for the first time.  Eldest Son (pictured on here with his bestie) graduated on June 1.  Before that, it was the baseball championships which they won for the fifth time in a row – WCAC Champs, baby!! – and then there were the after parties, proms, graduation parties, etc. etc. etc.

In the middle of all this, I’m on deadline.

I didn’t plan it this way.  Ohhhhh no.

I planned my spring schedule to the letter.  I took a HUGE trip – England and Scotland!  WOOT!  I planned that around baseball and graduation.  Books to write and get out.  Promotion to do, events to plan around.  Yeah….

With all that, I needed to have the novella that’s due, done by May 1 so I’d be able to relax before graduation – take my time, and have plenty of editing and cogitation time left over before turning it in!

Did that happen?  Of course not.

What the hell was I thinking?  I never have the time I THINK I’m going to have.  While I admit that I occasionally over estimate what I can do in the amount of time I have, it isn’t because I cannot DO the work.

It took me a while to realize why I wasn’t getting stuff done.  I can do what I need to do in the amount of time I allot.

I so totally could….

The problem is that I cannot plan for just MY time.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but sometimes kids and dogs and life really muck up a writing schedule!  This spring at my house would have mucked up ANY full time job, much less a creative one.

Somehow, even when I add in time for the unexpected, the unexpected manages to take up way more time than I thought it would!  Ha!

That said, even when I’m behind, and thinking, “where did I screw this up?” I still have to factor in time away from writing to just breathe.

If I try to cut out the important “extras” I put on the schedule, I get in trouble.

I have to read.  I have to walk the dogs – that way I don’t gain ten pounds for every book and novella I write! – and I have to smell the flowers.

Why?  If I don’t put in time for this – actually schedule it in with my colored markers – it doesn’t happen.  Then I stop being as creative as I need to be because I’m not “refilling the well” of my soul.

This spring, another issue came into play.

I didn’t realize that I would have to add in time for what I’ve come to call the “depression factor” of the daily news cycle.  (No political discussions or comments, please!)

However you feel about it, the world’s in flux and it’s challenging to stay creative while you’re living it.  That means I need MORE time refilling the well than usual.  More flowers.  More dog-time. More family time.  More baseball with the boys.

Staying positive is challenging. So I have to find coping mechanisms so I can do the work, and do it well.  Hence, the flowers, dogs, and baseball!

I also read, a LOT!  I read my fellow Pens, Paws and Claws authors.  I read my Romance Bandit pals – Kate Carlisle, Nancy Northcott, Anna Campbell, and others have new releases this spring to my great delight!  I find new authors.  I wait with bated breath for the next Nalini Singh and Ilona Andrews novels.  Grins.  Ellery Adams needs to put a new one out soon, as does Sophie Kelly!  Ha!

I dive into their worlds, escape into the lives of the characters they’ve created and live those lives and feel those feelings as a break from my own world.  It’s what we all love about reading, right?

Then, thankfully refreshed, I can go back to creating my own worlds and people and move their stories forward.

In amongst all that, I have to look forward to what I’m doing, promo wise.  I’m going to be at DragonCon in Atlanta over Labor Day.  Gotta prep for that!  And hey, Coastal Magic in February!  I hope y’all will come visit me there for the booksigning!

How can I be planning for 2019 already?  Yikes!

It’s crazy!  Wow!  Then again, while I want to control my time more, I also know that I won’t have my boys at home for long.  Got one going to college in the fall.  The other will head to high school in another year.

There will be lots of time at some point and I’ll miss them.

Until then, it’s a strategic puzzle as to how to make it all work!  Ha!

Are you crazy busy this year? 

What are your relief valves from all the insanity of jobs, and family, schedules and work, crises and news cycles?

Since you’re following and author blog, I presume you read (yay!), and maybe have a few fur-babies to help cut the stress, does walking the dog, or playing with the cat or horse or snake work for you?

Do you have some authors whose books you’re looking forward to?  Who’s on your auto-buy list?

What else do you do?  Crafts?  Golf?  Sports? Travel?

Give me some pointers, y’all!

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Tales with Tails … (and some without!)

by Barb Goffman

Jingle doing time! (This is my dog the day I adopted him from a shelter.)

It started with an idea: Everyone loves animals. They’re cute. They’re furry. They’re begging to be written about.

Next came a call for stories for the eighth volume of the Chesapeake Crimes short-story series. It said in part:

“We want animals. More than six out of every ten homes in the United States has a pet. Be they dogs, cats, birds, pigs, or lions or tigers or bears—or even snakes­—people love animals. They love playing with them and caring for them and, we’re happy to say, reading about them.

“That’s where you come in. We want crime/mystery short stories involving animals. The animal could be the sleuth or the sleuth’s sidekick or merely a part of the plot. We could hear the animal talk or think or do neither. Any kind of crime/mystery story you can come up with that involves an animal, be it furry or feathered, warm- or cold-blooded, is good with us. So bring on your animal stories!”

The authors of the Chesapeake Chapter of Sisters in Crime did not disappoint.  To paraphrase McGruff, our authors took a bite out of crime! And now, finally, the book has been published. Chesapeake Crimes: Fur, Feathers, and Felonies offers mystery readers who love animals a bevy of options.

Like dogs? Then this book is for you. We have several stories involving dogs and crime. But we don’t stop with dogs. Oh no. We have stories with crows, cows, crickets, and cats; rabbits, ferrets, an octopus, and rats. And fish. Mustn’t forget the fish.

Like police procedurals? We have three of them. How about historicals? We have a trio of those too. One story will take you back to nineteenth-century England, another to 1930s Hollywood, and the third to 1950s Pennsylvania. If you like amateur sleuths, you’re in luck. We’ve got some of those. Like dark stories? We’ve got ’em. Stories from the animals point of view? We’ve got those too. Funny stories? Check. Paranormal? Check. Stories where animals save the day? Check. Check. Check.

Basically, if you’re a regular reader of this blog and you enjoy mystery short stories, then this book is made for you. We hope you’ll check it out. You can buy it in trade paperback or in e-book format.

The authors with stories in the book are: Karen Cantwell, Carla Coupe, Barb Goffman (yes, that’s me!), Eleanor Cawood Jones, Linda Lombardi, Alan Orloff, Josh Pachter, Shari Randall, KM Rockwood, Joanna Campbell Slan, Marianne Wilski Strong, Robin Templeton, and Cathy Wiley. The book was edited by Donna Andrews, Marcia Talley, and me. The stories were chosen by Brendan DuBois, Mary Jane Maffini, and Leigh Perry (Toni L.P. Kelner). And the book was published by Wildside Press.

If you’ll be attending the Malice Domestic convention next weekend, stop by the Wildside Press table in the book room at 3:30 p.m. on Saturday. Nearly all the authors with stories in the book will be there for a mass signing. And if you’re in the Washington, DC, area on Sunday, May 20th, we hope you’ll come to our official launch party at the Central Library in Arlington from 2-4 p.m.

In the meanwhile, happy reading. We hope you enjoy our tales with tails!

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First Puppy Love

Gretchel- Our first puppy

Many years ago, my family moved from Southern California to Atlanta, Georgia. It didn't take long before Charlie, a German shepherd, spent more time at our house than hers. I cared for children after school, and when David arrived home, he walked across the street with Charlie following. Curious why Charlie's ear bent at the half way point, I had asked. "What happened to Charlie's right ear?"

David lowered his head. "When I was a baby, Mom said I pulled on her ear and broke the cartilage."

Murphy fell in love with Charlie and when the neighbors moved away we kept her. Charlie attached herself to Murphy as he did yard chores. At age ten, she had cancer and we had to let her go. Murphy's despair was painful to watch.

The children lamented, "Dad needs another dog." We decided while he traveled for work, a new puppy would be a wonderful birthday surprise.

My six-year-old daughter and nine-year-old son were elated. We spent s few days scouring shelters, and breeders. I believed Murphy needed a dog that didn't remind him of Charlie. After reading an ad for White German shepherd pups, we headed there.

With the puppies' parents in the backyard, I learned about their easy- going personalities. My children had wandered over to the crates and called to me. "Mom, this one. This one."
One eight-week-old shepherd pup with a bent ear stared at us. She was adorable, and we didn't hesitate to choose her. This pup had so many fleas, she could have been part Dalmatian. She couldn't be bathed with flea soap at her young age, and I hoped water would wash them away.

Driving home, we played with names. We were new to the south, and I came up with a perfect southern name. "This pup was born in May, and she is a SHE." I asked my children, "What do you think about naming her Shelia May?"

The laughter started first, and then moans and groans came louder. "No way, Mom. That's awful." The children decided Dad needed to name her.

We had two days before Dad arrived home. I pulled out a porta crib from the attic and wound a sheet through the slants. The puppy took her paws and shoved them down and squished her tiny body through the small openings.

If she was left alone for any time, she'd do all her business on the carpet. I slept downstairs in our finished basement to keep her company and wondered if I had made a huge mistake. My kids were independent, and now I had a new baby.

The afternoon Murphy arrived home, the children made him sit upstairs on the couch and close his eyes. He asked all kinds of questions.

Their excitement spilled out. "We have a birthday present for you."

I carried the pup upstairs and plopped her on Murphy's lap. The second she sat on his lap, a scratchy, wet tongue slid across his cheek and nose. His eyes popped open, and to say the least, he was surprised.

Now it was time to name her. My sweet children had a great laugh with my choice of name.

Murphy stared at me and chuckled. When he caught his breath, he started suggesting German names. Gretel or Gretchen. Our young daughter mixed the two names, and it was so cute we named our pup, Gretchel.

Over time, Gretchel became the children's dog. Murphy had built a fort in the backyard and the neighbor boys played there. Gretchel climbed the wooden ladder to be in the middle of all the fun.

Our daughter, who wanted to ride horses, trained Gretchel to jump over bushes, and to follow her many other commands.

As we walked around the neighborhood, Gretchel would fill her mouth with small rocks one at a time. She'd tilt her head sideways to adjust the rocks. When she had no room for one more rock, she'd spit them on the street and rearrange them one at a time. And sure enough, she'd get one more in her mouth.

She became a water dog as we water-skied every weekend. At first, she was small enough to sleep under the dashboard. As she grew, she'd leap into the lake with the children and could climb the ladder to get into the boat. She enjoyed camping with us and would stand guard the bathroom, waiting for her best friends to reappear.

Gretchel was our first chosen puppy. When she died at eleven-years-old, she left a huge hole in our hearts. We didn't wait too long before we filled our gap and chose our first Australian Shepherd.
And that will be another story!

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The Dogs in My Life Part III: Ranger

By Judy Penz Sheluk

Ranger with Judy, fishing in Collingwood

In my previous posts, I shared stories of my first dog, Sandy, and my second dog, Einstein. Neither of those stories had a happy ending, though they did come with a message, and hopefully, a lesson that can be shared.

You might think that after our heartache with Einstein that my husband, Mike, and I would find another breed. But we both love Golden Retrievers, and so this time we were determined to do things differently. We were going to do our research.

This was in November 1992, long before the Internet and Google, so we bought books, read lots, and went to dog shows. It was at one of those shows that we met Liz and Bruce Russell, owners of Gowrielea Goldens. As luck would have it, a litter was due in January 1993. We went to the premises, where we were able to meet the mother, as well as several other Gowrielea Goldens. We’d found our breeder.

Gowreilea’s Forest Ranger was born on January 23, 1993. Every Sunday for the next seven weeks, we went to the Russell’s to watch Ranger and his siblings grow. Week eight, Ranger came home with us, pretty much house trained.

Obedience school followed, and Ranger thrived on learning his commands. He was a gentle, bright boy who loved his soft toys and could be trusted alone in the house (though he did like to sleep in his crate with the door open).  In fact, his only real fault was a propensity to pull on his leash (not sure if there were gentle leaders and harnesses then, if there were, we weren’t aware of them). He also had “selective” hearing when off leash, but only if water was nearby. That dog loved to swim.

For more than nine years, Ranger was a terrific dog and wonderful companion.  He particularly loved a cottage Mike and I rented every October in Collingwood, right on Georgian Bay. It was while we were vacationing there in 2002 that we realized something was very wrong. We cut our vacation short and took Ranger to our vet, only to discover he had a large, inoperable tumor. He died in November, in our arms, in his own home, just two months shy of his tenth birthday. At the time, Mike and I truly believed we’d never have room in our hearts for another dog, let alone another Golden Retriever.

Then we met Copper. Stay tuned for Part IV!

In non-dog related news, my most recent audiobook, LIVE FREE OR TRI, is now available on Audible, Amazon, and iTunes. And yes, one of the short stories take place in Collingwood!

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The Care and Feeding of the Small Evil One

Pens, Paws, & Claws is happy to welcome Donna Andrews, author of the multiple award-winning Meg Langslow mystery series. She’s sharing about a fictional dog you may recognize.

The Care and Feeding of the Small Evil One

by Donna Andrews

Somewhere in my files I probably still have a set of instructions with that title. It dates from one of the times when I was taking care of the real-life Spike, who served as model for the feisty canine in my Meg Langslow series. One of these days I should try to find it, so I can prove that I’m not maligning the original Spike—just giving him the title his doting owners bestowed on him.

Spike was a stray when my friends Tracey and Bill adopted him. He wasn’t fond of men other than Bill, and his pathological hatred of umbrellas and brooms and rakes clued us in to the fact that he had probably been abused. We never knew exactly what mix of breeds he was—our best guess: part chihuahua, part something else not a lot bigger.

When I started writing Murder with Peacocks, I based a character on him. I changed his name, and replaced his sleek honey-colored coat with long hair. Tracey and Bill still recognized him. So when he died—at what was, as far as they knew, a fairly ripe old age—shortly before I turned my book in, I offered to change the name of my fictional dog to Spike. Heck, it was a better name anyway.

They gave copies of that book to everyone he ever bit—which meant most of their friends and relatives. Had Spike lived another year or two, I could have been a New York Times bestseller solely on the strength of the many books I inscribed to his former victims.

I took a poll once to see which of my characters—other than my heroine—were my readers’ favorites. I wasn’t surprised to find that Spike placed high up in the list—right behind Meg’s dad, if my memory serves, and slightly ahead of her grandfather.

I’m grateful that readers rarely ask that awkward question: isn’t Spike getting a little long in the tooth by now? If I were writing stark realism, I’d say yes. He was middle aged and cranky when it began, and the series has now been running for nearly twenty years. If I’d known it would run this long, I’d have made him a puppy to start with.

But it’s my fictional world. Meg’s children have grown from babies to preteens, and Meg and Michael might eventually develop a few gray hairs. But sorry, fans of extreme realism. I’m never going to inflict an Old Yeller scene on my readers. Spike may grow old and crankier—if that’s possible—but I’m not killing him off.

I’m open to knocking off a few humans, though. Any suggestions?

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A Calico named Shammy

April 23, 1991 was a very good day. It was the day that Glen and I adopted Shamrock Leah King, a gorgeous long-haired calico, affectionately known as “Shammy.”

We first saw Shammy the day before at the Holiday Humane Society in North Hollywood, California. The shelter required a waiting period of 24 hours before letting us take her home.  When she walked us to the door—no other cat did—we knew that we’d been picked!

At home, Shammy was sweet but timid, with self-esteem issues and a fear of men, including Glen. She came to adore him and became more comfortable with other men. But while her confidence grew, a touch of melancholy stayed with her.

When Glen and I moved from Los Angeles to Virginia in 1996, Shammy accompanied me on the plane. Thankfully it wasn’t full so she didn’t need to stay under the seat in the small carrier the airline required. She was not happy and the tranquilizer the vet had prescribed didn’t seem to take. But she endured the ordeal with her customary dignity. In fact, she fared better than I did!

Eventually Shammy fell prey to that common and dreaded feline condition: kidney disease. By the time she died at home one March morning in 2002, she had lived with us for eleven years. She had always preferred cuddling to lap sitting, but during her last months, she sought comfort in our laps.

We buried her in the backyard of our home in Earlysville, Virginia. I cried for days.

When the Albemarle County SCPA built a new facility, we purchased a brick and dedicated it to our special friend. When we visited the SPCA this past September, we looked for, and eventually spotted, the brick (there were lots of them).

Shammy also lives on in my Hazel Rose Book Group series. Hazel’s backstory reveals that her beautiful calico cat named Shammy accompanied her when she moved from Los Angeles to the east coast and settled in Richmond, Virginia.

Sound familiar?

 

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