Deborah J. Ross's Blog, page 107

Orlando Heavy on My Heart

“Where were you when you heard?” In my life, that question has referred to so many terrible events. The earliest one I remember was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. I was in high school and was old enough to have vivid memories of walking down the corridor, not yet knowing what had happened but knowing it was something dreadful, the hushed voices, and most of all, the expression on the face of my favorite teacher as he told us the news. I recalled this while driving my younger daughter to her own high school and turning on the radio to hear, “The second tower is down!” To each generation, I thought. Columbine, Charleston, Virginia Tech, Sandy Hook, San Bernardino, the Oklahoma City bombing, the list goes on.
My older daughter and I were returning from our college reunion when we stopped for lunch and I glanced at the newspaper rack and saw the news about the Orlando shooting. That same sense of surreal horror swept over me. Both of us had the thought that the world, our world anyway, would never be the same. In trying to grapple with events like this one or the others mentioned above, I find myself looking for events in my own life. That’s a thing we primates do, we put things into personal context.
I am intimately familiar with my own journey through the brutal murder of my mother, but that is not a good analogy. Her death, as devastating as it was, was an individual, one-on-one act of violence. Nobody blamed her or in any way implied she was somehow responsible for what happened to her. Closer emotionally are the stories my father used to tell of his boyhood in a small village in the Ukraine just after the Russian Revolution, when Cossacks would ride into town, line up all the Jewish boys, and shoot them. Today we find such acts heinous; nobody says the Jews deserved what they got at Auschwitz.
Yet that is exactly what some public figures have been saying about the young men and women who were having a night of dancing off the stress of their lives at Pulse. That is one of the ways in which this shooting stands apart from the others.
I found that as the days roll past, my distress at the Orlando shooting increased rather than diminishing. I kept having the thought, Except for not knowing many folks who go to night clubs, that could have been someone I love. That same daughter I was traveling with is part of the LGBT community. So are my other daughter and her wife. So is my sister and her partner. So are so many people I love.
That could have been my child or my sister or my brother or my best friend. That could have been me.
During this time I had been reading David Gerrold’s gritty, powerful thirteen fourteen fifteen o’clock.  I take it in nibbles because it’s dense and emotionally intense. The following passage stuck with me, bringing to mind a poignant image of the people enjoying an evening dancing at Pulse:

“-- in that frozen moment, in that separate space, there was room to take my life out, hold it in my hands, hold I up to the light and examine it, look for secret meanings, and try to see the soul inside, I discovered, I’m not gay, I’m not straight either, not bi and not tri, not anything, just human, quietly desperate and alone in my head, not caring about the form or shape or position, not worrying about top or bottom, simply starving for that rare moment of completion, that brief bright flash of connection that tells me that I’m not the only hurting hungry thing in this universe, even if it’s just a splash of illusion in the night”

A friend who identifies as bisexual talked to me with great earnestness and trouble in her voice about how the Orlando shooting isn’t only about homophobia or gun control or Islamophobia or mental illness. I respect her point that what happened is a complex issue with no simple answers. To focus on only one is to engage in the same sort of single-issue black and white simplification that underlies all these issues.
At the same time, I am leery of straight-washing what happened. Of skimming over how hard it is every day for some of our loved ones to get through their lives, struggling to figure out who they are and live their lives with that integrity, without daily risking those lives. As Christina Cauterucci wrote in Slate.com:

“There’s also another set of consequences that are specific to this crime, which targeted Latinos and Latinas in a bar that catered to LGBTQ patrons. When a man with an assault rifle mows down dozens of people in a school or movie theater, there is little reason for public accounts to speculate about the victims’ sexual or gender identities. The victims and survivors at Pulse, whether they identified as queer or not, have been seemingly outed to their families and communities. Many of the people Mateen killed were so, so young—some in their early 20s, barely old enough to drink; one just 18 years old. Maybe they hadn’t had the chance to come out to their families and friends yet. Maybe they hadn’t even processed it for themselves.”

She calls out “…the climate of hate, exclusion, and indifference to queer suffering fomented by political and religious leaders who champion anti-gay language, anti-trans legislation, and rigid gender boundaries...”
Maybe the crime is not just the shooting and the loss of precious, irreplaceable human lives. Maybe it’s bigger than that, the way we allow anyone to target them beforehand or afterward, and how it is in any way permissible to pry into their private lives and then condemn them. Maybe the Orlando tragedy will keep going on until each and every one of us says,
That could have been my child or my sister or my brother or my best friend. That could have been me.

Juliette Wade's "Dive Into Worldbuilding" Show Now Has a Patreon

Deborah, thank you for inviting me to post at your blog!

If you come here to read about Deborah's work, I have a suspicion that you enjoy good worldbuilding. Deborah is an expert at it, and it's also one of my favorite things to do. I've been privileged to talk with her about it on many occasions, including when I hosted her on my show, Dive into Worldbuilding. Dive into Worldbuilding is a live weekly discussion of language and culture topics for worldbuilders. Once or twice a month, I have a guest author come and talk about their work. The best example I can show you is Deborah herself, when she came to talk about her fascinating series, The Seven-Petaled Shield.



The transcript is here.

We focused in particular on the cultural models she'd chosen for the different coexisting societies in the series, and on the way she decided to work with many different languages that not all the characters could speak.

On the other weeks of the month, we come together to discuss a wide variety of topics such as colors, economics, language differences, bathrooms, cities, body modification, and many others.

Starting today, I'm expanding what I'm able to do with the show by starting a Patreon and creating the Dive into Worldbuilding workshop. The funds raised by the Patreon will support me in my running of the show and my research on panel topics; they will also allow me to pay my guest authors for their valuable insights and time.

[Deborah adds: This is an excellent thing!}

Where the workshop and the Patreon intersect is in the rewards I'm offering for patrons. At each level, patrons receive things like worldbuilding prompts, research links, a peek into my worldbuilding journal, the ability to ask me worldbuilding questions, an in-depth analysis of your work, or even a personal consultation. Essentially, becoming a patron means you're signing up to participate in the workshop at whatever level you prefer.

If you're looking to dive deeper into your worldbuilding, join us!

A Few Short Fiction Reviews (AKA Authors to Watch)

Once upon a time, I tried to keep current with short fiction, but have failed miserably in recent years. Therefore, when the urge to read these stories strikes, I seize the moment. Recently, I dove into a pile of unread sf/f magazines, most of them freebies from the Nebula Awards weekend, World Fantasy Con, and similar events.
Why should you bother to read reviews of short fiction, that most evanescent form, gone once the magazines have been pulled from their racks to make room for the next issue? (Setting aside online magazines, which number among their virtues the ability to keep back issues available indefinitely, and the ease with which authors can now publish collections of their work.) The answer is author discoverability. Reading short fiction is a great way to find new authors, with relatively little investment in time and the price of an entire book.
Back in the dawn of time, when I began writing professionally, conventional wisdom stated that the way to begin a career was with short fiction, crafting one’s literary skills and building an audience in preparation for that first novel sale. For some, this advice worked well, but for others, it turned out to be nonsense. Some authors are natural novelists; that’s the size story their brains come up with. They can on occasion “write short,” but it’s not their preferred length. The other pitfall was for the magazine editors. They’d discover a new author, delight in publishing increasingly ambitious stories, and then have the source dry up when the author switched to novels and no longer had time for short fiction (or at the same level of production). Magazines remain the point of professional entry for many writers, and because established writers do continue to write short fiction, they’re still a great place to find new authors to love.
Here are some of my favorites, presented in reverse-chronological but idiosyncratic fashion. I’ve picked one or two stories from each magazine that stood out for me. Others were marvelous and well-received, so their omission should not be taken as criticism.
Analog, July/August 2014. “Mind Locker,” by Juliette Wade. Wade is a rising star in the field, blending superb world-building, thoughtful treatment of issues, and some of the best alien races I’ve read recently. “Mind Locker” is a weird blend of near-future dystopia, VR zombies, mind-linked communities of outcasts, and a bunch of other nifty stuff. One of the things I like best about Wade’s work is how much she trusts the reader to figure things out.
Asimov’s, June 2014. “Ormond and Chase,” by Ian Creasey. Since my husband is an avid gardener, this tale of botanical genetic modification was especially amusing, especially creating plant dummies of the entire government. Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure that hasn’t already happened. “Murder in the Cathedral ” by Lavie Tidhar. The story begins, “The year is 1888 and in London the Lizard-Queen Victoria reigns supreme… Meanwhile in France, sentient machines joined by humans form the Quiet Consort, maintaining French independence…” Steampunk and lizards, how delicious!
F & SF, May/June 2013. “Grizzled Veterans of the Many and Much,” by Robert Reed. Another very fine entry in the subgenre of retirement home folks doing world-changing things. “Directions for Crossing Troll Bridge,” by Alexandra Duncan. A short-short, but mention-worthy for its humor and because I didn’t previously know the author; I’ll be watching for her in the future.
Asimov’sOctober/November 2011. “The Man Who Bridged the Mist,” by Kij Johnson. One of my favorites in the bunch, and worth re-reading. The Empire is split by a river upon which sits a corrosive, almost sentient mist. Cross it at your own risk. So of course, this being an Age of Industrialization tale, the river must be bridged. Subtle world-building, drama, and heart. And a touch of romance. This double issue contained a number of very nice stories, (“Free Dog,” by Jack Skillingstead, “The Pastry Chef, the Nanotechnologist, the Aerobics instructor, and the Plumber,” by Eugene Mirabelli, and “Stealth,” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch) but the Johnson story blew me away.
Analog, July/August 2011.  “Coordinated Attacks,” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. This novella might well have been a novel, or a series, with its gritty, engaging blend of near-future police procedural, interwoven lives, and unintended consequences. Definitely left me wanting more.
Analog, April 2010. “Sword and Saddles,” by John Hemry. Wild West cavalry troop gets catapulted sideways into not-exactly alternate history. I wished the new cultures had been better worked out, especially the gender roles and women characters, but the piece was engaging and innovative enough to keep me interested and make me want to check out more of Hemry’s work. “The Robot’s Girl,” by Brenda Cooper. The sadness of disposable lives (human or robotic) touched me; we humans project our own humanity and sometimes create it in others by the same process.
Asimov’s, September 2009. “Away From Here,” by Lisa Goldstein. Goldstein is one of my favorite authors, so it’s no surprise I loved this tale of wanting to run away and join a weird time-bending cosmic circus. “Broken Windchimes,” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. This and the Kij Johnson were the absolute stand-outs in the pile of magazines. A human reared and trained to perform alien music so exacting that a single missed note means the end of a career discovers the wonderful inventiveness of human music. Beautifully done.

F & SF, Feb 2009. “Winding Broomcorn,” by Mario Milosevic. A bit of witchcraft, a bit of folk art, and a sweet, breezy story that’s just right. Most of the issue was taken up by reprinted Jack Cady’s “The Night We Buried Road Dog,” something of a classic but well-worth discovering. Or re-discovering. Even if, like me, the love affair between men and classic cars leaves you baffled.

THUNDERLORD cover reveal

Here's the cover for Thunderlord, to be released from DAW in August. The art is by the wonderful Matt Stawicki, who did the paintings for The Children of Kings and The Seven-Petaled Shield trilogy. (And yes, the resonances with Stormqueen! are deliberate -- this is a sequel.)



You can pre-order it from Amazon or Barnes & Noble in ebook and hardcover formats.

The Walkabout Cat and His Dog

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This photo was taken a day or two after Shakir, our "Walkabout Cat," returned from his 3 week adventure (with our retired seeing eye German Shepherd Dog, Tajji).

You can read Shakir's story here and here.

Story in The Shadow Conspiracy III

My novelette, "Among Friends," (featuring Quakers, the Underground Railroad, and a slave-catching automaton) will appear in The Shadow Conspiracy III (edited by Phyllis Irene Radford and Brenda W. Clough, with this gorgeous cover by Dave Smeds). ("Among Friends" previously appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, March 2013). The book will be available June 28 in print and various ebook formats.

Here's the back cover copy:

In the world of the Shadow Conspiracy where the human soul has proven to be measurable and transferable to an automaton, the question arises: is the robot a person? The Emancipation Proclamation of January 1863 freed all the slaves in the states in rebellion against the Federal Government. What if that same document freed ensouled automata as well?

This third volume of the Shadow Conspiracy has seven stories that examine the question of humanity. We take you from an observation hot air balloon above the siege of Vicksburg to the soul-grinding Battle of the Crater, from simple farm folk who call themselves Friends, to the mysticism of Marie Laveau and Voudon. Our award winning authors ask the age-old question of what makes us human, what is the nature of slavery, and who deserves freedom? Only you can provide the answers.

Time, Patience, and the Beginning Writer

Beginning writers enjoy the unappreciated luxury of time. They can work without submission deadlines and crash and burn editorial demands. There’s an undeniable glee in such deadlines; they are the mark of a professional author, aren’t they? They demonstrate our commitment to our writing careers, and that our publishers take us seriously. Deadlines, especially short ones, imply an editor’s trust in our ability to work competently, even brilliantly, at speed. Surely, that’s proof of a high degree of Expertise, not to mention Importance.

If you haven’t picked up the sarcasm in the opening paragraph, please insert it now. Bleary eyes, aching shoulder muscles, unwashed laundry, family eating frozen dinners, and kids running amok from neglect are nobody’s idea of good working conditions. For many published and publishing authors, these things happen from time to time as a part of the publishing industry’s inherent chaos. If we can’t change them and don’t feel we have the option to refuse, then we make them more acceptable via glamorization of suffering. To be sure, when we were beginning writers, we may well have regarded the necessity of dropping everything to proofread a book that should have been done two months ago as a good thing. We wanted to see our work in print, the sooner the better, and too many of us jumped at the chance of being published anywhere.

The time during when we are writing seriously but not (yet) on contract offers its own gifts, and one of them is freedom from publisher- (or editor- or agent-) induced overwork frenzy. We may be overworking in a different way, juggling day jobs, families, and other responsibilities. Our friends and families may regard our writing as a hobby, no matter how seriously we take it, because we have yet made any money at it. (And when we do, the bar escalates: we haven’t sold a novel, we don’t earn enough to support ourselves entirely from our writing, we haven’t won a national award, etc., and with the achievement of each goal, we are subjected to another, even more difficult one.)

A beginning writer has the flexibility to accept external deadlines, like for submission to an anthology or contest, or to ignore them.
Beginning writers face the daunting reality that over the decades it has become increasingly difficult to sell a first novel. Not only are they in competition with other debut novelists, their editors are also considering manuscripts from seasoned professionals who, for one reason or another, are changing their bylines and perhaps genres, and being published as if they were new authors. Therefore, it’s even more important that first novels be the very best crafted, most original, fully developed, and polished books possible. This takes time, whether it’s your first book or your hundredth. Beginning writers can afford to take the time; indeed, it is incumbent upon them to do so.

New writers aim to make that first novel as good as they can, not only to attract the interest of an agent or make a sale to an editor, but because the quality of a debut novel has a disproportionate influence over their writing careers. Writers can and do recover from a mediocre debut novel with consequent lackluster sales, but it’s a lot harder to sell a second novel. This is why I think that most of the time, self-publishing an otherwise unpublishable (and hence, unedited) first novel is a mistake in terms of a long-term career.

The advice to take the time to master basic literary craft and then apply it is often difficult to accept, let alone follow. When we’re still figuring out how to write well (and how to write this story well), we so often don’t know what we don’t know. Finding trustworthy feedback and then following it slows down the process. I can’t tell you how many times I thought a story was ready for submission and been wrong. Some of us pick up skills easily; others of us need the concepts explained to us in words of one syllable. And all of us want to be able to write perfectly right now.

The stage of late-beginner, when a writer has e sold a few short fiction pieces and is working on a novel, is a particularly hazardous passage. His stories may have attracted positive reviews; he had readers and even fans. His editors know his name. Then an editor asks to see that novel, the one that’s not finished. The rough draft may be complete, or even a revision or several, but it’s not the very best the writer can make it. The request creates the illusion that the sale is halfway accomplished. The writer has leap-frogged over the slush pile! Exhilaration feeds blindness: that novel still has to be competitive and capable of launching a career, but now it’s all too tempting to send it out before the editor forgets the conversation.

To make matters worse, sometimes rushing through writing the rest of the book or skimming through a quick polish does work. More often, though, it doesn’t, and then the best outcome then is that the writer picks up his shattered hopes and is able to return to the novel with renewed dedication. That necessary perspective can be hard when the project has been the source of disappointment. The mere act of submitting an unready manuscript creates the illusion that it is finished, and illusions are notoriously difficult to dispel. Often the best strategy in this circumstance is to set that project aside, go off and do something else — write another novel or a handful of short stories, anything that refreshes the mind and sharpens the critical eye — and then return to it.



Just as it is never too late to begin a writing career, it is worth the time to launch that career. True writing friends, as opposed to those who pressure or sabotage our best interests, help us with patience and long-term perspective. That smashing debut novel is worth it!

Short Story Sale!

I just sold "Sage Mountain" to Sword & Sorceress 31. Some of my stories are fluff and some are dark, and this one just took the bit between its teeth and ran away.

Here's a sneak peek:

The troll bent over to peer at her. “What you do here?”Roseline had heard stories of people eaten by trolls, but she had never heard of a troll who initiated the process by asking a question. Without thinking, she blurted out, “I've come to ask you for help.”The troll was so startled, it sat on the ground with a loud thump, thereby effectively blocking the entrance to the cave.For lack of any better idea, Roseline assumed her most trusting expression. That had always worked with her father and, come to think of it, with Audric as well. The troll night be persuaded to sit on Audric and squash him into jelly, and that would solve her problem. “I'm in terrible trouble,” she said. “There's no one else I can turn to. I have always heard that trolls are fearless,” which was perfectly true, although not necessarily in this context, “and so I came all the way here too beg for your assistance.”The troll blinked at her. Being begged for assistance was undoubtedly outside its previous experience. “What you want?”“There's this horrible boy who is forcing me to marry him. He has threatened to tell my father all kinds of lies if I don't. Please help me!” She did not elaborate further, for fear of confusing the troll with too much information. The troll scratched its head. “Eat boy?”
“That's all very well for you,” she said. “You are big and powerful. I, on the other hand, am only a weakling human girl. Besides, the boy would object to being eaten. He’d much rather kiss me. Can't you do something?”

Sorry, you'll have to wait until November to read the whole thing.

Become a Literary Patron (and Support a Lipizzan Horse!)

I am constantly heartened by the community of readers/writers/horse-lovers and the many ways we support one another. Now one of our own -- a true treasure of our field -- needs our help. Judith Tarr is an icon of historical fantasy; she's also written other sorts of fantasy and even some very nifty space opera. She's inspired a generation of new writers. In addition, she breeds and trains Lipizzan horses ("dancing white horses")
-- check them out here. And now she needs our help.  See her letter below.

What you can do:

Pledge a few dollars a month through Judy's PatreonSponsor a horse (see below) in full or partBuy her books. If you have an ereader, buy them from Book View Cafe, which gives authors a whopping 95%. You'll find a wonderful range of books, including the essential guide "Writing Horses"Post reviews of her books on sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and GoodReadsTell your friends! (Maybe get together to sponsor a horse?)If you're a writer, especially a newer writer, consider engaging her services as a mentor or editorBoost this signal!


From Judith Tarr: May 3, 2016: I'm continuing the editing and Horse Camp sale, and the Patreon page for new fiction is ongoing--many thanks to those who have joined the adventure so far.

Those who know me well know that when I break down and offer a sale, it's because I've run out of options. The past few years have been increasingly difficult, and last year was brutal. This year has been, emotionally, much less awful--and I have my writing mojo back. But in all other ways it's been worse than any year before it.

Right now I do not know how I'm going to feed the horses for the rest of the month. I have managed to scrape out enough to pay for the last load of hay (if that late check finally gets here), but once it's eaten, which it will be in about ten days, I don't know what I'm going to do. The farm will be gone by midsummer unless I find a steady source of sufficient income. I've been hustling like a hustling thing but so far with minimal results.

The market does not want either me or the horses. The horses are all old and therefore retired and unsalable, or else would require thousands of dollars' worth of training and show fees to have any sale value. No one can take them. The market is saturated with unwanted horses and the rescues are overloaded. I am over 60, hearing impaired (ergo, unable to use the phone), and with chronic fatigue syndrome which makes office or minimum-wage work difficult to impossible. And minimum wage would not support the animals, let alone me. All my income streams from backlist books, editing, writing, etc. have shrunk to a trickle or dried up. No one has booked a Camp in over a year.

I have had a few small things come through, but as with everything else, they've fallen short or failed to produce. I continue to push, and with the fiction writing regaining its old fluidity, I may manage to make something happen there. I've been urged to try an Indiegogo for a short novel, and I am closing in on that. (Indiegogo, unlike Kickstarter, offers an option that pays even if the goal is not met. The goal would be enough to cover mortgage, horses, and utilities for a month.) Since for the first time in my life I'm able to write more than one project at a time, that means I can continue to meet my obligation to backers of last November's Kickstarter for a science-fiction novel, and also write the novella (and short stories, too).

A friend suggested that I offer sponsorships for the horses. I feel weird about that, but they need to eat. What I would give in return is a little writeup about the horse being sponsored, with a digital album of pictures and a monthly update. And short fiction as it happens, if you are a reader with an interest.

Here's what the monthly "full ride" would be:

$200 Feeds and waters one horse for a month

$300 Feeds and waters the horse and contributes toward the farm (portion of mortgage and utilities)

$750 buys one load of hay, which lasts a little over three weeks

$100 buys a week's worth of grain and supplements

Email me at capriole at gmail dot com for details. Partial sponsorships are most welcome.

I welcome referrals for editing clients, bookings for horse camp, and writing gigs of various sorts including game dialogue and scripts. I do story commissions, too. Email for rates and details.

If you've read my books, there's one thing you can do that won't cost you anything: Post an honest review online, especially at Amazon. The more reviews a book gets, the likelier it is to trigger the algorithm that gets the book on recommendation and "If you liked this" lists, which means more chance of improving sales. Mentioning the books at conferences, recommending a favorite to friends, blogging about it--all these things help. I can tell when people are talking about my work; I see the spike in sales. And that's more feed money and bill money and money to pay the mortgage.

Please feel free to link and signal-boost at will. Last week's signal went everywhere and I was tremendously grateful, but the response has been in line with the rest of this year's efforts. I can only keep trying. And keep writing. And keep putting it out there.

The Return of the Walkabout Cat

When last we left our story, our indoor-only cat Shakir had escaped and was so freaked out, he no longer recognized us. After spotting him several times in our yard, we decided to try to trap him. To this end, we borrowed a raccoon-sized humane trap and set it out with a dish of extra-palatable food nearby. Each night, the food was eaten. We braced the trap open and placed the food halfway inside. Finally we set the trap with the food all the way inside, so that the cat would trigger the trap.

And the next morning the food was untouched. The most likely reason was that earlier in the day, I had been sitting on the porch, enjoying the beautiful weather and view of our garden as I wrote. In the process, I also moved several cardboard boxes at the far end of the porch. Apparently, Shakir found these changes intolerably threatening.

The next night, we set the food outside the trap, thinking that by backtracking and making the setup less threatening we could tempt him. For the second night in a row, the meal was not eaten. At this point, we began to wonder if Shakir had somehow gotten out of the yard. Our chain-link fence is 6 feet high and there aren't many gaps underneath. It would be possible for a determined mountain lion to scale the fence, and also for a determined dog (or cat) to dig underneath it, although we saw no evidence either had happened.

I watched myself begin to grieve again., only this time with more acceptance. It had been two weeks since we lost our cat, and that is a long time, especially in these mountains.

My husband, however, did not give up. The next night, he set the food down by the place we thought the cat was hiding. And presto! the next morning, the plate was licked clean. We had no way of knowing who had eaten it, whether it was our cat, a raccoon or skunk, or a neighbor’s cat that had somehow gotten into the yard. We continued to leave out food and to move it closer to the porch and the trap. Again we reached the point leaving food halfway inside the trap and having it gone the next morning. Our patience seemed to be in a contest with our sense of urgency, because the longer a cat is missing, the lesser the chances of ever finding it.
Now came the test: we set the trap and left the food at the back. I went to bed thinking, This is it -- either there will be a miracle and our cat will be in the trap tomorrow morning, or we will be back to square one, perhaps without any hope of seeing him again. If we did catch him, would he be completely feral, not to mention covered with fleas and ticks?

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of OW! OW! OWWW!! I dashed into the living room. My husband had brought the trap inside and there was our cat, fur all puffed up, expressing his extreme displeasure. My husband opened the trap and, just as we had expected, the cat dashed out, belly low to the floor, and headed for the nearest hiding place, underneath the sofa.

Our fears about Shakir forgetting all about us and his life as a house cat turned out to be unfounded. Within five minutes he had come out from underneath the sofa and was exploring his old home. He showed no fear when I approached him, and he allowed me to stroke him. He had lost weight but he was not starving. He had been mildly obese to begin with, and he’d had some food, although not in the quantities he was accustomed to. His coat was rough, although that might have been partially because he was still puffed up with excitement. Later we discovered that although he did not seem to have picked up any fleas, he had several ticks in one ear. These fell off within a couple of days after we applied a topical prevention for fleas, ticks, and heartworm.

Thinking that the best thing for Shakir was to let him settle on his own, undisturbed, we went back to bed. Almost immediately, he jumped on the bed, curled up between me and my husband, and began purring ferociously. It had been almost three weeks, and our sweet boy kitty was clearly beside himself with delight to be home again.

Over the next few days, the cat followed us around wherever we went, begging for attention. He not only remembered where the food and litter box were, he remembered the other animals in the household, especially the dog. Purring, he rubbed up against her and cuddled with her, even more than he had before his adventure. He even remembered the tricks that I taught him: standing on his hind legs to touch his nose to mine when I bent over, and turning around in circles.

It has now been a little over a week since Shakir's return. His coat, which was dull and rough, has resumed its previous glossy smoothness. As I write this, he and the dog are playing tag. To say that we are thrilled to have him back is an understatement, although now we remember all the ways he is annoying. That is life!