A mature writer finds an agent, gets a publisher and goes on tour: What happened to the cat?

In my last post I was developing " warped hand and eye syndrome" as I sent hundreds of postcards to people living in or near the places I will be reading and signing my book, The Scent of God .

I need a break from book stuff – especially as tomorrow I leave for my publication book tour in Boston and Chicago. Let me instead tell you about the bear.

I've heard that it takes 12 days for a bear to loop its route, and if my calculations are correct, our bear has completed its look to our house in exactly that amount of time. It's been here twice in the past 12 days. Both times our bird feeders disappeared … as a calling card the bear left badly twisted feeding poles and muddy claw prints on our windows. Last night the cat disappeared.

Now, our cat likes warmth – but she likes mice even better. Only a mouse will lure her from the house into a cold night  (hey, on Lake Superior it's still cold). Last night was such a night. As is his usual custom, my husband raised the garage door a tad -- providing access to safety should danger appear in the form of a wild beast or bird of prey bigger than she is.

I was already in bed for the night when my husband turned it. "Did you let the cat in?" I asked.

"No, she's intent on stalking a mouse. She'll let us know when she wants to come in."

Normally, if she's asked to go out at 3 am, she wants back in by 5 am but dawn broke and we'd heard no sound from Ellie. We prepared breakfast, still no sound of cat. It was ominously silent all morning. No amount of searching or whistling or calling summoned a responsive cry.

" I hope it was fast," my husband said. One swipe of a bear's paw could kill a cat.

"Maybe she's hurt, maybe the bear tossed her with that swipe. Maybe she is mauled and bleeding somewhere?" I'd lost all appetite for breakfast by now.

"Bears eat cats, Beryl," my husband answered.

I've always been against letting the cat outside, especially up here in Minnesota's northland. But my husband (note how he remains un-named) taught her to love the out-of-doors. She came to us fat and depressed from an animal shelter, showing no interest in life beyond four walls. Now she is fat and lively and vulnerable to that "beyond." 

My husband and I were having a late afternoon lunch when we heard the meow that sent us leaping from the table ... and there she was, pawing the glass door ... fat and lively and very, very cold.

P.S. I hope you appreciate the happy ending. I did not want to leave you with a cliff hanger before going computer-less for five days. I will say, however, that I'll be thinking of you all as I set off ... hoping that someday you too will be taking a journey similar to the one I'm on.

Peace and all good!