A CAT, A BOY, A BOND

From Anne Montgomery

There was nothing extraordinary about the cat that stared at me from the pages of my local newspaper. He was black. Gold eyes. His name was Westin. He’d been at the Humane Society way too long. His $20 price tag a clear indication that if he did not find a home soon, well…

I called my son to come look at the picture. I told him about Westin. “Should we go get him?” I asked. His eyes lit up.

Within the hour we bounded through the door at the shelter, waving the newspaper article. “We’re here for Westin.” We grinned at the receptionist. A woman standing nearby frowned. I pointed at the picture again, wondering at her odd reaction.

“The story did not tell you everything,” she said, leading us toward a glassed-in enclosure, a place called the Campus for Compassion, where hard-to-adopt animals are placed for one last push to find them a forever home.

My son and I glimpsed Westin briefly through a large window as the woman ushered us through a doorway, around a corner, and through another door.  We somehow missed the sign that would have tipped us off that Westin was no ordinary kitty. The woman escorted us into the tidy room scattered with cat toys and shelves ascending one wall, where Westin quickly displayed his climbing skills. I sat on a small couch. Westin stared at me, then bounded into my lap.

“You get acquainted. I’ll get Westin’s records.” She left, closing the door behind her. A short time later, a young volunteer appeared, bearing a thick folder.

“Where did he come from?” I asked, as Westin head-butted my hand for a rub.

“He was one of thirty cats found abandoned in a hotel room,” she said. “We named them all after hotels.”

The thought that there were kitties nearby named Radisson, Hilton, Sheraton, and Howard Johnson made me want to laugh. Perhaps she read my mind.

“They’re all gone. They’ve been adopted. Westin is the only one left.”

I stared at the cat, now happily ensconced in my son’s lap. “Why?”

“Westin is sick.”

My son and I simultaneously stared at the cat, who appeared quite healthy and happy.

“When he came to us, he had lost a lot of his hair. We almost put him down. The vets here did a lot of testing and, well, Westin has horrible allergies. He’s on daily medication and will be for the rest of his life. He has to be fed special food that’s about $60 a bag.”

I stared at my son, a first-year college student who’s living at home while he studies to be a chef.

“I’ll leave you two to think about it,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “He’s been here a long time.”

“It’s a lot of money,” I said when my son and I were alone. “And a lot of responsibility.” We already had three cats, two of which came to us as strays and which live on the front porch, just wild enough still that being inside upsets them. We also have an indoor cat that my son raised from a kitten. And a cattle dog.

When the volunteer came back, I asked if anyone else had ever wanted to adopt Westin.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Until they found out about his problems.”

I turned to my son. “You said we’d split the costs,” I reminded him. He nodded, considering.

The boy with the blue eyes stroked Westin’s head. “He’s just like me, Mom. No one wanted me either.”

I stared at the ground. Troy is my third son. All of my boys spent time in the foster care system, before entering my life when they were teenagers, having been shuttled between group facilities and foster homes too many times to count, clearly understanding that there didn’t seem to be a family that wanted them.

I can’t say it hasn’t been a struggle. Westin suffered a ruptured ear drum and only wants to eat food that he’s allergic to. Still, he gets along fine with the other animals and is under the watchful eye of our vet. We are hoping that, someday, he can go without the daily doses of medication and the special expensive food. In the meantime, Troy takes care of Westin. They seem to have an understanding.

Now, six years later, while Westin still has allergies, we manage them. He and his brother Morgan are best friends, and we can’t imagine life without him. That’s Westin on the right.)

My son Troy takes care of Westin, a cat found abandoned with 29 others in a hotel room. They seem to have an understanding.

Here is a brief peek at Anne's Historical Fiction novel base on a real soldier.

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Praise for Your Forgotten Sons

“Although a defty crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.”  Midwest Book Review

“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley 

“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true.  When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter

“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” –  Kathryn McLeer NetGalley 

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

 Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces. When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne on her website, Wikipedia, Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

 

FOR THE LOVE OF FURBABIES

from Alicia Joseph 

Last July my dog, Phil, suffered from liver failure. The situation was touch and go for a horrible two weeks. But, against the vet's grave prognosis, my baby survived. He's twelve, and though I know he won't live forever, I was completely unprepared for losing my dog. My baby. My sidekick. The face that makes me smile even when I want to cry. The eyes that watch my every move, because his world revolves around me as much as my world revolves around him, maybe even more so. 

During that miserable time of not knowing whether or not Phil would turn that miraculous corner to recovery, I was consumed with the idea of losing him. I didn't eat. I cried when I held him and buried my tears in his fur. He seemed to know his precarious situation, but never gave up.  I love him so much for that. 

But all through that time and after, I only considered my loss of losing him. What I would have done. What my life would be like, while never considering his loss should something happen to me. I know he waits for me when I leave the house, as all dogs do, but how would they feel, how would they react, if we never make it back home to them? 

I've been thinking about this a lot since last month, when a neighbor passed away suddenly. She had a dog, Ricky. We used to walk our dogs together, along with another neighbor and her little dog. The woman's parents could not take Ricky, he didn't get along with their own dog. This woman had no brothers or sisters. They didn't know a lot of people who could, or would, take Ricky in. He went with a family friend, but that didn't work out. 

I volunteer at a shelter. I've seen many dogs come to the shelter in the way of Ricky's predicament. Through no fault of their own, they lose their owners to death, and there is no one to take them in. So these dogs, used to living in a home filled with stability, love, security, now come to a shelter filled with loud chaos and uncertainty. Even the best shelters are a scary place to a dog who has only known a house as a home. 

Luckily, Ricky didn't have to meet that fate. My neighbor with the small dog took him in. She had the intention of keeping him, but two dogs were a bit too much for her. But she was determined to keep him until she could find a home for him, which wasn't hard at all because Ricky is adorable. 

Last week, Ricky went to his third home in less than a month. This was a friend of a friend, so my neighbor passed Ricky off confident he would be well-taken care of. I often wondered for those weeks that my neighbor had him what he was thinking. Did he think his mommy would come for him soon? Was he waiting for her? Did he miss his home and wonder why he was moving to different places? We avoided walking Ricky down the street he used to live. We didn't want to confuse him.  

But then on the day he was leaving, I took Ricky for a walk and thought maybe it was the right time for him to say goodbye to his old home. We walked down his street. He definitely knew where he was. He led me straight to the familiar place, sat down in the driveway, and stared at the house. He didn't try to pull me to the door, which I was glad for.

Ricky's mom's name was Tracy. She didn't die at home, but if spirits find their way back home no matter where we pass, maybe she was there to see him one last time.

I hope so.

I thought about Phil, remembering what I went through when I thought I was losing him, but we need to consider what our furbabies go through when they lose us. Luckily, I don't have to worry about Phil going to a shelter or being shuffled to three different houses. He has an uncle and aunties who love him, and who he loves, especially his uncle.

Uncle is his favorite. 

Here is a glimpse into one of my books. I hope you enjoy it. 

“When a train runs over a penny, the penny changes form, but it can still be a penny if I want it to be. Or, I can make it be something else.”

Lyssa and her best friend Abbey discover a hideout near the train tracks and spend the summer before sixth grade hanging out and finding freedom from issues at home. Their childhood innocence shatters when the hideout becomes the scene of a tragic death.

As they’re about to graduate from high school, Abbey’s family life spirals out of control while Lyssa is feeling guilty for deceiving Abbey about her sexuality.

After another tragic loss, Lyssa finds out that a penny on the track is sometimes a huge price to pay for the truth.

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Alicia Joseph grew up in Westchester, Illinois. She has many works-in-progress that she hopes to finish soon. Life permitting.

When she is not writing, Alicia enjoys volunteering with animals, rooting for her favorite sports teams, and playing “awesome aunt” to her nine nieces and nephews.

Learn more about Alicia Joseph on her blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter.