[R.E.A.D] Homer's Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned about Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat
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Description of Homer's Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned about Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat
Review �A wonderful book for animal lovers.'�Temple Grandin, author of Animals in Translation��Entertaining, heart-warming, and sometimes heart-wrenching�.Throughout, Homer entertains with his insatiable curiosity and joie de vivre...I couldn�t put the book down and I read half the passages aloud to my husband. I guarantee you�ll find the book as engaging as I did.��Catster ��Moving and inspiring . . . a three-hankie tale of life and the love that can exist between owner and pet.��Florida Times-Union�This memoir about adopting a special-needs kitten teaches that sometimes in life, you have to take a blind leap.��People�Cooper is a genial writer with both a sense of humor and a gift for conveying the inner essence of an animal. . . . The indefatigable feline should be an inspiration to us all.��The Christian Science Monitor�A must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.��Free Lance-Star (VA)�A marvelous book! Moving, insightful and often hilarious, Homer�s Odyssey is about a blind cat with a spirit of epic proportions. Read and rejoice!��Sy Montgomery, author of The Good Good Pig���Delightful�this lovely human-feline memoir, following in the footsteps of Vicki Myron's best-selling Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, is sure to warm the hearts of all pet lovers.��Library Journal (starred review)��Heartwarming and entertaining.��PEOPLE Pets��A wonderful story celebrating the profound bond that can form between feline and human, Homer�s Odyssey is an inspiring read, and a perfect holiday gift for any cat lovers on your list.��Feline Wellness��It took only a glance at the foreword, and before I knew it I was devouring the whole thing like a warm brownie sundae�.It was Homer who most often proved to be the hero, once even saving Cooper�s life when an intruder broke into her apartment. (This story alone is worth the price of the book.)��Christian Science Monitor���A guaranteed hit with any cat lover�but the account of Cooper�s struggles with her career and love life will also appeal to readers of similar memoirs about twentysomething women (Julie and Julia, for example), as well as to the growing audience for stories of challenging pets of all kinds (Marley and Me).��Booklist ��Tender and affecting.��Publishers Weekly�Touching . . . one not to miss.��USA Today�'Homer's Odyssey will make you jump for joy!'�Rita Mae Brown, New York Times bestselling author of Cat of the Century�'I am certain it would be impossible to meet Homer without falling in love with him and it is just as difficult to read this loving account without coming away with a renewed faith in the unique bond that can sometimes arise between two alien species.� Gwen Cooper writes with humor, with wit, with candor and most of all with irresistible warmth for this astonishing little feline who will steal your heart.'�Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, New York Times bestselling author of The Nine Emotional Lives of Cats and When Elephants Weep��An inspiring story of two souls, one human and one feline, who face significant obstacles on their quest for love. A charming and sometimes humorous tale of what everyday courage and perseverance can look like. And to anyone who knows cats, it comes as no surprise that it is often the feline who leads the way.��Susan Richards, author of Chosen By a Horse and Chosen Forever�'Homer�s Odyssey will capture your heart and enrich your soul.� Homer�s courageous spirit and triumphant optimism are an inspiration to all who share his story.'�Dr. Louise Murray, Director of Medicine, ASPCA Bergh Memorial Animal Hospital, and author of Vet Confidential�'Homer's Odyssey eloquently demonstrates that the bond between felines and their humans is requisite for our enlightenment.'�Jim Edgar, author of My Cat Hates You and Bad Cat��A heart-warming and charming memoir of how adopting a sightless kitten brought joy and love (and new direction) into a woman's life.��Shelf Awareness��Irresistible.��The Toronto Sun Read more About the Author Gwen Cooper is the author of the novel Diary of a South Beach Party Girl. A Miami native, she spent five years working in nonprofit administration, marketing, and fundraising. She coordinated volunteer activities on behalf of organizations including Pet Rescue, the Miami Lighthouse for the Blind, the Miami Rescue Mission, and His House Children�s Home, and initiated Reading Pen Pals, an elementary school-based literacy program in Miami�s Little Haiti. Gwen currently lives in Manhattan with her husband, Laurence.� She also lives with her three perfect cats�Scarlett, Vashti, and Homer--who aren�t impressed with any of it.� Read more Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One * Socket to Me Yesterday made the twentieth day that I have been tossing about upon the sea. The winds and waves have taken me all the way from the Ogyian island, and now fate has flung me upon this coast. �Homer, The Odyssey Years ago, back when i still had only two cats, i was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tse-tung and call him 'The Chairman' for short. 'Don't look at me like that, it'll be cute,' I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. 'Little Chairman Meow.' The joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step (so it had seemed to me at twenty-four) of adopting two except that I'd been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I'd marry. We'd split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring�a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life, complications I had never contemplated back in the days when I'd thought Jorge and I would be together forever. I was staying in a friend's spare bedroom while I tried to save up for an affordable place to live, for example, but I would never be able to move into a more reasonably priced pet-free building. There was no point in even considering a relationship with a man who had cat allergies. I worked in nonprofit, running _volunteer programs for the United Way of Miami-Dade, and I never had more than fifty dollars in the bank at the end of the month. Nevertheless, routine vaccinations, injuries, and illnesses would have to be paid for by me alone, no matter what their impact on my finances. 'Not to mention the social implications,' my best friend, Andrea, would say. 'I mean, there are only so many cats you can have when you're twenty-four and single. The neighborhood kids will start calling you Old Widow Cooper and throw rocks at your windows and say things like, That's where Old Widow Cooper, the cat lady, lives. She's craaaaazy . . .' I knew she was right; I wasn't completely out of touch with reality. In my present circumstances, talking about a third cat was an absurd hypothetical, like daydreaming about what I might buy if I won the lottery. Then one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti. Patty told me a long, sad story that would have been perfect for a cable movie, if only there were a station called Lifetime for Cats. An orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned at her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required the surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn't want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to face this particular handicap. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of, before . . . She didn't finish her sentence, and she didn't have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out. Don't, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it's sad but, honestly, you're in no position to do anything about it. I'd always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare. Still, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn't be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, 'I'll come in and meet him.' I paused. 'I'm not promising anything, though.' I should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I'll meet him and we'll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was 'special' or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We'd had dogs who couldn't be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who'd found them as six-week-old kittens�mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores�wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I'd met them had been the day they'd come to live with me. So I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet's office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I'd said, 'I'll come in and meet him,' what I'd meant was, I really don't want a third cat right now, but I'd feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat's story. So I'm leaving myself room to wriggle off the hook. 'We have to take him. We have to let him live here' had been the immediate response of my roommate, Melissa, when I'd told her about the blind kitten the night before�'here' being Melissa's one-story, two-bedroom, waterfront South Beach home, where I split the cost of utilities, groceries, and other household expenses while I tried to save up for my own place. But Melissa was beautiful, and an heiress, and the everyday obstacles that appeared insurmountable to me at this juncture in my life weren't even blips on her radar screen. Melissa didn't have to agonize over things like higher vet bills, or being unable to eventually find a home for herself and her brood of three (three!), or the prospect of being undateable. (I could already hear imaginary conversations among these mythical men I hadn't even met yet�let alone started dating. Dude, she's smart, she's cute, she's a lot of fun�but she's got three cats! That's just messed up, dude.) I couldn't decide if I was even the right person for a kitten like this, a kitten who would undoubtedly have special needs I couldn't begin to anticipate. What if he never learned to get around on his own? What if my other two cats hated him on sight and made his life miserable? What if I simply wasn't up to the challenge of taking care of him? I could barely take care of myself. Arguably, given that I was living in somebody else's home at the moment, I couldn't take care of myself. I'd been encouraged, briefly, by Melissa's use of the word we. I wouldn't be in this alone. In some small, crafty corner of my brain, it occurred to me that I could bring the kitten home and, if I proved unequipped to handle him, Melissa could always . . . 'Of course, you're the one who has to make the final decision,' Melissa had added a moment later, 'because he'll go with you when you move out.' The thing that was speeding me toward my vet's office as surely as the wheels and motor of the car I was driving, the thing that had gotten me to agree to meet this kitten in the first place, was guilt. If I didn't take him, no one would. I had always been an easy mark when it came to animals and everybody knew it. I was a veteran weekend volunteer at Miami's various animal shelters, and�back when Jorge and I were still living together�I'd always come home in tears, pleading with him against all reason to consider adopting one of the dogs or cats who stood to be euthanized if nobody stepped forward. My only run-in with the law thus far had been the time, in college, when I'd been arrested at a protest rally outside of my university's primate research center. I'd been the kid who stray dogs and cats followed to school because I would give them all the food out of my lunchbox, without considering how I planned to feed myself at lunchtime. And it was exactly this kind of hazy, immature thinking, I told myself somewhat viciously as I slid into the parking lot outside my vet's office, this heedless disregard for future consequences, that had landed me exactly where I currently was in life�broke and alone after years of carefully constructing what I'd thought was an unshakable future. I realize now that I was trying to manufacture a sense of anger. It was far easier to convince myself I was angry and put-upon than it was to admit I was terrified. Read more
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