She lives in the turret, wary of the Great Rambunctious Dog that lives downstairs but can't get through the cat door (much to his dismay). She spends most of her days on a bed, resting comfortably. But when a person comes into the room she lifts her head into the air and makes noise "mewp! mewp!" as if to say "I'm here! I know you can't see me, so I shall make this noise to guide you!" And when you scratch her head she appreciates it like no other cat. And when you leave, she makes the noise again, lifting her head as though to say "foul winds have blown you from me! you are lost! I shall make this noise so that you can find me again!" -- and, of course, you can't leave, so you go back and pet her again and again.
"I used to try and write in the turret," Neil told me, "but the only thing that would happen was that I'd pet Zoe all day." This is not in, and of itself, a bad thing but it interrupts the Great Works of Literature.
Whenever there was down time (when I wasn't out photographing some author or eating dinner or looking at the bees) I would say "I'm going upstairs to pet Zoe," and Neil would smile and say "that sound like a loovely thing to do. She would like that very much."
Well, we found out last night that Zoe's got a tumor of some sort, no news apart from that. But at 14 years old, it could be grim.
Love up the ones you have. And if you have a favorite charity that helps out animals in need -- list it in the comments and we'll spread some joy in the name of Zoe, who stole my heart.
My favorite is Citty Kitties the West Philadelphia stray cat rescue group.
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