On the Loss of a Muse by Eileen O'Finlan

 

                              

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On Friday, January 16, 2026, my muse passed away. She was 17 years old, calico, and very fluffy. Her name was Autumn Amelia. She was a gorgeous Maine Coon mix. As anyone who knows cats well can attest, they are excellent at hiding illness and pain. I knew she was slowing down. That wasn't surprising. She'd been considered a "senior cat" by the vet for several years. She'd also been on medication for hyperthyroidism for several years, too. However, it did take me by surprise to find out at her December vet appointment that her liver and white blood cell counts were way off. The vet thought it might a side effect from her thyroid medication and suggested taking her off it for a month and rechecking her bloodwork. If her liver and white cell counts were headed back to normal, we'd know that  was the cause.

A few days before her next appointment, I could tell she was very sick, so I called the vet. They had me bring her in that afternoon. A recheck of her bloodwork showed that not only had her liver and white cell count not improved, but they had dramatically worsened. The vet was certain she had liver cancer and, given how quickly things had gone downhill along with her current condition, felt that she probably only had a few days left. Not wanting her to suffer any longer, I asked the vet to euthanize her. I held her in my arms, told her how much I loved her and what a special cat she'd been. I reminded her that she would live on in the Cat Tales books, and I asked her to send me the next kitties that needed a loving forever home. She left this world peacefully in my arms, soaked with my tears.

Autumn Amelia used to live with me along with a beautiful Russian Blue cat named Smokey. They were the inspiration for All the Furs and Feathers, a novel I wrote while home from work for a month recovering from a major surgery. Smokey passed away just as that book was being completed. My mom, who had been living with me, went into a nursing home due to advancing dementia one month later. She would pass away within three years.

Autumn and I were on our own ever since. We shared a home and a life. She was a great source of love, affection, amusement, and inspiration. She was always with me while I was writing, laying next to (or on top of) my keyboard. I called her my muse for that's what she was. My beautiful, magical muse. She celebrated with me when the second Cat Tales book, All in the Furry Family, was released. I bought cat "wine" for her and we toasted the unboxing of the new books when they arrived. 

She was a regular fixture at the writing group that meets at my house every Wednesday evening. They will all miss her, too.

Autumn and Smokey are the main characters in the Cat Tales series books. Their characters are based on their personalities. Many of their antics in the books were true to life including Smokey's zoomies before a storm and Autumn's penchant for stealing food. Autumn really did take apart my humidifier and eat the charcoal filter when she was a kitten and she really did have a pirate ship that she adored just like in the books.

The Cat Tales series will continue. I have the basic idea for the next book in my head now. Smokey and Autumn Amelia will return with all their furry and feathered friends. 

Autumn Amelia and Smokey

And in the next book, they will have two new friends because Autumn and Smokey completed their assignment very quickly and sent me two new kitties to help heal my broken heart. Zachary and Josette are brother and sister orange cats who are now living with me. I have had one cat or another since I was six years old and simply could not stand being without one. They came from a local shelter and now have a forever home where they will be loved and pampered for the rest of their lives. They will also become characters. I need to finish the paranormal book I'm writing now before I can start on the next Cat Tales book, but that will give me plenty of time to get to know Zach and Josette so that their personalities can shine through in the next story.

Rest in peace my precious Autumn Amelia. Thank you for your wonderful inspiration and for sending me these two new babies to love.

   

                            Zach                                                                            Josette

Surviving a New England Winter by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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Every time I send my sister in Florida a picture of the snowfall I just woke up to, she always texts me back about how pretty it is. She's right. A fresh  snowfall in New England is lovely as I'm sure it is anywhere. Waking up to look out at a blanket of sparkling white is awe-inducing. That is, until you have to shovel it. As of this writing, I have spent the past several mornings removing several inches of snow from my car and driveway. On go the boots, hat, coat, and gloves. Grab the shovel, spray the scoop part with cooking spray to keep the snow from sticking to it, and step out into frigid temperatures for some vigorous exercise guaranteed to wake me up. In my case, that also includes causing a very sore back for at least the next 24 hours due to the severe arthritis throughout my spine. On days when the shoveling is immediately followed by getting in the car and driving to my full-time job, there isn't even a moment to rest.

                   

Though I do appreciate the beauty of a pristine snow-covered landscape, I find the long, cold New England winters to be more and more of a hardship as the years go by. Oh, how I wish I could hibernate.

So, what do I do to survive the winter months? I spend as much time as possible tucked away inside my house, snuggled up on the couch or draped with a blanket in the rocking chair in my home library, a cup of hot chocolate next to me, a good book in hand, and my beloved cat nearby. More than ever, winter has become my cozy time. For me, cozy means books, cats, and warmth. The more time like this I can get in the winter, the better.

My "stay in the house as much as possible" routine has the added benefit of giving me more time for writing and research. Though I never make New Year's resolutions, I have promised myself I will be more diligent than ever about my writing this year. Ideas for novels have been spinning in my head so much lately, it's surprising that characters aren't falling out of my ears!

So, fine, bring on the snow and cold. I just wish it could be contained to the days I don't have to go out. Then I can semi-hibernate in my little house with my laptop, my books, my sweetie pie, Autumn Amelia, and some warming comfort food and that will see me through the winter just fine. 

Who could resist cozying up to this face?

Found: A Book Lover's Paradise by Eileen O'Finlan

 

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A friend recently told me of an incredible place to buy used books. It's called The Book Barn, and it's in Niantic, Connecticut. It has three locations all within minutes of each other. Once I heard about it, I knew I had to go. So, on a recent, gorgeous fall day, my friend, Katie, and I took a ride south to check it out. 

Oh my, what a place! If you are a book lover and you're in the area, you must give the Book Barn a try. It's not just a store. It's an experience. Besides the main buildings of the three locations, there are loads of smaller buildings and stalls filled with books. Because they are all used books, the prices are low.               

The main site has an enclosure with some friendly goats available for visiting. Fortunately, they do not have the pellets available for (over)feeding, but you can purchase a few carrot sticks for 25 cents if you want to give the goats a treat.

Oh, and they also buy books at the Main Barn, so if you go don't forget to bring some books to sell. You can get a check or credit for them.

At Chapter Three, the site just 100 feet from the Main Barn, live several beautiful cats who patrol the store and sometimes even allow petting.

 These two sites are both on West Main Street. Then there's the Downtown Store on Pennsylvannia Avenue just about a mile away set in the heart of this lovely seaside town.

If you don't live are don't plan to be anywhere near Niantic, try to find a unique book shop somewhere. It's a balm to the book lover's soul.

My book haul for the day: 13 books. My joy level: Through the roof!

Cats Make You Talk Dumb

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This bit of observation came from my youngest when he was somewhere around five. He was angelic, blonde and small for his age, and his remark regarding all the “Tum-tum pusseh-wusseh! Paw-weh-cious puddy! Tum, Sweetie! Come up here'n' be Mommie’s baaaay-beh” stuff that he heard around the house has stayed with me over the years. 

Bast with her kittens, Brooklyn Museum

In those days, the adorable cat to whom we “talked dumb” was a slim, elegant black girly-girl named Bap. Her original (1970's Cool) name was Bast, after everyone’s favorite Egyptian goddess. However, “Bast” was more than two-year old Jesse could get his lips around, so “Bap” he called her and soon the rest of the family was calling her “Bap” too. 

Half a squirrel is better than...?

We’re usually a multiple cat household—“like potato chips, you can’t stop at one.”  These days, we host a mere two. B0B is our gray striped tiger, the terror of the neighborhood wild critters unlucky enough to attract his laser-green gaze and lightning fast claws. Our “joke” this spring was: “B0B! Wipe that bunny off your face before you come in this house!”  I have no idea how there can be another generation after all the body bits I’ve cleaned off the porch, but somehow, after  nine years in residence, he still hasn’t got them all. Astonishingly, somehow, each year, a few wily rabbits survive. Then, in spring, there are the little bodies again, pitiful innocents. 

     

Cat #2 is Kimi, fluffy, blonde, a rescue we were gifted. She arrived as a PTSD sufferer, so for the first few years, we hardly ever saw her. She was variously referred to as “Basement Cat,” “Dementia” or just “Stop that Damned Hissing!”  She showed up to eat, but touching/grooming by her human caretakers was pretty much forbidden—or, when these services were finally allowed, only permitted within a carefully circumscribed set of her own, often mystifying, rules. 

Traumatized Newbie

Then, suddenly, about seven months ago, all this changed. I think it was the daily-imposed-by-me-despite-the-bloody-scratches grooming ritual that finally ground down her resistance to human handling. (Long-haired cats must be groomed, or there will be vet bills you don’t even want to imagine.) She still has  rules about patting, but she’s as likely as not to be over here while I’m busily typing, trailing her fluffy tail seductively along my leg, or standing a little way off, repeatedly calling with her particularly desperate meeeoooow until I am compelled to spend time sitting on the floor to do the dedicated petting she now craves. She’s even jumped up to stand on the keyboard while I’m trying to finish/edit the soon to be published Fly Away Snow Goose —“jes' wike um’s a wee-eel too-woo kitty!”       

Happy Ending

~~Juliet Waldron

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