Musings of a Bookish Kitty

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Cat Thursday: Big Cat Meets Mini Cat

Welcome to the weekly meme hosted by The True Book Addict that celebrates cats; their foibles and humorousness and the joy they bring. You can join in by posting a favorite LOL cat pic you made or came across, cat art or share with us pics of your own felines, then post your link up at The True Book Addict.

© 2013, Wendy Runyon of Musings of a Bookish Kitty. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Musings of a Bookish Kitty or Wendy's feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Bookish Thoughts: A Murder at Rosamund's Gate by Susanna Calkins

A Murder at Rosamund's Gate by Susanna Calkins

Minotaur Books, 2013

Crime Fiction; 352 pgs

I am unable to resist a historical mystery, and when looking over upcoming books for a meme earlier this year, I added this title to it without a second thought. Coming across it on NetGalley seemed too good to be true, so I put in my request.

From the Publisher:

In Susanna Calkins's atmospheric debut novel, a chambermaid must uncover a murderer in seventeenth-century plague-ridden London.

For Lucy Campion, a seventeenth-century English chambermaid serving in the household of the local magistrate, life is an endless repetition of polishing pewter, emptying chamber pots, and dealing with other household chores until a fellow servant is ruthlessly killed, and someone she loves is wrongly arrested for the crime. In a time where the accused are presumed guilty until proven innocent, lawyers aren't permitted to defend their clients, and--if the plague doesn't kill them first--public executions draw a large crowd of spectators, Lucy knows she may never see this person alive again. Unless, that is, she can identify the true murderer.

Determined to do just that, Lucy finds herself venturing out of her expected station and into raucous printers' shops, secretive gypsy camps, the foul streets of London, and even the bowels of Newgate prison on a trail that might lead her straight into the arms of the killer.

In her debut novel, Susanna Calkins seamlessly blends historical detail, romance, and mystery into a moving and highly entertaining tale.

There was something very familiar about this novel as I read. I told my husband a couple times it seemed like I'd read it before, although I knew that could not be true. The book has just been released this year. Even so, I enjoyed the novel quite a bit, particularly the historical detail the author, Susanna Calkins, put into the story.

The time period the novel is set in is a perfect source for conflict--so much is going on. It was a time of great change, both political and religious. Not to mention one of great tragedy with the great plague and a fire that devastated the city. Add to that the fictional crime, murder. The author does a good job of creating a story around these events, although it did feel like the murder itself was forgotten for awhile there. While understandable given the circumstances the characters faced, it made me wonder what genre I was reading.

It didn't hurt my overall enjoyment of the novel, however. I do enjoy a good historical novel regardless. And Lucy Campion was a charming character to spend time with. I loved how selfless and forward thinking she was. She is a character I can get behind and admire.

As much as I liked Lucy, I was even more fond of Cook, and quite enjoyed the time I got to spend with her. She seemed level headed and quite caring. The Magistrate was another favorite character of mine. Although I didn't agree with him on every point, he seemed like a fair and thoughtful man.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to be a woman in that time period. The book is set in 1665, a time when the separation of classes was quite severe and women were not given much credit for their brains. I was particularly drawn to the conflict between the Church and the Quakers and the evolving shift of a country from Catholicism to Anglican. The author did a good job of capturing the mood and tone of the time period.

The murder mystery itself was intriguing, and the author did a good job of keeping this reader guessing! The climax was quite intense. There is romance mixed in as well, for those who like more spark in there mysteries. A Murder at Rosamund's Gate is a great start to a promising new series, and I look forward to seeing what Susanna Calkins's brings us next.

Rating:

(Good +)

You can learn more about Susanna Calkins and her book on the author's website.

Source: E-copy provided by publisher through NetGalley.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Where is Your Bookmark?

Many thanks to everyone for their prayers and kind words and thoughts these past couple of weeks. As many of you know, I had to say goodbye to my dog, Riley. I picked up his remains this past Friday. The poor lady at the animal hospital was almost in tears when I told her why I was there--it set me off crying again. Everyone at the specialization hopsital was so kind to me and Riley right from the start. You can tell the people who work there love their jobs and believe in what they do. My husband and I are talking about spreading his ashes in our backyard. I'm not sure when that will happen, but that's okay. There's no rush.

Meanwhile, the cats are being spoiled and enjoying the extra attention. Anya, my younger cat, sticks close to my side when I'm home. Parker has been mewing more for attention in the evenings than usual. And Mouse, well, she's been asking the inevitable questions.

This weekend was easier than last, emotionally. We had Mouse's soccer practice Saturday morning and the weather was so warm that afternoon we broke out the pool. Mouse still loves playing in the water. She practically jumped into her bathing suit, unable to contain her excitement. Sunday was Mother's Day and my husband and Mouse let me sleep in. They treated me to lunch out and then home again for some more pool time. Anjin made me a special dinner to cap off the day. It was very nice.

I haven't felt much like doing anything blog related, much less write reviews. I felt guilty cracking open a book the day after Riley died, afraid if I stopped thinking of him I was being disloyal. Obviously that was completely irrational thinking. I'm past that. I have kept to the lighter reads mostly though. I haven't listened to Wally Lamb's The Hour I First Believed since I last mentioned it here. I recently finished reading A Conspiracy of Alchemists by Liesel Schwarz and Never Tell by Alafair Burke. One a steampunk/paranormal romance novel and the other a mystery. I had planned to start The House at the End of Hope Street by Menna van Praag, but I thought I'd take a detour and slip in another escapist urban fantasy type read, Jamie Quaid's Boyfriend from Hell first. I'm loving the little kitten who Tina has befriended in the book.

What are you reading right now?

Every Tuesday Diane from Bibliophile By the Sea hosts

First Chapter First Paragraph Tuesday Intros, where

participants share the first paragraph (or a few) of a

book they are reading or thinking about reading soon.

Over the door, the tin scales of Lady Justice dipped ominously to the wrong side as Andre Legrande strolled into Bill's Biker Bar and Grill. The boss had been up to no good again, and our miniature Lady Disaproved.

Personally, I thought the dipping scale meant the little statue knew Andre was a fraud, but I was keeping my head down and my mouth shut these days. Rather than feed my boss's arrogance by admiring his assets, I propped my corrective boots on the stool rung and leaned over my tally sheet, pushing my cheap, black framed reading glasses up my nose and letting my overlong bangs hide my face.

The weird anomalies--like moving statues--that had begun appearing in the Zone after the first chemical spill ten years ago now seemed an everyday part of my life. I'd taken a job in this South Baltimore neighborhood two years back when no respectable place would hire me. That's pretty much the story of everyone in the Zone.

And so begins Jamie Quaid's Boyfriend from Hell (Saturn's Daughter series).

Would you continue reading?

Monday, May 13, 2013

Gardening

One of my many chores when I was a child was weeding. Oh, how I hated weeding. The sun would beat down on my back as I painstakingly pulled weeds out of the ground, trying to make sure to get the roots. My mother's interest in plants and flowers was about average sized--she planted and cared for them, keeping the yard mostly neat, but I wouldn't say she had a particular love for it. My dad religiously mowed the lawn and trimmed the trees and bushes.

My mother-in-law was born with two green thumbs and a love for all things related to gardening. I think my father-in-law was too. I wish it'd rubbed off on my husband. It would have made it easier for me.

I joke that my husband and I both have brown thumbs; we kill just about every plant we try to raise. Even the cactus. Whenever someone gives us a plant as a gift, we're given advice on how to keep it alive. It never happens. I don't know why people expect it will be different this time. It never is.

I've tried. In our old house, we had a giant flower box sitting right under the front windows of our house, along with an area for a flower bed just below. We tried all sorts of flowers and plants, faithfully watering them and trying to care for them. The perennials in particular flourished for awhile. But mostly everything just died.

As I often do, I looked around my backyard and imagined what it might look better with more plants and splashes of color. The flowerbeds are mostly bare. I mentioned to my mom one day that I was thinking of starting a rose garden. It was just another comment along the same lines of many. My wishful thinking, knowing I'd likely never follow through. Only, this time my mom took my words to heart and our Easter present this year was money to start our rose garden. I couldn't exactly give it back or use it for something else. She was very specific in what it could be used for. I suppose I could have kept putting it off--I even tried, saying it'd be better to plant them in the fall--but my mom kept asking.

And so, off we went. Anjin, Mouse and I. We spent an afternoon at a nursery, me dreaming about all the plants and trees I wanted to add to our garden, my husband wishing we'd hurry up so he could get home and take a nap, and Mouse hoping for another look at the birds, caged by the nursery entrance.

We narrowed our rose choices down to four different kinds and spent the next afternoon planting them, under the supervision of Mouse. She's quite the helper.

When I think about it, I really want Mouse to experience the joys of gardening. I'm hoping the roses will take and flourish. I have no intention of giving up so easily this time. I may not like gardening much now, but maybe if I force myself to do it, I'll eventually come to like it. I hope. And in the process, I hope my daughter will maybe develop that green thumb I don't have. It would make her grandmothers proud, anyway.

Plus, I've heard roses are pretty hardy. I guess we'll see . . .

Friday, May 03, 2013

My Riley


Riley Runyon, Our Best Friend (2000-May 2, 2013)

My husband and I loved our apartment, nestled among trees and greenery. It was our oasis. Yet we dreamed of moving into our own house. I wanted my own dog and a big backyard for him to play in. Nearly 10 months after moving into our own home, a fixer upper to be sure, my husband agreed I could finally get my dog.

It broke my heart, walking through the numerous animal shelters, seeing all those dogs locked behind bars, without homes to go to. I got teary-eyed more than once along the way. My husband and I had slightly different ideas of what kind of dog we wanted, but given Anjin was the one who was reluctant about the idea (he isn't a dog person), I let him take the lead. When we first saw Riley, he was very eager to please. He came right up to the bars of his kennel, tail wagging so hard his entire backside shook. He was adorable. We were allowed to visit with him in a private room at the shelter, where Riley, as soon as he walked in the door, went to my husband. A sign. The shelter staff told us Riley was 2 years old, which is the age we were looking for. The vet later told us he was more likely 1 year old. It didn't matter. Close enough and we were already smitten.

It wasn't an easy adjustment at first. There were tears. Doubts that we'd made the right decision. Not about Riley in particular, but about taking such a young dog in. I knew what we might expect on an intellectual level, but dealing with it all in person was a bit of a culture shock. My husband and I had been on our own so long and suddenly we had someone else to take care of too. I grew up with dogs, but my last childhood dog had been with us for 14 years. I'd been a lot younger when we took her in. As often happens, we got through those early baby blue days and Riley became a big part of our family.

I always joked that it was obvious Riley was adopted. He had a boundless amount of energy that lasted him well into his senior years. My husband and I have always been much more sedentary. It wasn't until last year that he started to slow down. He was diagnosed with arthritis in his back and put on medication that helped for awhile. I scratched his head and told him, "We're getting old, ol' boy."

I still remember the first day we brought him home, July 10, 2001, how shy he was, how cautious. He still wasn't sure of us or of this new environment we were putting him in. We let him explore the house at his own pace. At one point I had washed my hands and flicked water on him before drying my hands. He took off like a shot and hid under our bed. I felt bad. Eventually he came to like my doing that and thought it was a game.

The first time we heard him bark was in our backyard on that first day home. He let out a deep clear bark. We hadn't been sure he could bark. The woman at the shelter claimed he was a Basenji mix and Basenji's cannot bark. They make a yodel like sound instead. Well, whatever other kind of dog Riley had in his blood, he must have got his bark from the other part of him.

I loved Riley's coloring. Mostly white with patches of brown here and there. He had a couple of paw prints on his back; at least that's what they looked like. He was beautiful. He was slender in form, a smallish medium sized dog. I swear sometimes I could see him smiling.

Anjin and I struggled long and hard to come up with his name. I am not sure where Riley came from in the end, only that it came to me suddenly and we both knew it was the perfect name for him. Wiley Riley.

Riley was an escape artist. he often dug under the fence and got into the neighbors' yards during his earlier years. Occasionally he'd bolt out the front door if we weren't watching close enough--sometimes even when we were. He loved to explore and go on walks. During his unapproved outings, we would chase him around the block, not realizing the more we chased, the farther he'd go. It took a few times before we realized if we stayed at our house, he'd come back. Like a toddler exerting his independence, he needed to know we were close before he would continue too far.

He loved to be chased--and to chase. He enjoyed a good game of tug-a-war. He loved playing fetch most of all. He could do that for hours, whether inside or out. He was obsessed with balls and any type of throwing object really.

I loved how excited he would get after a bath, running around the house at full speed. He sometimes did that--the tuck-butt-and-run routine, as we came to call it. Getting out his excess energy. Everyone in the house would stand still wherever they were, least he run into us and knock us down.

Oh, how he hated baths! He'd try to hide at bath times and sit or stand there and shiver as he waited out the ordeal. I always felt so bad for him. He always sat well for my husband when he got his nails trimmed though. And he loved to be brushed.

He loved going for walks. He was good with other dogs. although he preferred smaller dogs to the bigger ones. And he was quite the jumper. Boy, could he jump! When we replaced the fence in the backyard of our first house, we made sure to get a six foot fence. Even then, Riley probably could have scaled it if he tried hard enough.

His enthusiasm when I came home from work or from running errands knew no bounds. Anyone who has ever had a dog knows that there's nothing that can compare to the greeting you get from your dog when you walk in the door. He'd nearly knock me down, his tail wagging fiercely.

Riley favored me of everyone in our house. He was definitely my dog. I had taken a couple weeks off work when we first brought him home and he and I bonded during that time. Riley would follow me everywhere he could. He was my shadow. Even though he was a bit too big, he was very much a lap dog. Whenever I would sit on the couch, he was right there, sprawled across my lap. When I sat at my computer, he jumped up and curled up behind me in the chair so that I would have to sit on the edge.

My dad was another of Riley's favorite humans. When my dad when come to visit, he spent much of his time playing with Riley, throwing him the ball and sitting with and talking to and petting him. Others did that with Riley too, of course, but my dad was a dog person through and through, and loved Riley like he was his own. I know it must have confused Riley when my mom started visiting without my dad.

Eight months after Riley joined our family, I brought home a stray cat that had been living in the parking lot of the courthouse where I was assigned at the time. He was just a little guy, an orange tabby, not even a year old. My husband had grown up with cats and he and Riley's relationship was at times strained. I wasn't sure how it would work, especially with my allergy to cats or how Riley and the kitten would take to each other. There were moments on that first day we doubted it would work, but by the end of the day, after our consistent efforts to get the two acclimated to each other, they became fast friends. Our cat, Parker, adored Riley. He'd rub against his legs, initiate play and even tried to cuddle up to Riley. Unfortunately, Riley was never much of a cuddler unless it was with an adult human.

It was the four of us for a number of years. We grew closer together each day and life was good. Riley eventually stopped chewing everything in sight but retained his overflowing energy. Always in motion (except when we cuddled together).

A few years later we added another cat to the mix. And while Riley and Anya got along great from the start (Anya was just a kitten), it took a long time for Parker to warm up to Anya. Much like Parker, she adored Riley and would bat at him from the top of the coffee table when Riley walked by, teasing him and encouraging him to play. She was even more of an instigator than Parker ever was.

Things changed considerably when we brought Mouse home from the hospital. I had done little things here and there to prepare the animals for her homecoming, but Riley, who'd for years had my undivided attention, suddenly had competition. He was jealous. And I was unable to give him the same kind of attention he'd had before. It didn't help that I was going through Postpartum Depression either. We often think in terms of how it affects the other humans in the house, especially ourselves, but it also impacts the animals.

I had hoped Riley would take to Mouse the way you see in those pictures--with babies and dogs cuddling up together. Riley clearly didn't like Mouse initially, to the point where I wondered if I would have to do the unthinkable and re-home Riley. Fortunately, my mom and a fellow dog lover talked some sense into me. Riley was my forever dog, had been with me for all those years and was my first baby, and what we needed most was time to adjust to each other. It was rough going that first year, especially when Mouse became mobile. We stuck it out though, and while I can't say Riley bonded with Mouse quite the way I had hoped, the two did eventually become friends. At least, they found a way to co-exist happily. Mouse enjoyed chasing Riley around the house and took to sitting with me and petting him when he was feeling at his worst. She even offered him kisses to help him feel better and a pillow when he was resting under a blanket. I loved it when we'd walk into the house after we'd been out and she would say, "We're home, Riley! We're home!" I don't know that she ever really understood why she couldn't eat Riley's treats too, although she did like to give him treats--and often gave him her own food, on purpose and by accident.

Riley held onto his youth for so long I began to think he was invincible. I used to tell him he wasn't allowed to die. These past three months, as his health went into a significant decline, I began telling him it was okay if he wanted to let go, not to hold on just because of me. After numerous vet visits and different medications, we saw improvement and then the cycle would repeat. Yesterday it got to be too much. Tests showed that Riley had neurological damage complicated by recurring pneumonia. We could have treated him further, but the prognosis was extremely poor. My husband and I had to make the hardest decision of our lives. We decided to let him go. The doctors were wonderful and kind. They agreed we were making the best decision for Riley.

The memories are flowing through me right now. I can still hear the jingle of Riley's collar as he wanders around the house. I can hear the pitter patter of his feet on the kitchen floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I sometimes catch him running after a ball in the backyard. I catch myself calling to him and looking for him. It will be awhile before I stop going to the back door to let him out, I am sure.

Riley was my best friend. He was my baby. Words cannot express the love I feel for him.

Today Riley is with my dad. They are playing fetch, no doubt.

I love you, Riley. Take care of him for me, Dad. I miss you both so much.

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