Kit Kat and Lucy

Hull DuPont Lonnie

Description

The True Story of How Two Quirky Stray Cats Changed Their Adopted Human ForeverAfter years of loving the vibrant city life in San Francisco, Lonnie Hull DuPont reluctantly trades her three-room apartment on foggy, lively Telegraph Hill for a farmhouse on a quiet plain in Michigan. She immediately misses the rhythm and the pace of the city, and the isolation country living brings has her longing for something more.Enter Kit Kat and Lucy--stray cats who arrive at the farmhouse a year apart and each ask to move in. The antics and oddities of these two strong personalities wrapped in fur bring a new light to the farmhouse and DuPont's life. Kit Kat, an obsessive-compulsive tortoiseshell, can purr her new human into a happier state of mind. Lucy, the playful, leaping Russian Blue who can nail a bat right out of the air, makes her laugh.From the hysterical process of getting two strange cats to like each other, to the exciting years of watching those cats thrive--and inspire DuPont in the process--this book is an energetic tale of cat and human foibles. Animals enrich our lives, and the heartwarming story of how Kit Kat and Lucy changed one woman's world will leave readers enchanted.

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie
• Memoir

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 06 septembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493405275
• Langue: English

Extrait

Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2016 by Lonnie Hull DuPont
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2016
Ebook corrections 01.12.2017, 01.08.2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-0527-5
Some names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.
Endorsements
“A beautifully written memoir about two cats who suddenly show up, move in, and set up housekeeping. As human and feline lives slowly intertwine, it’s ultimately unclear who is nurturing whom as they slowly become a family. The story of Kit Kat and Lucy is genuinely moving, poignant, hilarious (cue a mouse dropping from the ceiling), and ultimately compelling as Lonnie Hull DuPont experiences the sustaining power of love in furry form.”
— Susy Flory , author or coauthor of eleven books, including Thunder Dog , a New York Times bestseller
“An engaging story of an accidental cat owner. Been there. The prose was so funny, touching and vivid, I felt like part of the family.”
— Dusty Rainbolt , former president of Cat Writers Association and author of Cat Scene Investigator: Solve Your Cat’s Litter Box Mystery
“My favorite glimpses of the holy come by way of thoughtful observance of the quotidian, honest sharing of a life, and simple, pure sentences—glimpses that come on little cat’s feet, one might say. This delightful book is full of just those things.”
— Robert Benson , author of Between the Dreaming and the Coming True and Punching Holes in the Dark
“If you love cats, don’t miss this poignant book! Lonnie Hull DuPont has crafted an enchanting, heartwarming peek into the ways these delightful—and therapeutic—creatures enrich and teach their humans. Highly recommended!”
— Erin Taylor Young , author of Surviving Henry and cofounder of Write from the Deep
“ This memoir is like a good, honest friend who compels you to listen to the wisdom and wit she has to share. From the first page, I was hooked. Through this tender love story between the author, her husband, and their fur-babies, I was touched by Kit Kat’s love for her family, Lucy’s zest for life, and Lonnie and Joe’s unending willingness to learn what’s best for their kitties. DuPont weaves in poignant memories from her childhood, humor, and practical insights about cats. I couldn’ t stop reading and, by the end, felt like I had a new best friend.”
— Susan Logan-McCracken , former editor of Cat Fancy magazine and award-winning author
Dedication

I dedicate this book…
To the memory of my extraordinary father-in-law and fellow lover of books, John (Jack) J. DuPont. I miss you, and I wish I could have handed this book to you.
To my lovely mother-in-law and fellow Cat Woman, Joan M. DuPont. You have treated me like one of your own from the moment we met, and I love you.
To my smart and spirited siblings-in-law—John DuPont, Cathy Tretheway, Jim DuPont, Robert DuPont, Anne-Marie DuPont, and Daniel DuPont. And to my very cool fellow “out-laws”—Jill DuPont, Earl Tretheway, and Joey DuPont. You are all so witty, so interesting, and so much fun. I love any chance to be with each and all of you.
And especially to my wonderful husband, Joe DuPont, who travels this road with me and never fails to make me laugh. I am so grateful for your unwavering love and support. Although the song says people leave their hearts in San Francisco, I found mine there and got to take it with me—thanks to you.
Contents
Cover 1
Title Page 2
Copyright Page 3
Endorsements 4
Dedication 5
Prologue 9
1. A House and a Cat 15
2. The Journey 25
3. Cat Men 36
4. Mothering 48
5. Kit Kat 57
6. My Feathered Friend 69
7. The Blue Cat 77
8. Donna the Pet Expert 88
9. The Results 99
10. Lucy 107
11. The Great Indoors 122
12. All Creatures 136
13. My Catalyst 148
14. Anxieties Old and New 159
15. Ten Miles 170
16. That Year 176
17. The Surf Shack 188
18. Game On 203
19. Older, Sweeter, Crankier 214
20. The Texans 226
Acknowledgments 233
About the Author 236
Books Compiled as Callie Smith Grant 237
Back Ads 239
Back Cover 243
Prologue
There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.
Albert Einstein
When I was a single woman in my thirties, I lived in the heart of San Francisco. I loved it there. I stayed for ten years in a third-floor walk-up on Telegraph Hill, and I planned to live there forever.
This was the North Beach district, a handsome and historic Italian neighborhood, flanked by Chinatown and the Bay. I woke each morning to the sounds of foghorns and sea lions, to the smells of garlic and coffee, to a view outside my windows that included cable cars clanging toward downtown at their usual pace of nine miles per hour. My shower had a head-level window through which I could see all of the east side of Russian Hill bathed in morning gold. As I washed my hair, I watched the fog roll off the hill.
Every day I swam in an outdoor pool in my apartment complex—yes, right in the heart of the city. I walked everywhere I wanted to go, up and down those famous hills, on knees still young and strong. I was a poet who gained some local reputation in that mecca for poets. I made interesting, lifelong friends. I felt I had found my true home.
At the time, I worked as an acquisitions editor for a publishing house that specialized in books on religion and philosophy. Committee meetings where we decided what to publish were always lively, although often in these meetings we didn’t necessarily know much about one another’s area of expertise. One of the editors at these meetings presented projects in an area I didn’t understand and even thought was a little weird. To be honest, I seldom had a clue what he was talking about, though he certainly was passionate about it, and I’m ashamed to admit I often mentally zoned out during his presentations.
One day as he presented with his usual intensity, I had begun making a mental grocery list—until the editor said something that broke through and caused me to look straight at him. I don’t recall the context, but he said, “We’ve lost our connection to the land. We’ve lost our connection to the animals.”
For me, this statement was startling and true. I recognized its truth in my heart immediately. I actually started to ache inside as I sat in that conference room. I had lost my connection to the land. I had especially lost my connection to the animals. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I missed having animals in my life.
I was raised in rural southern Michigan on what had been the family farm. My ancestors homesteaded it in 1835, and we lived in the very house they built—my mother was born in front of the fireplace, and my nephew and his family live there today. I used to sleep by a corner window in my bedroom, tucked into the weather you might say, often waking up on summer nights to lightning storms or on winter mornings to ice frozen on the glass. We no longer had livestock and crops on the property, but we did have horses and large gardens of vegetables.
My playgrounds were old, ghostly, broken-down barns, an aging orchard, fields of tall grass, and stands of straight black locust trees planted by my great-grandfather for making no-longer-needed fence posts. For extra money, my sister and I grew vegetables to sell in a roadside stand, or we worked in the fields for local farmers. Beyond our family land, I had walked, ridden horses, or bicycled over much of this rural county before I could drive. I knew the land and felt connected to it.
I especially felt connected to the animals. There were few children within walking distance, so my friends were animals. As a child, I used to sing to the cows next door—a curious, attentive, and polite audience if ever there was one. We had at various times at our place horses and ponies, rabbits, and a stray rooster. There was a family dog in the house with no strong alpha—he had an obsessive-compulsive issue before we knew the term, but still was everybody’s friend. And we had a succession of cats who usually chose me as their bond. The cats were my best friends of all.
I have strong memories of watching the night shadows of horses and deer grazing together outside my corner window. I particularly remember this because at around age six or seven, I developed an anxiety problem. This resulted in constant, teeth-grinding worry punctuated by flare-ups of panic during the day and insomnia at night. Connecting with my cats soothed me more than anything, although I obsessed over their well-being. At bedtime, watching and listening to the wildlife outside my corner window helped me get through bad nights. It also helped when the family dog snored on the floor of my room. And there was always a cat on my bed.
I continued to have pets as a young adult in Michigan—a girl who couldn’t figure out for the longest time what she wanted to be when she grew up. When I finally got serious about finishing college, I knew I’d have to move to another town. I gave away the last pet I would have for the next two decades, a sweet mixed-breed shepherd. I met her after she had given birth to eight puppies under my rented house. I found homes for the puppies but kept the momma, and she went everywhere with me for about a year. Since I was learning German at the time, I named her Freunde. You could say that she became bilingual, at least to the extent that I could speak commands and sweet nothings to her in my unimpressive German. “Freunde