If Only Cats Would Talk

Does he miss me?

If Only Cats Would Talk

Susan Bass Marcus

My friend, Lyra, posts photos of her ginger cat, Panni on Facebook nearly every day. She describes his antics, especially whenever she returns home and he greets her at the door. After a day of multiple annoyances at work, Lyra tells her Facebook friends how much Panni’s welcome means to her. I often have wondered if Panni shares her emotions. Who knows how or what cats are thinking, really? If they could tell us, I doubt they would share.

Does Panni notice Lyra’s day-long absence? Does he feel loss? Does he anticipate her return as an end to his solitude? My own male cat rarely misses a chance to meet me at the door—actually, any door in the house, even the bathroom—with an effusion of joy more characteristic of long and despair-inducing separations. Where does he think I have been? I know he feels my absence, but is he aware of its duration? I am reluctant to anthropomorphize my cat’s mental processes, but sometimes he responds so…so humanly.

In his break-through tome on cat behavior, ‘Cat Sense: How the New Feline Science Can Make You a Better Friend to Your Pet,’ Dr. John Bradshaw suggests cats just don’t care. An anthrozoologist who has been studying cats for more than a quarter century, Bradshaw suggests our cats do not think about us when we are not with them. Rather, he says a cat’s behavior is merely a response to cues alerting them to their guardians’ presence or imminent return. Hence, the cat guardian perceives a happy reunion while the feline perceives the presence of an agent for food and cuddling.

Dr. Bradshaw’s studies do not correlate with my own experience, especially regarding our cats’ behavior when we return from a one- or two-week vacation. Although well-tended by their pet sitter, both our cats seem to have missed us, but perhaps outside of time as we perceive it. Some studies show cats not only regard time differently from the way humans do we do; they are indifferent to it. Only cues matter. Cues guide cats through their daily routine.

Sometimes the cues mislead or confuse our cats. For example, the shift to Daylight Savings Time throws them off. In winter, when I emerge regularly from the bedroom—a no-cat zone—at 6:00 a.m., the cats expect me to march immediately to the kitchen to fill their bowl of kibble. Spring ahead to late March when 6:00 a.m. becomes 7:00 a.m. and the cats have been pacing the floor for an hour. Where have I been, they seem to complain. According to Bradshaw, my cues—sounds of my early morning routine like the FM radio switching on, my slippers scuffing the carpet, and water running in the sink–should have determined their behavior, not the clock change. I think they have, instead, an elusive inner rhythm governing their daily set of behaviors. Anyway, they adjust to Daylight Savings Time. Confusion returns when we shift back to Central Standard Time, which is also tough on humans.

I have learned to read my cats’ cues, too. I used to trip over the male cat, waiting for me just outside the bedroom door. Now, I anticipate his body draped across the threshold as he waits for my exit and I step over him.

Do cats watch for or miss our cues when we’re not around to supply them? Does a tree make a sound in the forest if it falls and no one is there? Does my cat lie at my bedroom door when I am not at home? Does he experience object permanence, which is, according to Wikipedia, “the understanding that objects continue to exist even when they cannot be observed (seen, heard, touched, smelled or sensed in any way).”  Dr. Bradshaw says no. He insists that they do not miss us. My husband bears witness to a frequent domestic cat phenomenon that contradicts Bradshaw. When the male cat discovers I am not at home, my husband soon hears the cat’s long lament, an aria lasting several minutes, although previously the cat was asleep and unaware of my departure, and, I assume, deaf to the door clicking shut.

That cat’s yowls and moans alternate with trilling glissandos. The rise and fall of his plaintive score appear to indicate his adverse reaction to my absence, reaffirmed by his appearance at the door upon my return. He picks up on some cue, perhaps my footsteps in the corridor, perhaps my voice as I greet a neighbor. I open the door and there he is. His tail vibrates madly and his purring resonates as his flank brushes my legs as if to say, “Long time no see. Welcome home.” As usual, we have a joyful reunion. Something is going on in that cat brain and it’s not indifference. Dr. Bradshaw, please account for that.


March 27, 2017. Revised 5/11/2017


By the light of my bedside lamp, I open a ponderous tome, the Vandermeers’ Big Book of Science Fiction. My bookmark rests between pages 270 and 271 where I intend to plunge into Arthur C. Clarke’s story, “The Star.” The editors say it is one of his darkest visions, but I will go there anyway. I am obsessed with literary escapism. My happiest read is one that takes place anywhere but in my hometown and preferably in the speculative fantasy fiction genre, which I’ve coined if it’s not yet an accepted term.

I have read only one-quarter of this edition and it promises to last me through the coming new year. Other books interrupt my journey through The Big Book such as Chernow’s Hamilton (another daunting project), Italian novellas, Celtic fairy tales, and the occasional Jodi Picoult, Karen Russell, or Sarah Gristwood work. Some of my Facebook friends are writers who promote their work and ideas through a group called Scribes & Bibliophiles. These authors have written sci-fi or fantasy work that I read online.

My own writing reflects my obsession with fantasy, but—caveat lector—I rarely write about elves, fairies, and dragons in my short stories. These works fall under a different rubric, also the working title of a collection of short stories I am assembling. In Death-Defying Acts, the stories explore notional and surreal scenarios. You will understand my perspective more easily by reading one of my oddest stories “Arbor Vitae,” at darkfire.epizy.com/fiction_Marcus0815.htm

The First Fifteen? Make That 120.

A Blank Page

Recently, a reader asked about my writing process, especially the way I prepare to write. The reader felt at a loss about plunging in during, say, those first 15 minutes before sitting in front of the computer and typing an opening sentence. I need more than 15 minutes–much more. I’ve read and absorbed some very good tips about this stage of the game. They suggest steps to take when a story seems like a ‘great’ idea, when characters insist on being represented, or when an Otherworld starts to gel in the imagination–when the writer is standing on the edge of a whole new adventure and does not know where to direct her feet.

I tried putting a few of those steps into practice when I wrote Malevir: Dragons Return, but not with confidence coming from experience.  At this point in my writer’s life, however,  two strategies work well for me. They have helped me organize a sequel, which is coming along splendidly.

The first strategy that organizes me is my sketchbook of doodles and drawings. I like to cartoon and invent grotesque images of creatures that may or may not inhabit our world. The act of drawing my characters helps me visualize them more clearly. I sketch them in different situations and in varying garb (or feathers, scales, whatever works). I go to image sites like Pinterest to see how other artists imagine similar characters, but I avoid outright imitation. My characters are my own invention.

Character profiles provide another, challenging way to flesh out my characters. Once I define them, sort out their powers, backstories, and their relationships to each other as well as to possible settings, I’m able to weave their stories together; they intersect and drive the narrative forward. When I force myself to imagine every interaction and possible outcome, a big surprise bubbles up—the story’s logical ending. I envision the ending at the outset of the process, of course, but by slowly building my characters’ every nuance and discovering their motivation, I can write a logical, magical, totally appropriate ending to the story.

Every writer approaches the process differently. The key is finding a playful approach that makes the prospect of writing an anticipated pleasure, not a dreaded chore.

A Nod to Pulver and Burke

Across the heath

A mild satire inspired by Pulver and Burke’s list of fantasy novel tropes and clichés

“And just what qualifies you?” the Priest of the Pram gods asked.

“We’re short, for one thing,” the half-meter tall, dumpling-shaped man replied.

“Not so little. I’ve seen smaller.”

“Small enough to be called Little People and we come from a land that’s like medieval England.”

“Could help. What else you got?”

“We have about five wins against a few corrupt wizards and…”

“Just five?”

“And an evil tyrant in an extremely difficult to reach kingdom, beyond the Pramidian Ocean and past the range of Dire Woe Mountains.”


“Who just happened to be my father.”

“You battled your own father?”

“Not exactly. He died just as we stormed his castle’s keep.”


“Well, snuck into.”

“You and who else?”

“My twin—I met her for the first time in the village nestled beneath the castle walls.”

“Nestled beneath?”

“That’s how we talk.”

“Anyone else?”

“A knight on his last quest for the perfect…”

Impatient, the Priest of Pram interrupted again. “Your adventures lack a certain something.”

“Oh, sorry, wait. I nearly forgot her (how could I do that?): Shana of the East, the clever former royal servant who stole the throne of Mordred II of the Wolds and Bournes, a misguided sorcerer if there ever was one, who died from his own poison brew. She led us.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” The Priest of Pram nodded to his acolytes gathered around him and the little dumpling spokesperson. “You are most suitable. Five lattes, one sugar, two no foam no sugar, two caramel syrup. Got that?”

“On it, Boss. I can call you, ‘Boss?’”

The Priest of Pram winked and dismissed the band of merry little ones with a wave of his hand.



Escape from Planet Earth

Across the heath


The Dilemma: should I pick up the paperback of Rutherford’s The Forest that I started a few weeks ago? I’d put the book down just as the narrative plunged me into a Georgian England setting. Or would I rather start another Terry Pratchett “Discworld” adventure, a wild ride into his magical realm of absurdities? Either choice will take me away from today’s news stories, importuning me from every media source. Should I feel badly about wanting to escape from those stories?

Earlier today, during my usual morning workout at the gym, I glanced up at the t.v. monitor just as the closed captions scrolled across images of scattered bodies after yet another massacre. The flames of eighty-plus souls, ten of them children, snuffed out in less than a minute. A commercial for fast food cut in just as I finished reading the caption. You saw the dead. Now buy a burger, dripping with cheese and bacon, waiting for you in a shiny bun; don’t forget your coffee and six or seven different doughnuts to go.

The messages were clear: yes, the news is horrifying but you need only buy a burger or a frosted pink doughnut to escape the world’s miseries and enter a more comforting zone of easy, warm treats that reassure your growing gut.

By choosing to continue reading The Forest, I escape into historical fiction, imagined in a way that persuades me temporarily that surely, in the past, people lived through worse times than our own. Certainly, if I don’t snack, the time I spend reading will be less harmful to my metabolism than a half dozen doughnuts; but neither opportunity to escape for a bit from the woes of Planet Earth excuses me from responding to crises reported in the media. The temporary relief I experience, however, gives me time to reflect and renew my commitment to be more generous and compassionate in the face of global road rage.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish all those murderous, angry folk responsible for so much grief would volunteer to man the Great Silver Cylinder destined to bring Earth’s first colonists to Mars. There, they could work out their anger and resentment or die for lack of cooperation. There, they might gain a new perspective of Planet Earth, rethink their plans, re-do their agendas, and eventually regret that they ever meant to harm, that they ever wanted to escape. Sounds like a good story waiting to be written.  



Character Update

another Kurnan

KURNAN Kirrillson

lives in Fossarelick, in the middle of the Veiled Valley of Dragonwolder. We meet him when Seerlana, a secret dragon-rider, finds him, a fearful boy hiding in his family’s cottage loft.   She introduces him to the copper dragon Isabella and they hit it off.  He becomes her friend and soon  her rider.

Not only does he learn to ride a dragon, but he shares thoughts with the Copper, persuades her to join the cause against a monstrous evil called the Malevir, and rides her into battle against the beast conjured by the Malevir to destroy the dragons. Kurnan and Isabella are among the first to confront this beast when it arrives at a lodge where all its intended victims are sheltering.

Isabella’s strategies bury the beast (temporarily) and give the valley folk time to hide. Kurnan falls off his dragon as Isabella twists and turns to outmaneuver the beast just as it is spewing venom. The poison chokes Kurnan and knocks him out. At this point it looks like he is dying.

He remains in a mostly comatose state for the duration of the novel. Nevertheless, the various remedies he receives are keeping him alive for…Book II! Image borrowed from digital-art-gallery.com



What I have learned from reviews

Waking in the back room of his lair, the warmest spot in his network of tunnels and chambers, Aurykk, the golden dragon, raised his head. He yawned and stretched his hind legs, then twisted his neck to inspect new patches of dusty, white scales on his side. Even after living for more than 400 World-Turns, Aurykk was surprised to see those dull patches, sure signs of entering his Twilight Time. Although he yearned for long naps and easy food, he was still a Protector and ready to help if called.

After thanking my readers who have reviewed Malevir: Dragons Return, I now will acknowledge a point one of them made. In love with a bevy of characters I thought were interesting and crucial to my narrative, I included so many of them in the book that it needed a list of names and creature types to relieve any confusion the reader might experience. Now, as I am crafting the second novel in this Malevir series, I have carried a few of the characters into the new narrative, but have greatly diminished the cast. In fact, just last evening, as I was reviewing what I’ve written so far, I contemplated giving the pink slip to a few more. I liken the experience to becoming an empty-nester. Perhaps, someday, maybe in the third and final novel, a few of the ‘laid-off’ characters, my offspring, will return. We shall see. All this cutting I hope will produce a lean (if not mean) text.

Where Do Characters Come From?


Where Do Characters Come From?
Written works in the fantasy genre often depend on magical creatures, which drive their narratives and draw the reader into an otherworldly setting. Malevir: Dragons Return and its sequel Where Dragons Follow offer up dragons, sprites, goblins, giants, and powerful incarnate forces–either benevolent or malevolent—as well as animals that have magical abilities of their own.
Whenever an author in this genre creates an original world, she faces many challenges. Archetypes and subsequent variations on many magical and mythical creatures impose characteristics and behaviors to which a writer might feel obliged to defer. The collective imagination of every culture demands conformity. Hence, dragons are fierce, mercurial, fire-breathing, and dangerous in Western culture; yet, in contrast, dragons in Chinese culture symbolize power, strength and good fortune. The latter command respect while the former, like Smaug in The Hobbit are feared and antagonized. The dragons of the Veiled Valley meet neither criterion. They act rather as allies and benefactors, supporting the valley’s human settlers and their magical friends. They are the Malevir’s chief challengers and foes.
My sprites, whom I have dubbed Loblin (an individual sprite is a Lobli), are another example of breaking with tradition. They resemble brownies—helpful and performing chores for the humans to whom they are attached by affection as much as by duty—but I have given them unique powers, related to musical charms and to communication skills. Only 18 inches high, with speckled green skin and clothing in many shades of brown, Loblin pass unnoticed by humans if they so choose, but they remain alert to any call for help from their human charges. The Loblin, in turn, owe their lives and safety to a giant named Rocánonom whose magical powers and origins are the subject of another blog on www.malvir.com where I elaborate one of the three giants I have imagined for this series.
And what is the Malevir? The first novel of the Malevir trilogy might persuade the reader that this creature is a two-headed basilisk with frightening powers of its own. Where Dragons Follow will disabuse the reader of that concept. The Malevir will emerge as a greater foe than even the dragons could imagine. Only the power of the Mystic Scintilla, a radiant source of benevolence, might be able to oppose the Malevir and defeat it; and only much more tradition-flouting narrative from yours truly will reveal the outcome.

excerpt: #dragons

copper dragon

Malevir: Dragons Return-Part I, Chap. 1–A spring storm passed over the mountains and surged toward the plain below. Rainwater cascaded down the cliff wall surrounding the dragons’ lair and splashed the ledge beyond its entrance. Draako stretched his neck toward the brightening sky as he ambled outside. “That last practice might truly have been the end of you,” growled Aurykk as he followed Draako to the lip of the ledge. “You were lucky the winds carried you back here. Be careful this time. Let the currents flow under your wings and drop your legs a bit to get some lift.” Draako’s front fangs scraped his lower lip as he dipped his head in respect. “I won’t forget. Just watch me.” He raised his head again, spread his wings, and jumped in the direction of the river valley that ran behind their mountain cave. Aurykk remained on the ledge, a grimace wrinkling his long jaw.

Meet the Author and Her Characters


On Sept. 2014 I started working with Mill City Press to publish a fantasy adventure novel. As you see from the title, it’s a dragon tale that takes place in an original otherworldly setting. The story germinated for quite a while and now I am committed to its characters so much that I am 7,000 words into the book’s sequel, as of February, 2016.

The need to record my stories began in my childhood. I can remember the pleasure I felt writing them down on my Olivetti portable typewriter as soon as I mastered enough typing skills in Miss Purifoy’s 8th grade class (never forgot “The quick brown fox jumped over the fence to greet the lazy poodle” but that darn ‘x’ still forces me to hunt and peck).  Puppeteer that I am at heart, I have a strong storyteller gene. I hope it is turned on full-strength so that many more stories emerge from the vault of my imagination in the years to come.

Several adolescents propel the narrative in Malevir: Dragons Return. Nnylf, Azile, Alana, and Kurnan continue their adventures in the sequel. Kurnan, especially, has lived through some hard times and suffers greatly. I’m not inserting a spoiler by telling you that his troubles will challenge his young friends as they struggle to help him. The giant Rocanonom, topic of another blog (Backstory: Rocánonom the Giant) plays an important role in this story, which, as it unrolls, reveals more of the Malevir’s true nature. If you haven’t met these characters yet, you can buy your own copy in paperback or ebook on my website, www.malevir.com. Happy reading.