My book, My One-Eyed, Three Legged Therapist: How My Cat Clio Saved Me (October, 2023), is part memoir, part humorous and touching cat story. Having grown up in poverty without a father and as the subject of bullying, I turned to pets (and particularly cats) to provide me with unconditional love and acceptance). Unfortunately, I never overcame my low self-esteem. It took a bad marriage to a controlling and abusive individual and an unusual birthday gift of a spunky, tuna-obsessed cat to drive home the early lesson I had learned about pets and to regain my self-confidence and self-esteem. Clio was the runt of the litter, survived cancer twice, and had an incredible will to live. She knew no fear and overcame not just one, but two, disabilities. I hope that the book will appeal to cat lovers and provide inspiration for anyone who has been bullied or abused, faced a serious illness or disability, or feel that they can never love or trust again.
Sample Chapter:
Below is a portion of one chapter in the book: “Clio’s Advice on Dating”
. . . Like a typical feline stalking prey, Clio would wait until she found someone who not only worshiped her but catered to her every whim and found humor in her antics. She knew that I was a sucker for a man who was a cat lover, and a sucker was who she wanted. In most cases, the men who I dated after my divorce were losers, and I didn’t need Clio’s assistance to help me see that. Yet, Clio made sure I knew that she didn’t like most of my dates. For example, when one of my dates walked in the back door with me, he turned to kiss me and then promptly put his hand on my breast and said, “I’m a t– guy.” Clio must have not only heard what he said but understood how sexist he was. Just as I started pushing him away from me, Clio raced through the house to my rescue and ran into his leg almost knocking him over. He was taken aback, removed his hand from my breast, and cursed at Clio. I asked him to leave. Obviously, neither of us were heartbroken when he never called me for another date.
Another one of the guys I dated was very controlling (the behavioral signs of which I now realized). After our first date, he must have called me 20-30 times in a single evening. I didn’t answer the phone (mostly because I didn’t want to talk to him). A few times, he would leave a message and say, “So, where are you? Out with another guy?” I’m not sure why I went on a second date with him, but I did. However, on our second date, I had no doubt that this relationship was doomed. When I arrived at the restaurant where we were meeting, he looked at the jacket I had on and said, “Is that cat hair?” “Yes, it is,” I replied. “I have two cats.” To which he retorted, “Oh, I can’t stand cats and really you need to do a better job cleaning the cat hair off your jacket. You should get rid of those cats.” No, I thought to myself, I need to get rid of you.
Not able to have any success meeting guys on my own, I decided that I would join a dating service since they pre-screened the men. Granted, I didn’t meet any real jerks while enrolled in the dating service, but after twelve dates, I also didn’t find anyone with whom I wanted to pursue a long-term relationship. After my contract with them ended, I concluded that being single with two cats was not so bad after all. Then one day, the phone rang, and it was a representative from the dating service. She informed me that they found someone who shared many of the same interests as me and thought I would be interested. I assumed that they just wanted me to renew the contract, but they said they weren’t and hoped I would go on a date with this person. I reluctantly said “yes,” but assumed it would be one more guy with whom I didn’t have a lot in common.
I had several dates with Jeff, the person whom the dating service recommended, and I was surprised that we had a lot in common. First and foremost, he loved animals. He had never had a cat since his mother was afraid of them, but he had a dog, and his sister also loved animals. Secondly, we had somewhat similar childhoods. Both of us came from factory towns and had blue-collar parents. We held the same political affiliation and religious beliefs. Moreover, he was the only guy I ever dated who ate (and liked) a fried bologna sandwich. Of course, we had long since given those up for health reasons but knowing someone who heard about fried bologna was a man after my own heart. I remember blurting out, “Oh my gosh, you like fried bologna! I never thought I’d meet anyone who did.” Right after I said that, I hoped he didn’t decide that my only criteria for a mate was a taste for unhealthy food. But he didn’t, and we continued to see each other.
After a few dates, I decided that Jeff was not a serial killer or abuser. He seemed very genuine, so I decided that he could pick me up at my house for a date instead of us meeting at a restaurant. The fact that he never had owned or had been around cats worried me a little. I really liked him, but if he didn’t care for cats, it would be a deal breaker. This time, there would be no exceptions despite my fond feelings for him. When Jeff arrived, I wasn’t quite ready. At that time, my mother was staying with me, recuperating from knee- and hip-replacement surgery. In many ways, my decision to have him pick me up at the house was a way to find out if he liked not only me but the package deal that included my mother and two cats.
I answered the door and told him I needed to put on some socks and would be right back. In the meantime, I introduced him to my mother but not to the cats (they both were in hiding). I went to the bedroom to finish getting ready and heard him talking to my mother, who was sitting in the den watching television. This was the first time she’d met him, and within five minutes of meeting him, she was showing him her scar on her knee from her recent surgery and talking about her life history. When my mother liked someone, she could talk for hours; if she didn’t, it ranked up there as the shortest conversation in the history of mankind. To save him from a lengthy conversation about the Russian invasion of Hungary (which she never got over) and from possibly seeing her scar from her appendicitis surgery of forty years ago, I briefly came out of the bedroom and told him that I would be only a few more minutes and he could wait in the living room and play with my cats, who had now come out of hiding.
In a few minutes, I came back to find Jeff standing by an overturned love seat.
He started to say, “She wanted her toy under there and—”
I finished his sentence by saying, “—and you fell for her love seat scam!”
And he had. Clio had introduced herself to Jeff by putting her toy under the love seat. The love seat was so low to the ground that you could barely put your hand under it. The first time Clio put her toy under there, I turned the love seat on end with one hand and then tried to grab the toy. The problem was there was a tear in the bottom lining of the love seat (the same tear in the lining through which she stashed her glitter balls), and Clio dashed inside the love seat where no one could reach her. The love seat couldn’t be put back down because then she would never be able to get out.
After this little incident, I knew then that Clio had picked a perfect mate for me and a perfect sucker for herself. This was the undying devotion for which she was looking. Jeff and I continued dating for another year, and there were many visits to my home. While there, Jeff and I got to know each other better and realized that we had even more in common than we originally thought. He liked my mother and all my friends. Likewise, I liked his family and all his friends. Most importantly, Clio continued to endear herself to him with her many antics and loving behavior. Jeff started out in life a dog person, but a cute (and sometimes devious) little gray-and-white cat had turned him into a cat person and someone I could trust and love. Jeff and I were married two years later.
