A great many people have said that I should write a book about Seamus my Maine Coon cat. Well a little while ago I began. Just for my own amazement because there are way too many books out there about cats and no publisher would buy another I am sure. I have three chapters done and today I was revising the first and I thought I would post the first page for the Seamus fans on the forum.
So here goes....... I won't be posting more and it will never be published but if I ever finish it I will send it to any who want to read it.
Famous Seamus or The Quilter’s Cat
Seamus was a cat. His lifetime companion was a quilter. Some would say that the Quilter was his owner, but Seamus knew better. He lived with her, he loved her. He quite liked her quilts and the food she provided but only because he chose to as he had chosen her so many years before. He could change his mind at any time. He never would but she didn’t need to know that.
The Quilter made quilts for other people, or so she thought. Seamus knew better about that too. Every piece of fabric she sewed to another piece of fabric was for him to inspect and approve. Every cosy fluffy finished quilt that was folded with such care was for him to test for softness and kneading quality. But Seamus was good at delegation and he would often leave her to sew, choosing to snooze beside her knowing that when he felt it necessary he would be checking her work minutely.
Seamus and the Quilter lived in a quintessential English village. The village was his world. His to petrol and keep things ticking over. It was a huge responsibility. Every weekday morning he made sure that the little ones were in nursery on time and that all the patients at the Doctor’s surgery were ok. If any were upset or nervous he would sit with them until the doctor was ready to see them. It was tiring but he did it anyway and once he knew everyone was where they needed to be and were happy, he would wander back home where he knew the Quilter would have started work for a snack and a snooze.
The village was not the Quilters whole world. He could see from the sewing room window that there were fields and moors outside the village. There was a quiet road that led to a place the Quilter called Howarth. This was apparently a very nice place where a famous writer had lived who had written a story about the very same fields and moors that Seamus could see from the window. Quite a literary place apparently but Seamus was not a literary cat, he was a literal cat and he frankly did not approve of such goings on as leaving the village for visits and the like so he ignored it all. He sometimes ignored the Quilter when she came home too just to make his views clear. This obviously upset her. As it should.
In the afternoons Seamus had more jobs to do. Sometimes he went to check that the hairdresser was making the ladies look pretty enough and that her floors were tidy. If he found that they weren’t he would chase a curler or some clips around for a while, just to point out the error of her ways. He didn’t enjoy it! Not at all. It was just another of his duties that kept the village in order. After that he might call in at the pub to see who was there and to stop for a chat but generally he checked the pub in the evenings and as the Church was one his route home he would occasionally see what was occurring there. Usually though he left the Church because he had trained the bell ringer to ring the bells when he was needed. It was a useful system and meant that he could have a little nap before tea.
So here goes....... I won't be posting more and it will never be published but if I ever finish it I will send it to any who want to read it.
Famous Seamus or The Quilter’s Cat
Seamus was a cat. His lifetime companion was a quilter. Some would say that the Quilter was his owner, but Seamus knew better. He lived with her, he loved her. He quite liked her quilts and the food she provided but only because he chose to as he had chosen her so many years before. He could change his mind at any time. He never would but she didn’t need to know that.
The Quilter made quilts for other people, or so she thought. Seamus knew better about that too. Every piece of fabric she sewed to another piece of fabric was for him to inspect and approve. Every cosy fluffy finished quilt that was folded with such care was for him to test for softness and kneading quality. But Seamus was good at delegation and he would often leave her to sew, choosing to snooze beside her knowing that when he felt it necessary he would be checking her work minutely.
Seamus and the Quilter lived in a quintessential English village. The village was his world. His to petrol and keep things ticking over. It was a huge responsibility. Every weekday morning he made sure that the little ones were in nursery on time and that all the patients at the Doctor’s surgery were ok. If any were upset or nervous he would sit with them until the doctor was ready to see them. It was tiring but he did it anyway and once he knew everyone was where they needed to be and were happy, he would wander back home where he knew the Quilter would have started work for a snack and a snooze.
The village was not the Quilters whole world. He could see from the sewing room window that there were fields and moors outside the village. There was a quiet road that led to a place the Quilter called Howarth. This was apparently a very nice place where a famous writer had lived who had written a story about the very same fields and moors that Seamus could see from the window. Quite a literary place apparently but Seamus was not a literary cat, he was a literal cat and he frankly did not approve of such goings on as leaving the village for visits and the like so he ignored it all. He sometimes ignored the Quilter when she came home too just to make his views clear. This obviously upset her. As it should.
In the afternoons Seamus had more jobs to do. Sometimes he went to check that the hairdresser was making the ladies look pretty enough and that her floors were tidy. If he found that they weren’t he would chase a curler or some clips around for a while, just to point out the error of her ways. He didn’t enjoy it! Not at all. It was just another of his duties that kept the village in order. After that he might call in at the pub to see who was there and to stop for a chat but generally he checked the pub in the evenings and as the Church was one his route home he would occasionally see what was occurring there. Usually though he left the Church because he had trained the bell ringer to ring the bells when he was needed. It was a useful system and meant that he could have a little nap before tea.
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