Homer And The Holiday Miracle

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Maybe you’ve already heard about the little, five-pound black cat who was the star of the internationally bestselling memoir Homer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned About Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat—the blind, heroic Daredevil who saved his human mom’s life the night he chased off an intruder who’d broken into their home while they slept and made his way into their bedroom; the online phenom with more than a million followers on social media who’s become the face of special-needs rescue animals the world over; the cat who lived a life of adventure and joy despite early predictions that he would always be “timid” and “dependent.”

The cat who proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that love isn’t something you see with your eyes.

Homer was, in many ways, a miraculous cat. But of all the miracles and wonders he performed over the years, perhaps the greatest was simply that he’d managed to survive at all. He’d very nearly been euthanized when he was only a few weeks old, simply because nobody wanted to take a chance on a kitten who was different. I’ll admit that I also had my doubts at first. Homer came into my life at the worst possible moment—when I’d just lost my fiancé, my home, and my job, all within weeks of each other. How could I possibly take care of a blind kitten when I could barely take care of myself ?

I realize now that it’s precisely during those times in our lives—the ones we describe as being the “worst possible”—when miracles are likeliest to occur. After all, if they didn’t happen when we needed them most, they wouldn’t be miracles in the first place.

Homer taught me that. And he taught me many other true and good things, without which my life would have been infinitely poorer.

I’ve been lucky enough to love and live with many wonderful cats and dogs over the years, and I can’t imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn’t known any one of them. Still, my relationship with Homer was unique. Perhaps it was inevitable that he and I became almost preternaturally close. He was only three or four weeks old when I adopted him—little more than a wee ball of black kitten fuzz who followed my footsteps so closely, as he learned to navigate his new home without the benefit of sight, that if I happened to stop short, his tiny nose ran right into my ankle. Homer listened closely to the varying tones and inflections of my voice for any clue I could give him about his surroundings—and, of course, I paid very close attention to him and his needs, especially at first. It got to the point where our hyper-awareness of each other was constant and unconscious—where not knowing what the other was doing or feeling at any given moment was the thing that would have required effort. Our closeness was a permanent and defining feature of our relationship, long after Homer had learned to get around even new and unfamiliar spaces all on his own and no longer needed me to be his seeing-eye human.

My husband, Laurence (a longtime comicbook fan), who came into our lives seven years later, used to say that Homer was my “symbiote.” When I was happy, Homer rejoiced. If I was in a bad mood, Homer also took to moping around the house.

It was hard to stay in a bad mood for very long, though, with Homer around. He loved getting into the kind of trouble that could always coax a laugh out of me—scaling a pair of jeans hanging in the closet to reach some forbidden top shelf where I’d stashed a trove of cat toys, or “hiding” in plain sight in the middle of the floor (being blind, Homer thought quiet and invisible were the same thing) as he prepared to spring out at me in a “surprise” attack. Despite those early predictions that he might never be more than a “scaredy-cat,” Homer lived a life of courage and joy—and became proof positive, to all who knew him, that nobody can ever tell you what your potential is.

If you already know Homer, you’ll get to catch up with some old acquaintances through the pages of this tale. You’ll also meet a couple of furry new additions to our household, which has continued to grow and flourish since Homer’s story was published and he was first introduced to the world.

If you’re a newcomer, we’re delighted that you’ve chosen to spend some of your holiday season with our family. More than just about anything else he loved—and he fiercely loved many, many things—Homer’s greatest joy was making new friends.