Wednesday, August 3, 2011


For immediate release
Re: Read To Me Daddy

Boszenna Nowiki is embarking on a Journey from MISSISSAUGA to Ottawa on foot.
It appears these days that everyone is too busy to read books. Author, Boszenna Nowiki is going to spend the next few weeks, walking to Ottawa to remind everyone that they should set aside time to read.  Her goal is to emphasize the importance of reading, particularly to children.  She is a resident of Mississauga and on August 4, at 10:00 a.m., from a small Mall, near the Gas Station and 7 Eleven Store, at Derry Road and Lisgar in Mississauga she begins her first leg of her walk of over 560km to Ottawa, to see Prime Minister Harper.  During this walk, she wants to raise awareness to the fact that reading to children is extremely important.
This walk is also an expression of appreciation to those who have helped the author on her 3 year journey. She had to re-establish herself when she lost her home in British Columbia, due to questionable laws and she had to re-settle in Ontario.
Her vision is to help children to read more books.
Read to me Daddy –  is her motto to encourage parents (especially fathers)  to read books to their children.
Boszenna Nowiki, (age 57) is the author of a series of books for children entitled "Why Some Cats are Rascals.”  The series of books are adventurous stories of cats, overcoming great obstacles.
The author would like to appeal to all parents, in the digital era of computers and video games that they do not forget the important role a book plays in the life of a child.
Reading books to children and young people greatly affects their emotional development, enriches the imagination and provides a sense of respect for their colleagues.  Reading stories about animals also cements a strong bond of respect and friendship between children and animals.
Today, parents are extremely busy with their everyday lives and they are pulled in many different directions and they do not have enough time to devote to reading to their kids.  Therefore,  Boszenna’s suggests to parents, that every day they spend 20 minutes reading to their children, or have their children read to them.
This suggestion is especially directed to fathers. As noted in research studies, Dads’ appear to devote the least time to their daughters and sons, thus the “Read to me Daddy,” motto was developed.
The role of the father in the life of every child is very essential.  A father reading daily to his children helps to develop and build a positive relationship.
Boszenna Nowiki is also the voice and advocate of lonely elderly people in Canada who have problems with understanding older legislation.  She can compare these provisions that have been “rascally” interpreted.
“Why some Cats are rascals” is a series of six volumes of published books and soon the author will be adding an additional three volumes to the collection.  Children and adults from around the world have enjoyed reading the adventures of these amazing cats. 
Each book focuses on the cats’  adventures in a specific area of the world.  An enchanted forest, in the Sahara Desert,  in the Wildy Wild West, during Prehistoric times, in the Antarctica, and on Cat Island.  There are positive messages conveyed in each book. The reader will learn good values like friendship, compassion and love.
During the walk, Boszenna would be pleased to sign all of the six volumes of her books. The books are available on the bookstore website: www.
The first stretch of her walk to Ottawa, starting on August 4 leads from Mavis Rd. and Lisgar, in Mississauga to HWY 7.  Every day, Boszenna plans to walk 10 - 15 km. She indicates, “I'm not a young person, I’m  57 years of age and not an avid sportswoman but the walk does not scare me.  This is a mission I have chosen and feel strongly about completing.”
For more info:
Boszenna Nowiki
647-221-6388 – cell

To purchase books:

Wednesday, March 30, 2011


Each night was worse than the one before. On the third night Lumby ran away from his computer and hid under the desk. On the screen were images of Prehistoric Mice trying to jump into the room. There was a loud angry voice that said, “I’m Trambambu, the Prehistoric Mouse, Queen of Catanada. Soon we will change all cats into mice and not only cats but dogs too…”

     Somewhere behind that mouse, a voice added, “Humans will be our slaves, they will provide food for us and all kind of services, Catanada will be changed into Ratanada.”

     “Where is the off switch?” asked Rascal, having had enough.

     “Here,” turned his head Lumby, showing him where it was.  He quickly flicked it to the off position, but the switch did not work and the Prehistoric Mouse was laughing a very evil laugh.

     The cats continued to try to turn it off but could not. They pulled the cord from the wall but it was hard and wouldn’t come out. They all got together and pulled and pulled to turn off the electricity, which was feeding the screen. When they tried harder they heard a man’s voice behind them. The cats turned their heads and standing there was a strange man. He was dressed in funny clothes.  A peaked cap, tights and a large flouncy collar.  His shoes looked like high heeled slippers. “I’m Marco Polo. Can you please show me how to get to China?”
     Philosopher answered, “You must swim by the Pacific Ocean toward the west; it’s a shortcut.”
     “No,” he quickly snapped, “it is the Far East and in an easterly direction. No one can go to the west and come back alive. Thank you, gentlemen, anyway.”
     Then another man emerged from behind them and said that he wanted to go to China too, but by the west route. His name was Christopher Columbus and he too was from another era.  His clothes, his manner and his speech confirmed it.

     The cats told him that there was no need to go because America was discovered a long time ago. The man did not believe them, and he showed them the navigation plans across the Atlantic Ocean where he was ready for that first voyage. He was thinking that he was in Europe.

     “Let’s pretend they are not here. It’s only a projection,” Philosopher advised.

     But before he finished somebody’s voice said scornfully, “I beg your pardon? Pirates robbed me and hid all my treasure here.” He left through the window, then came back again, put his head in and added, “I will be back to find it.”
     Everybody looked at each other.  “Who was that?  And what was it he wanted?  Pirates robbed him and it’s all here?”

     That made the cats uneasy again but they had enough problems trying to turn off the power to the computer.

     “The computer caught a virus, I guess,” stated resolutely Rascal.  The truth was, he did not even really know exactly what a computer virus was or how they worked but he had simply heard of them and concluded that they must be some kind of computer disease. Whatever they were, they were not good.
     The Prehistoric Mouse, after describing how life will be in Ratanada, paused; then, speaking in a croaking voice, went on and on about her plans to change everyone to look like a mouse.  She was cackling about it now.  “Look at yourselves in the mirror, friends, that cat you see will soon be a mouse.  Think about it, you will smell like a mouse and even think like a mouse.  Say goodbye to your long silky fur.  Say goodbye to your life of ease as a house pet.  Say goodbye to it all.  Soon you will be a tiny little creature with a long tail that has to spend every minute of the day hunting for scraps of food for themselves and their families.  And all the while the humans are trying to kill you.  They’ll try to poison you, they’ll try to trap you, and they’ll even try to kill you with a broom or anything they can grab.  Your life will become that of the hunted.  You will no longer be the hunter.  Think about it, friends!  Hehh heh heh,” she cackled.

     She advised that she was a Queen in her own domain and that she had the power to do it once the subject was in her domain.

     Rascal shrugged and replied quietly (or he hoped that he was quiet), “Just where is her domain.  Obviously somewhere out in cyber space.  Do not worry, friends, once this computer is turned off we will be safe from this evil queen.”

     “Yeah,” sighed Sofia. “Who would want to go to her creepy domain anyway?”
     Philosopher cleared his throat. The last thing they needed was to go into a panic.  He did his best to sound reassuring to his friends.  “Calm down. Prehistoric Mice do not exist, it was somebody’s joke playing on our imagination.”
     “Or maybe just an energetic copy of the old events like in the case of ghosts,” tuned in Dandy.
     “Or,” Philosopher added, “maybe it’s real and she can do what she says.”
Just before the end of the night when Rascal began to tire of escapes from the French Revolution and then a few Russian revolutions, and another revolution, he met two animals that looked like lizards with wings near his food bowl. One was white, the other was gray. Rascal knew that they were dragons, they must be dragons. He had read lots of books about them and, trying to be nice, asked, “Who are you?”
     “We are Dragonets,” answered the white mini dragon, puffing fire from his mouth.

     “Don’t do that, Draco!” yelled the gray one.

     “Do not shout, my sister, I know our mom said not to do that with strangers,” he admitted huskily.

     Rascal looked at them with surprise and to stop a quarrel he asked, “Where are you from, Draco?”
     “I’m from Dragonland, but I don’t know where my sister is from,” he said jokingly, of course. “She is my sister but I wish she wasn’t. She always complains about the cold and snow and she does not eat ice-cream and I love ice-cream so much. I never caught a cold.”

     “We are Firedrake – it means fire breathing dragons,” Dracolina, his sister, tried to explain. “Let’s fly, my brother, our mom will be worried about us.”

     And with the first light of dawn the mini fire dragons were gone, and the room looked like a field after a battle. Water covered the floor, there was no food in the bowls and things were a mess everywhere.
     The next evening right after midnight Draco and Dracolina came silently up to the window and gave Rascal a present, something nicely tied up in red paper with an orange ribbon.
     “You can have it. It is an egg,” puffed Draco proudly. Rascal opened the paper. It looked like a pumpkin.
     “My goodness,” murmured Sofia, approaching. “It’s a dragooooon! Help! Help! It will eat all of us.” She finished with a high meow and hid behind the bookcase.
     The baby fire dragon uttered a low growl, deep and threatening, then yawned and fell asleep. The cats were talking about the new arrival, that was still asleep, only the tip of his tail twitched in his dreams. The cats looked around and exchanged uneasy glances.
     “Where are his parents?” murmured Dandy, with Snow behind him. 

     Sofia was lamenting that she smelled more problems, then she looked at the baby fire dragon with concern but the dragon was still sleeping peacefully and had merely turned his head over to the other side.

     The next day the fire dragon was double his size. He loved the cats’ food and soon the cats had nothing left to eat.

     “We are going to die of hunger,” complained Sofia.

     “I thought so, too!” nodded Snow in agreement.

     Sure enough, after a while it looked like the cats’ food was not enough for the dragon and he started to fly all over the house.

     “Do not go to the bathroom, they’ve put a fresh new coat on the bathtub!” cautioned Rascal, but the dragon flew just inside the bathtub where he was attracted by the shiny surface and got stuck to the white enamel that freshly coated the tub. The cats tried to rescue the dragon but they got stuck too. Rascal was the first to climb out of that sticky surface, leaving behind lots of orange fur. Then the rest of the cats and the fire dragon climbed out. All of them had some bald places on their backs or on their tummies but no one ever saw the bathtub! It was not shiny anymore but fluffy.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011


   Uncle Toothless announced that he was tired and needed a cat nap, so he would not be going to the ball with the rats. "Besides," he murmured, so only the cats could hear, "I don't believe one word those sneaky rats say. We must be very wary. They have something else in mind, mark my words." 

     A small rat named Slide Out told Rascal and his group that he would show them where there were mice that were very easy to catch. Stand Off, a big­ger rat, nodded his head in agreement. "I know about those mice. They aren't quite all dead yet and they really are very easy to catch." 

     "A curious and engaging animal, the sidehill mouse," said Slide Out. "Sidehill mice were once plentiful in the hills, though I fear they are now near­ing extinction, especially in this area." 

     "What do they look like?" asked Rascal, curi­ously, forgetting the old saying that curiosity killed the cat.
     Stand Off said, "The right-hand variety, you mean?"
     Slide Out added, "There is also the left-hand variety." 
      "Which ones are easier to catch?" asked Snow and Dandy.
     Restless, Rascal walked around with both his cu­riosity and now excitement.
     "It means both of their right legs are longer than the left. They can only walk the hills in a counter­clockwise direction. However, there are an even larger number of left-handed sidehill mice. They only walk in a clockwise direction. Then behind the Rat's Pass lives the high-behinded sidehill mouse. It travels only uphill."
     "Wow!" shouted Lumby.
   "I don't believe it," replied Philosopher suspiciously
   "I know, town cats like you - City Slickers - don't know about them," said Stand Off. And Slide Out added, "Don't forget to mention about the low-be­hinded sidehill mouse. They only walk downhill." 

     Uncle Toothless exclaimed, "Don't trust rats! They are rats! I won't go, even though those mice might be tasty and pink, like ice cream. Besides, my legs ache. I've done lots of walking instead of lots of sleeping like I usually did in my old house." Uncle turned around and to himself he said, "...mice that taste like chocolate or vanilla or ...high-behinded mice ... ha, ha, ha ... they must think we're stupid." 

     "Where are Sheriff and the others?" asked Sofia. 

     "They've gone hunting for those side-hill mice," answered a big rat with a friendly smile and a smaller rat added, "Let's go before it gets too late." 

     Uncle Toothless tried once more to prevent Ras­cal and the others from following the rats. "Don't be so quick to follow them. Like I said, they're up to something."
     "But they're going to lead us to mice," sighed Rascal. "Tasty mice. Mmmmm. What harm can there be?"
      "Watch out," called Uncle in a final warning.

Rascal was very excited and quickly forgot about his dream of the night before. He had dreamed about huge danger and as he discovered, the danger of death in the Wild West was ever present and took many forms. But in his dream the danger had only one form - RATS! He dreamed that all the cats, humans, cows and horses were changed into rats. It bothered him for about two seconds but then he easily dismissed it and happily followed the two rats, letting the idea of catching a mouse or two cloud his better judgment. Besides, if Wandering Sheriff has already left to hunt the mice, he thought, it will be safe for them, too. Maybe Uncle was being a bit too cautious.
     Philosopher thought about staying behind with Uncle Toothless because he, too, was not convinced that the rats were sincere. But he thought he would be better able to help the others if something did happen, so he followed along.
     They went behind Cat Valley towards Angry Cat Pass. There were some mice on the meadow but the rats said they were not the ones they were looking for. 

That did not matter to the cats. They got into pounce position, but the rats interrupted their concentration.
     "These are not the mice we're after," they said. "Let's go find the real juicy mice."
     Reluctantly, the cats continued to follow the rats. After an hour or so, they saw coyote tracks, lynx tracks, rabbit tracks and squirrel tracks, but no mice tracks.
     Suddenly the rats shouted, "Run! Faster! Let's go!" 

     The cats followed their leader when suddenly they were airborne. First Rascal, then the rest of the cats. With a jolt of surprise they found that they had fallen into an old mine hole. The rest of the cats were there with Wandering Sheriff. He looked up in puzzlement. Around the rim of the hole lots of rats were leering down at them with evil grins. 

     "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong," commented Wandering Sheriff. 

     "And here we are, feeling as if we'd all been hit on the head," Rascal added.
     Philosopher sat, thinking his deep thoughts; thoughts not known to others.
     "Dudes! Dudes! Ha, ha! There are also mice that have colors like pheasant but taste like duck or even small deer," jeered the rats.
     And this is only the beginning, Sofia thought mis­erably. She did not know whether to be sorry or fearful or angry or if she should just cry. Poor lady-cat, she got hysterical in the way that well-bred cats will do.
     Rascal asked Sheriff, "You were looking for those side-hill mice too?"
     Wandering Sheriff opened his eyes wide. "What? Side-hill mice? What is this nonsense? I was chasing those bad guys. They told me they found a big trap where some cats had fallen down and I ran here to rescue them."
     Rascal remembered what Uncle Toothless had said and felt foolish for believing the rats.
     "Why are there no kittens, except for that orange one that looks like a miniature Wandering Sheriff?" asked Snow. 

     "That one is my son," stated Sheriff, proudly. 

     "I want to rescue our brothers and sisters and friends," said Yellow Nugget, the oldest son of Wan­dering Sheriff and White Mist, a white cat who was standing silently not too far away.
     "They are being held as prisoners somewhere in this mine. And it's very sad because the rats are rais­ing them like rats. Then they use them to carry out their evil plans. The poor kittens think they are rats. Only I escaped from them and I know I'm very proud to be a cat!" Meanwhile the rats became bored of ha­rassing the cats and left. Not too long after, the cats heard the voice of Uncle Toothless. "I knew those rats were up to no good."
     "I knew you'd come, Uncle Toothless! I'm sorry we didn't listen to your warning," called Rascal.
     "I was often in trouble too, a long time ago when I was young. And I learned one thing: there's always a solution to everything... But ... for now ...I have an idea. Each one of you, push a stone to one side of the wall. Then keep doing that until they are piled up high enough so you can climb out."


The cats were completely exhausted and lay down lifeless.

"I can't move," complained Sofia.

"Neither can I," said Snow and Dandy together.
"I'm ready to sacrifice one of my nine lives," whispered Bunny, sadly. They began to nod off when suddenly Ras¬cal heard a voice. It sounded like the voice of his teacher, the Prehistoric Cat, Samuel. It was faint but clear in Rascal's head: "Find shade! Get out of the sun! Do it now! Otherwise all of you will soon be dead fried cats!"

Rascal was the first one to come to his senses, mumbling under his breath, "Uff, it's too hot here even for a cat like me... hot wind... ufff... blazing sunlight and ufff... the heat bouncing off the sand is killing me."
He went to Philosopher and nudged him with his nose. "Wake up, brother! We have two choices: go back to our country or stay here forever."

"You have to travel at night... at night... at night," Samuel’s advice echoed in Rascal’s head.

“What can we do? There’s nothing we can do,” said Sofia, hopelessly.
“Don’t give up, Sofia. Start thinking about what life is like back in civilization in our Catanada. If you can purr, do it now, please,” urged Rascal, but Sofia was too tired to purr, as were the rest of the cats.

“Never give up, never give up,” boomed Samuel’s voice in Rascal’s head.
Rascal knew that if he allowed the cats to sink into depression, it would drain all their energy and their will to survive, even from all of their nine lives.
“It’s all my fault,” Sofia moaned, starting to cry. “What if I had…”

“Stop crying right now!” snapped Rascal. “We have no water, but there are two things that we absolutely have to do to stay alive. We have to find a way to find water, and we have to get out of this heat before it saps whatever water we already have in our bodies.”

“But we don’t know how to find water,” said Philosopher, “or how to get out of this hot sun.”

“The best way to survive in the desert is to learn it from desert animals…but this desert is empty,” noticed Rascal, looking around and seeing absolutely nothing but the bleak, sand-filled landscape. “There’s nobody around to ask. Only sand, sand, and more sand.”
Philosopher looked up at the blue sky. “The best way to learn how to survive in the desert is to learn at home from books.”
“It’s too late to learn from books,” answered Rascal. “We have to learn from real life and we have to do it fast. It was our choice to come here and now we have to accept the situation. Don’t blame anybody and don’t waste time complaining,” he said and, not waiting for answers, he began looking for a place to hide from the sun.

Not too far away there was a huge rock and some strange dry plants that resembled bottle brushes in appearance and size.

“Wow! Those plants look like my tail when I’m happy,” said Lumby, jumping up and down. His energy came back fast once he saw something he could recognize. The cats slowly made their way over to the rock and hid behind it, away from the sun. There they marveled at the sight of desert ‘bottle cleaners’ and tilted their heads, trying their best to understand exactly what it was they were seeing. It was hard to believe this was real. Nevertheless, what they were seeing was having a positive effect on them.

“In our house in Catanada I only saw one bottle cleaner,” said Snow, her spirit also lighting up. She thought of her house and Hubert and Diana, the brother and sister who looked after her and whom she loved so much. “Now I know where their parents are getting their bottle cleaners from,” she remarked, cheerfully.

“We have to decide on a plan of what to do next to survive this trip, then we stick to it and carry it out the best we can, unless other conditions come along." said Rascal.

Philosopher nodded in agreement. "You mean like a flood or something, brother?" 

Thursday, March 3, 2011

What is A True Cat?

A true cat....purrs only to please itself.

A true cat will endure discomfort for hours and wait patiently until 3 a.m.
to cough up a hairball on your bed.

A true cat always comes between you and your newspaper.

A true cat has a Houdini-like repertoire of ways to slip out of a collar and
dozens of places to hide it where you'll never find it again.

A true cat would rather eat what you're having, even it what you fixed
for him is better that what you fixed for yourself.

A true cat knows his name but will never acknowledge it.

A true cat likes to roll around in the dirt, especially if she's just had a shampoo.

That's because true cats prefer to do their own grooming.

A true cat enjoys catching, tormenting and killing small furry creatures and
leaving them as gifts for her owner especially if her owner is a vegetarian, or so it seems.

True cats prefer to eat from the same china you use,
not out of cute bowls with "Kitty" or "Tune Breath" written on the sides.

That's because true cats hate being condescended to.

And true cats don't require a parsley garnish with their dinner
like that cat in the ad. They'd rather eat the grass.

A true cat never fawns.

Or begs.

Or grovels.

True cats have perfected the guilt-provoking stare.

A true cat prefers to sharpen his claws on authentic imported oriental carpets,
not cheap imitation knock-offs.

A true cat is often willing to make a fool of herself, but only on her own terms.

You may think you picked a true cat, but the fact is a true cat picked you.

That's because a true cat is always the cutest, smartest kitten in the litter.

Or the cutest, smartest cat in the shelter.

Or the cutest, smartest cat who shows up full grown at your door and moves in.

True cats love anything that smells bad. The worse it smells the better they like it.

A true cat prefers your flower bed to her litter box.

A true cat isn't declawed.

And if by chance a true cat is declawed, he acts as though he wasn't.

A true cat never willingly laps up hairball remedy,
no matter what the instructions on the package say.

A true cat can find and discard the smallest pill in the largest heap of food.

That's why administering a pill to a true cat is a two-person job.
Sometimes a three-person job.

A true cat doesn't do tricks.

A true cat has hiding places you'll never find.

A true cat abhors a closed door.

When caught misbehaving a true cat pretends he was doing something else.

A true cat is sociable. He loves parties, especially the hors d'oeuvres.

A true cat keeps a collection of vintage catnip mice hidden under
the furniture and takes them out occasionally to see how they're aging.

A true cat doesn't care to learn how to use your toilet.
Would you want to share his litter box?


CAT, From Wikipedia

The cat (Felis catus), also known as the domestic cat or housecat[5] to distinguish it from other felines and felids, is a small furry domesticated carnivorous mammal that is valued by humans for its companionship and for its ability to hunt vermin and household pests. Cats have been associated with humans for at least 9,500 years,[6] and are currently the most popular pet in the world.[7] Owing to their close association with humans, cats are now found almost everywhere on earth.
Cats are similar in anatomy to the other felids, with strong, flexible bodies, quick reflexes, sharp retractable claws, and teeth adapted to killing small prey. As nocturnal predators, cats use their acute hearing and ability to see in near darkness to locate prey. Not only can cats hear sounds too faint for human ears, they can also hear sounds higher in frequency than humans can perceive. This is because the usual prey of cats (particularly rodents such as mice) make high frequency noises, so the hearing of the cat has evolved to pinpoint these faint high-pitched sounds. Cats rely more on smell than taste, and have a much better sense of smell than humans.
Despite being solitary hunters, cats are a social species and use a variety of vocalizations, pheromones and types of body language for communication. These include meowing, purring, trilling, hissing, growling, and grunting.[8]
Cats have a rapid breeding rate. Under controlled breeding, they can be bred and shown as registered pedigree pets, a hobby known as cat fancy. Failure to control the breeding of pet cats by spaying and neutering and the abandonment of former household pets has resulted in large numbers of feral cats worldwide, with a population of up to 60 million of these animals in the United States alone.[9]
As The New York Times wrote in 2007, "Until recently the cat was commonly believed to have been domesticated in ancient Egypt, where it was a cult animal",[10] but a study that year revealed that the lines of descent of all house cats probably run through as few as five self-domesticating African Wildcats (Felis silvestris lybica) c. 8000 BC, in the Near East.[4] The earliest direct evidence of cat domestication is a kitten that was buried alongside a human 9,500 years ago in Cyprus.[11]

Friday, February 18, 2011

Why Some Cats are Rascals - Book1 by Boszenna Nowiki




Rascal was sitting on the windowsill watching the rain.  His eyes lazily followed the drops as they fell from the gray sky.  The soft cat song he was humming was the only sound in the quiet attic.  There wasn’t much light either.  Two small windows facing the north side barely chased away the darkness, and long shadows cast odd shapes on the bare wooden walls.  Rascal peered through the rain soaked window at the mountains that loomed in the distance, half hidden in thick clouds.  He had gazed at them so many times before, but he had never ventured off that far.
     He sighed deeply and said, “Starting today I’m writing a diary.”
     Lumby, a three-month old white and black kitten with long hair and two black hearts on the back of his white feet, leaped off the box he was sitting on and sat in front of Rascal, looking up at him curiously. “What’s a diary?” he asked.
     “You will see!  All of you I will blacken!” 
     Lumby took a step backwards, scared by Rascal’s little joke.
     Rascal smiled and continued, “A diary is a memoir, a work of art in which every day portrays only truth and more truth.  If I forget the truth, I will invent the truth, but truth it will always be.”  He smiled slyly and jumped into the third drawer of a five drawer white cabinet.  Cracking open a small leather diary, Rascal fetched his pen and began to write.
     This morning I looked in the mirror and I was amazed at how Nature gave so much beauty in one body…in a few words I will introduce myself.  I’m amazingly beautifully orange on the nose and my lip is full of black spots.  My name is Rascal.
     Just as he was admiring his own words, another cat, much bigger, poked his nose into the drawer where Rascal was writing.  “Hey, what are you doing there?” the fat cat asked. 
     It was Rascal’s brother, Philosopher. He looked at Rascal’s writing and commented, “Eeeee, your writing is not worth one pound of tuft, Rascal.” 
     Rascal just glared at him.
     Casually licking his paws, Philosopher continued, “Why don’t you write this: I have a brother my age, three years old.  He is fat, his fur is grayish-blue, his collar and socks are white.  His name is Philosopher and he has a white spot on his nose.  He is very slow but he reads a lot and thinks even more.  Sometimes from his thinking he catches a mouse.  He has a cat’s patience.  I prefer flies; they are easier to catch than mice.”
     Meanwhile, small Lumby, with short jumps, had left the two brothers for another part of the attic to visit with Grandma, an older calico cat.  Everyone called her simply “Grandma,” though Lumby was pretty sure that wasn’t her real name.  He looked up at her with his big eyes and said, “Please, Grandma, tell us one of the cat’s legends. A funny one.”
     Two orange ears, a white mustache and a freckled nose peeked from the third drawer to listen.  Rascal wrote:
     So, Grandma is very old; soon she will have 22 winters.  Must be some kind of secret, because I’ve never heard before about such an old cat.
     Grandmother stretched.  Lumby could hear her bones creaking and popping.  It made him a little scared, but then Grandma smiled, cleared her throat and began.  “A long time ago, when I was young…”
     “Grandma was young?” interrupted Lumby.
     “Yes, child, and I used to love to listen to the old legends too.”  She sighed and spoke as to herself or to the window.  “The clouds in the sky were smiling at me, stars and sun came back for me every day.” 
     Lumby waited patiently for her to continue.  It was very quiet in the room. Outside the window the dark clouds continued to hide the midday sun. But the rain seemed to pause and listen to the calico.  With great melancholy, she said, “I was running with the wind, jumping and playing.  This was freedom!”
     “Is it true?” asked Lumby, his eyes widening in surprise.
     “Grandma never lies,” the old cat said in a serious tone.
     “I was thinking that,” said the happy kitten, nodding his agreement.
     The old calico continued.  “A real cat counts only on his own strength.”
     After those words the rest of the cats sat around Grandma.  There was a five-year-old snow-white cat named Snow, and her husband, Dandy, a black cat with a smattering of white under his jaw.  He was fond of fashion.  Also there was Sofia, a white and black cat from Poland, and Bunny, a one-year-old white and gray without a tail, which made him look like a Japanese Bobtail.  And of course, Lumby, who was from the country.  He was always very happy, smiling, jumping and playing around.  His name came from the small town where he was born, close to Kelowna, in British Columbia, Canada. 


Apart from the others, Rascal lay curled up in his cabinet drawer, busily writing down everything.  Philosopher was watching from the highest shelf close to the door.  Uncle Toothless, a 14 year old cat without teeth, yellow with a white tummy and white socks, spent his time in the other parts of the house and went to the garden sometimes.  The rest of the cats were closed in one north room with two windows and a view of the big mountain, named Grouse Mountain, and to the left two peaks named Two Sisters.
     Grandma looked around at the cats gathered all about her and said, “I’m happy seeing you, soon I have to go.”
     “Gee!” uttered Lumby.
     “Gee!” said the rest of the cats.  “Please don’t go!”
     She smiled softly and Lumby jumped up and embraced her.  She was not used to cats caressing and shyly said, “Watch out, you will overturn me!”
     Grandma was really very happy, however, and she stealthily licked his nose.
     Rascal was carefully watching the entire scene.  Clutching his pen, he again began writing in his diary:
     Grandma never was like that before; it looks like something is in the air.  Always she beat us with her paws and never allowed us to come too close to her.  Discipline was her best model of virtue.  But she was different to the humans; she always was very friendly to them and wanted more petting.  She would cuddle up to them and purr…Something is wrong with our Grandma.”
     Grandmother was talking about “the olden days,” the days of her youth.  She sparked the imaginations of the younger cats with her tall tales of sleeping in the rubbish can and under the stars, about the fancy Ball that the cats used to organize two times a year, and the competitions that they once had walking on the wooden fence.  She also spoke dreamily of the freedom of cats she knew, who lived in the wild.  Old Grandma seemed to get more energy while talking about her younger days.  “Always be very active,” she warned.  “There are lots of lazy cats without ambition.  Their life is only to do the minimum: sleep and eat until death.  That’s no way to live!  Listen to me, you youngsters.  To be alive means to have a goal.  Lots of cats have nice ideas but never use them.  It is not enough just to think success or think ideas; they must be demonstrated.  So thinking success alone does not make you successful.  But all actions start from your thoughts.”
     Lumby opened his mouth to say something, but then Grandma breathed heavily and continued, “But it is also true that in that moment you decide to be successful you will encounter lots of obstacles.  So remember, for real cats they are not obstacles!”  She stopped and looked like she was asleep.
     All the cats talked quietly amongst themselves.  Grandma seemed to have fallen asleep and none of them dared to awaken her.  Philosopher sat in silence with his right ear to the front and left ear to the back as he looked out the window.  When the old cat opened her eyes he asked, “Do you know, my Grandma, where there are some good mouse holes close by?”
     The old cat instantly seemed wide awake again.  She smiled.  “Yes, my son.  In old houses there are incredibly gorgeous mice,” she said and started licking her fur.
     Philosopher scrunched up his face, a habit he had when he was curious about something.  “Are those old houses somewhere close by?” he asked.  This time his left ear moved to the front and his right ear moved to the back.