Paw Parent Quotes

Daddy said, “I’m not sure either you or I own that treasure anymore.” Liam clutched as many coins as he could in both paws and hugged them to his chest as he gave his parents his best, sunniest smile.

Tristan’s Mom: What are these? Tristan: Your granddaughters. Tristan’s Dad: Don’t worry honey, you don’t look old enough to be a mother let alone a grandmother. Tristan’s Mom: Again with the flattery, thank you dear. Where did they come from? Tristan: Camie gave birth last night. Jeff: I didn’t know she was pregnant. Tristan: She wasn’t. It was a miracle. Tristan’s Mom: Do they have names? Tristan: Phineas and Ferb. Jeff: From the cartoon? Tristan’s Dad: That figures, he named the dog Scooby. Tristan’s Mom: They sound like boy names. Tristan: Mom! Shhh, you’ll give them a complex. Jeff: If that Ferb one climbs my legs again I’m drop kicking it. Tristan: That’s child abuse and I’ll press charges. Besides, they just miss their mom. Jeff: I’m calling CPS (cat protective services)… Tristan: What for? Jeff: Because you’re making your kids live in a broken home unnecessarily. Tristan: I’m not talking to you anymore. Jeff: Fine, as long as you to talk to her. Tristan: Back off. Jeff: Nope, not gonna do it. Tristan: I’m warning you man. Jeff: You miss her too. Tristan: Yeah, so? Jeff: So do something about it. Tristan: Happy? Last night was miserable and I think it’s too late. Jeff: You still have a 12 year old ace in the hole. Tristan: Saving it as a last resort. Tristan’s Dad: Honey, do you have a clue as to what they’re talking about? Tristan’s Mom: No and I don’t want one. Jeff: I’m just helping my nieces get their parents back together. Dude, it’s time. Make the call. Tristan: Alright, I did it. But I get the feeling I’m about to do business with the mob. I hope I don’t wake up with the head of my horse in bed with me tonight. Jeff: Well, a good father will do anything he can to protect his family, even if that means he runs the risk of sleeping with the fishes. Tristan: Okay girls, your aunt helped Daddy come up with a plan and if it works you should get to see Mommy today. Cross your paws, or claws, or whatever…just cross something for luck.

The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants.”  “Shakespeare’s Sonnet 5,” Ashley

While our life remains more chaotic than not, we continue to land on our blistered feet, drag each other out of the quicksand, beg for forgiveness as we wander out of the doghouse, and dig for the humor beneath our grief. So our family, four-pawed members included, continues to bound forward celebrating our canine connection and sharing hope with all who need healing.

Hey! Let my little sister go!” This almost stupefies Don into releasing the rope a second time, but good ole Dad catches it and pulls. “Get it together, Don! Do you know how rich we are right now? Pull her in! I’ll get the other one.” Nice. The Syrena thinks I’m human and the humans think I’m Syrena. “Let her go or I’m calling the coast guard,” I say with more confidence than I feel. After all, this young girl and I look nothing alike. She has the beautiful Syrena coloring, while I probably look like a cadaver floating in the water. But it’s worth a shot, right? “And our parents prosecute.” This is enough to season their enthusiasm with a pinch of doubt. It all unfolds in their expressions: Do mermaids talk? Do they know how to call the coast guard? Do they prosecute offenders? Did that really just happen? Don shakes his head as if he’s come out of a trance. “Don’t listen to her, Paw. That’s what mermaids do, remember? They sing fishermen to their death! Haven’t you heard the stories? And don’t look her in the eye, neither, Paw. They hypnotize you with their eyes.” Well, crap.

That night after my parents had kissed me good night and closed my door, I got out of bed and took from my shirt pocket the three seeds I had carried since we left the ant kingdom. Everything else I'd gathered, I realized, had been either given away or given back. Way back on my closet shelf was a tiny woven Indian basket with a cover. My grandfather had given me this when I was only nine years old, but it had always held some sort of secret for me. Into this basket I put the seeds, and hid it again. "We'll use them," I told Scuro as I got back into bed. "Just wait. We'll use them." He sighed and rearranged himself on his rug in the corner. I noticed then that the kitten-a shy little creature only recently come to our household and up till now afraid of everything including Scuro-was curled between Scuro's paws, purring in its sleep.

before he went back to helping the boy. Missing from the Warrior tent were Kalona and Aurox. For obvious reasons, Thanatos had decided the Tulsa community wasn’t ready to meet either of them. I agreed with her. I wasn’t ready for … I mentally shook myself. No, I wasn’t going to think about the Aurox/Heath situation now. Instead I turned my attention to the second of the big tents. Lenobia was there, keeping a sharp eye on the people who clustered like buzzing bees around Mujaji and the big Percheron mare, Bonnie. Travis was with her. Travis was always with her, which made my heart feel good. It was awesome to see Lenobia in love. The Horse Mistress was like a bright, shining beacon of joy, and with all the Darkness I’d seen lately, that was rain in my desert. “Oh, for shit’s sake, where did I put my wine? Has anyone seen my Queenies cup? As the bumpkin reminded me, my parents are here somewhere, and I’m going to need fortification by the time they circle around and find me.” Aphrodite was muttering and pawing through the boxes of unsold cookies, searching for the big purple plastic cup I’d seen her drinking from earlier. “You have wine in that Queenies to go cup?” Stevie Rae was shaking her head at Aphrodite. “And you’ve been drinkin’ it through a straw?” Shaunee joined Stevie Rae in a head shake. “Isn’t that nasty?” “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Aphrodite quipped. “There are too many nuns lurking around to drink openly without hearing a boring lecture.” Aphrodite cut her eyes to the right of us where Street Cats had set up a half-moon display of cages filled with adoptable cats and bins of catnip-filled toys for sale. The Street Cats had their own miniature version of the silver and white tents, and I could see Damien sitting inside busily handling the cash register, but except for him, running every aspect of the feline area were the habit-wearing Benedictine nuns who had made Street Cats their own. One of the nuns looked my way and I waved and grinned at the Abbess. Sister Mary Angela waved back before returning to the conversation she was having with a family who were obviously falling in love with a cute white cat that looked like a giant cottonball. “Aphrodite, the nuns are cool,” I reminded her. “And they look too busy to pay any attention to you,” Stevie Rae said. “Imagine that—you may not be the center of everyone’s attention,” Shaylin said with mock surprise. Stevie Rae covered her giggle with a cough. Before Aphrodite could say something hateful, Grandma limped up to us. Other than the limp and being pale, Grandma looked healthy and happy. It had only been a little over a week since Neferet had kidnapped and tried to kill her, but she’d recovered with amazing quickness. Thanatos had told us that was because she was in unusually good shape for a woman of her age. I knew it was because of something else—something we both shared—a special bond with a goddess who believed in giving her children free choice, along with gifting them with special abilities. Grandma was beloved of the Great Mother,

That’s where the shouts and yells of the twenty houses round about crash and rebound, even the cries of the concierges’ little birds, rotting away as they pipe for the spring they will never see in their cages beside the privies, which are all clustered together out at the dark end with their ill-fitting, banging doors. A hundred male and female drunks inhabit those bricks and feed the echoes with their boasting quarrels and muddled, eruptive oaths, especially after lunch on a Saturday. That’s the intense moment in family life. Shouts of defiance as the drink pours down. Papa is brandishing a chair, a sight worth seeing, like an axe, and Mama a log like a sabre! Heaven help the weak! It’s the kid who suffers. Anyone unable to defend himself or fight back – children, dogs and cats – is flattened against the wall. After the third glass of wine, the black kind, the worst, it’s the dog’s turn, Papa stamps on his paw. That’ll teach him to be hungry at the same time as people. It’s good for a laugh when he crawls under the bed, whimpering for all he’s worth. That’s the signal. Nothing arouses a drunken woman so much as an animal in pain, and bulls aren’t always handy. The argument starts up again, vindictive, compulsive, delirious, the wife takes the lead, hurling shrill calls to battle at the male. Then comes the mêlée, the smash-up. The uproar descends on the court, the echo swirls through the half-darkness. The children yap with horror. They’ve found out what Mama and Papa have in them! Their yells draw down parental thunders.

My apartment doesn’t have these same sounds; instead, my sounds are a cat pawing through her food bowl, the front door being locked, the swish of sheets being readjusted. These sounds don’t feel the same. They don’t feel as comforting, because they are mine, are my responsibility, while the ones at home are my parents’—the promise that everything is fine, consistent, safe at home.

Hello," I said. "My name is Minnie Hamilton. And before you ask, yes, it's short for Minerva, and no, I don't know what my parents were thinking.

We had been looking at some land adjoining the zoo and decided to purchase it in order to expand. There was a small house on the new property, nothing too grand, just a modest home built of brick, with three bedrooms and one bathroom. We liked the seclusion of the place most of all. The builder had tucked it in behind a macadamia orchard, but it was still right next door to the zoo. We could be part of the zoo yet apart from it at the same time. Perfect. “Make this house exactly the way you want it,” Steve told me. “This is going to be our home.” He dedicated himself to getting us moved in. I knew this would be our last stop. We wouldn’t be moving again. We laid new carpet and linoleum and installed reverse-cycle air-conditioning and heat. Ah, the luxury of having a climate-controlled house. I installed stained-glass windows in the bathroom with wildlife-themed panes, featuring a jabiru, a crocodile, and a big goanna. We also used wildlife tiles throughout, of dingoes, whales, and kangaroos. We made the house our own. We worked on the exterior grounds as well. Steve transplanted palm trees from his parents’ place on the Queensland coast and erected fences for privacy. He designed a circular driveway. As he laid the concrete, he put his own footprints and handprints in the wet cement. Then he ran into the house to fetch Bindi and me. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s all do it.” We grabbed Sui, too, and put her paw prints in, and then did Bindi, who was just eight months old. It took a couple of tries, but we got her handprints and her footprints as well, and then my own. We stood back and admired the time capsule we had created. That afternoon the rains came. The Sunshine Coast is usually bright and dry, but when it rains, the heavens open. We worried about all the concrete we had worked on getting pitted and ruined. “Get something,” Steve shouted, scrambling to gather up his tools. I ran into the house. I couldn’t find a plastic drop cloth quickly enough, so I grabbed one of my best sheets off the bed. As I watched the linen turn muddy and gray in the rain, I consoled myself. In the future I won’t care that I ruined the sheet, I thought. I’ll just be thankful that I preserved our footprints and handprints. “It’s our cave,” Steve said of our new home. We never entertained. The zoo was our social place. Living so close by, we could have easily gotten overwhelmed, so we made it a practice never to have people over. It wasn’t unfriendliness, it was simple self-preservation. Our brick residence was for our family: Steve and me, Bindi, Sui, and Shasta.

You take refuge in pets, and then there are pets that you love more than you thought you could, and the years go by fast, and suddenly you're standing there watching as they don't die quickly from the injection like the vet assured you they would. And you stand there feeling like once again you're screwing up the bigger plan that something up there must have, trying to snuff this innocent thing out quietly and quickly because of what happened inside of its liver, heart, and kidneys; because they said there would be only painful weeks left anyway; weeks of more breakdown and bad cell division, bleeding, dehydration; you couldn't stand seeing the pain, the blood coming up again, and innocent eyes full of confusion and so you said yes. You think you're being strong again, you agree, you bring her in, one quick little tiny sting and then it's off to sleep in heaven, if animals can get in. The paw is shaved, the little sting happens, you put her favorite toy down next to the cold, clear, thin hose full of a drip of who knows, the hose that has no idea what it's really doing today, the tube you keep second-guessing. But, go, just go, just go, just do this, fuck, nobody's ever going to explain it, do it, do it, do it. And suddenly she's full of life again, looking at you like you've made yet another mistake on this planet, how the fuck did this happen, how does any of it happen, cats, dogs, babies, parents, all turned to fucking angels living in a place you aren't even sure you believe in.

When he entered the main room upstairs, he saw a dark jump in front of an anemic fire in the fireplace. “Marla,” he said just as a pair of paws hit him hard in the stomach. Booboo was wriggling glad to see his master and as noisy as ever. “How come you wouldn’t let me in, Marla?” Willie asked after he’d quieted Booboo down. That was when he realized she was sobbing. He touched her heaving shoulders. “Marla, it’s all right. Come on. Listen to me. You’re going to like this move. Really. Now listen.” To the back of her head, he explained what her parents had told him to tell her. “Are you listening?” Willie asked her. “Yes,” she whimpered. “Well, so it sounds good, doesn’t it?” “Dad always makes moves sound good.” “But you’ll have family to help you take care of your mother so you won’t have to stay home from school. That’ll be good, won’t it?” “Maybe.” “Marla, he’s the only father you’ve got. You have to trust him.” “Why?” “Well--” Willie was thinking about Dad. “That’s the thing about being a kid. We have to keep trusting them even when they mess up, because they’re the adults and we need them.

Puppies!” she exclaimed. “Oh, they’re so cute and fluffy!” Ember slowly turned around to look at Nautilus, growling. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Nautilus was trembling, his eyes covered by his webbed paws. Ember wasn’t finished. “From the way you were screeching, I thought Queen Tempest was pulling your fur off,” he snapped. “What in the world is wrong with you?” Nautilus was too panicked to speak. He could hardly breathe. Aurora lowered herself to match the pups’ adorable height. “Hi, little ones,” she began. “Are your parents somewhere around here? Can you take us to them, please?” They remained silent. Then, in unison, they smiled. They had biggest, sharpest fangs she had ever seen. The pups lunged! Aurora and Ember were dragged to the ground. Aurora shrieked as one gnawed her leg. She hurriedly shook him away. There was no time to celebrate. Another pup poked her in the eye, laughing sadistically. “Gah!” Ember exclaimed, as he was buried under puppy fluff. Aurora quickly suffered the same fate. The light of the sun was snatched from her. This is an adorable nightmare! she thought. What is wrong with these little monsters? Ow! Did someone just bite my tail? The grown wolves were soon pinned by the village pups. Their faces were pressed into the ground. Aurora spat out a mouthful of sand. Yuck! “Can we eat them?” asked the pup squashing Ember’s face.

Chatting to the gossip of flames waking from the slumber of our flesh-drunk night together— it’s only when I step out to pee do I notice— how far, burgundy-dark, the moon has risen…. On four paws the shepherd- dogs bound, lightly though the trees they hardly touch on earth— we saw it from far sunk here in an always-ache…. Dyeing paling twilight woods— a pair of wasps, spiraling, writhe…. Wetted lips of hers and mine, just-parted, move over each other with tongues just-coming but refuse— like mists of evening they've no place to settle…. Just-here though she's singing she’s in some song from long ago— poised on the brink of twilight longing three thousand miles rush through my heart…. Under undulating curtains— I hover above her the tips of me brushing the tips of her— breathing back and forth a column of air we share our breath slowly asphyxiating…. From burning wood campfire sparks dart off extinguishing in the wet blue dark… how you blow your long wind across my embers, through my soul, she pleads me, take away the pain— I dip a branch in blue water and plunge it into coals…. *** In pre-dawn dark, against a leaping inferno of flames black monolith of wood in the cast iron compartment softens, and—gradually— fractures to cells, warping upward, until from the top a shard splinters: pearls of flame string a fiber and leap in little tongues while the log, glowing, engulfed, is consumed by the inferno contained…. A shadow daunts me, haunts and taunts me now reaching far, now recoiling, now growing bold…. I once sang eruptions and the wind— then appeared you it took my whole life singing only the songs of you and still I sing for you what other refuge can stay me from this torment? So— my doppelganger has arrived no one said it would happen this way but the way his hands fold like mine, the style of his humor, broadness of his smile— even the way he walks…. Licking and lapping these lashings of grasses are in tongues at my feet smoldering's the fury within me— I have seen my fields of daylight warp to noxious-air infernos but still to the clean blue of the flame I take rest in her breast…. His songs I mouth, and in my head is his voice— I cannot hear my own…. in my mind I see myself— thin, stupid— my arms too weak, my own chest too frail— and besides I prefer him more…. Along spiral lines, seed-heads decay— swept away they whirl and writhe in the hot blue fire of evening…. Stuck in a mural of sticky flesh— the family… I am locked-in-arms with brothers and sisters, drooping at the thighs with nieces and nephews, grafted to parents at the scalp, and pasted with toddlers all over… hived, sapped, black I sit, subject to the flavors and aromas of your abuse…. Then— be wrapped in his presence… crescendo to his warmth the cascade of your laughter search in his wrinkles for the boy inside him… I’m just biding here, bragless, trying to admit these rival-streams that flow in one latticework of blood…. Halves of flesh and bosomy hips, lips like dark ripe fruits they're chasing— I chased them… full-feathered was their hair like floss in the sunshine fine-fingered was their style like laces cut to curves: and then there was you, returning one, just there like the midnight moon in my sky at noontime….

Quess’s beak shook. Her whole body shook. There were silver tears coming out of her eyes as she looked at Urious. “Y-y-you killed my children,” she managed. Urious’s eyes were wide, in pain or shock, Tresh didn’t know. “You k-k-killed my mate.” Urious nodded. Blood pooled behind him, a mixture of his own and Vitra’s. Tresh gently gripped the spear in her paws and pulled it out of Vitra. The dead gryphon’s body fell atop Urious. Tresh tried to take the spear from Quess, but her brother’s mate pulled it away and placed it against Urious’s throat. The point of the spear was as unsteady as Quess. “I still hear the screams of gryphlets and chicks when I sleep,” Urious said. “I knew one of their parents would find me. It’s okay. Please, end this. I’m so sorry.” Despite everything Tresh had been thinking since the attack, she found herself putting a paw over Quess’s talons. “The dead cannot forgive,” she said. The dreams of her nieces and nephews played in her head. “We must forgive for them.” Quess quivered. “They are restless in the ocean of s-s-stars.” This time it was Bruen who put his talons on Quess’s shoulders. “This is how you quiet them. You do what they cannot.” Tresh’s heart beat in her chest, over and over, a hundred times before Quess’s grip slackened. Bruen carefully took the javelin from her and held her while she cried.

Rollo and Cynthia Bankvole are bellringers, just as Tess and I once were. Rollo’s latest yearning is to become a squirrel and join the band of Sam and Elmtail to become part of the Mossflower Patrol. That Rollo, he will probably want to be a badger next. Constance is getting ready to sit out in the sun and take things easy. She is teaching Auma all she knows, and some season soon Auma will become the Mother of Redwall. She is dearly loved by every creature in our Abbey. Orlando is Constance’s firm friend and they are seldom apart. His axe hangs in Great Hall. As Lord of the Western Plains he only has to stand on the west battlements to survey his lands. Last summer the Churchmouse family was united to the Warriors, much to the delight of my mother and Cornflower. Mattimeo and my sister Tess were married. Our parents like to sit out in the sun a lot, my mother and father, Cornflower and Matthias. Like all life, they are growing no younger. They prefer to talk of the old times with friends, and that is good. They deserve a little rest and peace after bringing us up, though Matthias still joins Basil and Orlando to train the defenders. It is difficult to believe that we have all grown from young scamps into responsible creatures. But I am rambling. I will finish my writings and go outside into the sunlight, to the ceremony and the feast at the main gate. Forgive me for not telling you earlier, but today we have a new Redwall Champion and a naming party. Matthias is to place the great sword in the paws of his son Mattimeo, and he will be our Abbey Warrior from henceforth; there is one scamp who made doubly good. Did I not tell you? Tess and Mattimeo have a little son

Rollo and Cynthia Bankvole are bellringers, just as Tess and I once were. Rollo’s latest yearning is to become a squirrel and join the band of Sam and Elmtail to become part of the Mossflower Patrol. That Rollo, he will probably want to be a badger next. Constance is getting ready to sit out in the sun and take things easy. She is teaching Auma all she knows, and some season soon Auma will become the Mother of Redwall. She is dearly loved by every creature in our Abbey. Orlando is Constance’s firm friend and they are seldom apart. His axe hangs in Great Hall. As Lord of the Western Plains he only has to stand on the west battlements to survey his lands. Last summer the Churchmouse family was united to the Warriors, much to the delight of my mother and Cornflower. Mattimeo and my sister Tess were married. Our parents like to sit out in the sun a lot, my mother and father, Cornflower and Matthias. Like all life, they are growing no younger. They prefer to talk of the old times with friends, and that is good. They deserve a little rest and peace after bringing us up, though Matthias still joins Basil and Orlando to train the defenders. It is difficult to believe that we have all grown from young scamps into responsible creatures. But I am rambling. I will finish my writings and go outside into the sunlight, to the ceremony and the feast at the main gate. Forgive me for not telling you earlier, but today we have a new Redwall Champion and a naming party. Matthias is to place the great sword in the paws of his son Mattimeo, and he will be our Abbey Warrior from henceforth; there is one scamp who made doubly good. Did I not tell you? Tess and Mattimeo have a little son and

Rollo and Cynthia Bankvole are bellringers, just as Tess and I once were. Rollo’s latest yearning is to become a squirrel and join the band of Sam and Elmtail to become part of the Mossflower Patrol. That Rollo, he will probably want to be a badger next. Constance is getting ready to sit out in the sun and take things easy. She is teaching Auma all she knows, and some season soon Auma will become the Mother of Redwall. She is dearly loved by every creature in our Abbey. Orlando is Constance’s firm friend and they are seldom apart. His axe hangs in Great Hall. As Lord of the Western Plains he only has to stand on the west battlements to survey his lands. Last summer the Churchmouse family was united to the Warriors, much to the delight of my mother and Cornflower. Mattimeo and my sister Tess were married. Our parents like to sit out in the sun a lot, my mother and father, Cornflower and Matthias. Like all life, they are growing no younger. They prefer to talk of the old times with friends, and that is good. They deserve a little rest and peace after bringing us up, though Matthias still joins Basil and Orlando to train the defenders. It is difficult to believe that we have all grown from young scamps into responsible creatures. But I am rambling. I will finish my writings and go outside into the sunlight, to the ceremony and the feast at the main gate. Forgive me for not telling you earlier, but today we have a new Redwall Champion and a naming party. Matthias is to place the great sword in the paws of his son Mattimeo, and he will be our Abbey Warrior from henceforth; there is one scamp who made doubly good. Did I not tell you? Tess and Mattimeo have a little son and I am an uncle! My mother and Cornflower chose the new baby’s name; he is to be called Martin. So the legend of Redwall has come full circle, through Martin to Matthias, from Matthias to Mattimeo, and finally back to the little life we are all so proud of: Martin, Son of the Warrior. The bells are tolling for the ceremony, so you will have to pardon me for hurrying off like this. May your lives be as full and happy as ours, and may the seasons be kind to you and your friends. The door of our Abbey is always open to any traveller roaming the dusty path between the woodlands and the plains. Tim Churchmouse (Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country).

You ready to see some wolves?” Ryan asks. He sounds like a proud parent. I nod. The only live red wolves I’d seen previously were display animals on exhibit at the Museum of Life and Science in Durham, North Carolina, and the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro. I hope up and we stroll to a nearby pen, where two male red wolves pace nervously. It is hard to look at a leggy red wolf and not escape the thought that these animals are built to run. Their legs appear proportionally longer than those of a gray wolf. The brothers before me are about five feet long, if you include the tail. Burnt-umber red spreads out from their ears to their shoulders. Their muzzles look long and strong, their chest and waist are less heavyset than a gray wolf’s, and their tail is less bushy. “They look like they’re all legs,” I say. “They are a little more leggy than a coyote is, in comparison to their frame,” Ryan says. “Especially in summer, when their coat is shorter. It makes them look a lot longer and leaner.” Even though the brothers run along the fence in repetitive circles, they barely make a sound. I stand five feet away and yet can’t hear them pant. The sound of leaves stirring under their paws barely registers. Their movements are anxious, yet silent. We move on to the next pen, which holds a breeding pair and a three-month-old pup. We tiptoe around a corner to a break in the privacy screen. I peek through and see a male jammed against the back corner. He presses his body against the fence’s metal weave. The female paces furiously about ten feet in front of him. They stare at us. She paces back and forth, back and forth. Their pup spots us and then bolts along the far wall. He scrambles with his chest low to the ground, like a spooked house cat. He wriggles nose first between the fence and his dad, his ears pressed back. The little guy clasps his tail against his anus. “I can’t believe they’re so afraid of us,” I say. “Yeah, even the ones that grow up in captivity often do not ever lose their fear of people,” Ryan says. “It’s just some basic wild instinct that they maintain, that they haven’t lost.” Even though these animals are fed three times a week by human hands, they still get agitated when a person approaches. As I watch, the three-month-old puppy pushes deeper into his dad’s side. I feel guilty that our presence is causing such unease; then Ryan, along with the biting deer flies, prods us to move on.

Shadowpaw craned his neck over his back, straining to groom the hard-to-reach spot at the base of his tail. He had just managed to give his fur a few vigorous licks when he heard paw steps approaching. He looked up to see his father, Tiger star, and his mother, Dovewing, their pelts brushing as they gazed down at him with pride and joy shining in their eyes. “What is it?” he asked, sitting up and giving his pelt a shake. “We just came to see you off,” Tiger star responded, while Dovewing gave her son’s ears a quick, affectionate lick. Shadowpaw’s fur prickled with embarrassment. Like I haven’t been to the Moonpool before, he thought. They’re still treating me as if I’m a kit in the nursery! He was sure that his parents hadn’t made such a fuss when his littermates, Pouncestep and Lightleap, had been warrior apprentices. I guess it’s because I’m going to be a medicine cat.

. . . Or maybe because of the seizures he’d had since he was a kit. He knew his parents still worried about him, even though it had been a while since his last upsetting vision. They’re probably hoping that with some training from the other medicine cats, I’ll learn to control my visions once and for all . . . and I can be normal. Shadowpaw wanted that, too. “The snow must be really deep up on the moors,” Dovewing mewed. “Make sure you watch where you’re putting your paws.” Shadowpaw wriggled his shoulders, praying that none of his Clanmates were listening. “I will,” he promised, glancing toward the medicine cats’ den in the hope of seeing his mentor, Puddleshine, emerge. But there was no sign of him yet. To his relief, Tiger star gave Dovewing a nudge and they both moved off toward the Clan leader’s den. Shadowpaw rubbed one paw hastily across his face and bounded across the camp to see what was keeping Puddleshine. Intent on finding his mentor, Shadowpaw barely noticed the patrol trekking toward the fresh-kill pile, prey dangling from their jaws. He skidded to a halt just in time to avoid colliding with Cloverfoot, the Clan deputy. “Shadowpaw!” she exclaimed around the shrew she was carrying. “You nearly knocked me off my paws.” “Sorry, Cloverfoot,” Shadowpaw meowed, dipping his head respectfully. Cloverfoot let out a snort, half annoyed, half amused. “Apprentices!” Shadowpaw tried to hide his irritation. He was an apprentice, yes, but an old one—medicine cat apprentices’ training lasted longer than warriors’. His littermates were full warriors already. But he knew his parents would want him to respect the deputy. Cloverfoot padded on, followed by Strikestone, Yarrowleaf, and Blazefire. Though they were all carrying prey, they had only one or two pieces each, and what little they had managed to catch was undersized and scrawny. “I can’t remember a leaf-bare as cold as this,” Yarrowleaf complained as she dropped a blackbird on the fresh-kill pile. Strikestone nodded, shivering as he fluffed out his brown tabby pelt. “No wonder there’s no prey. They’re all hiding down their holes, and I can’t blame them.” As Shadowpaw moved on, out of earshot, he couldn’t help noticing how pitifully small the fresh-kill pile was, and he tried to ignore his own growling belly. He could hardly remember his first leaf-bare, when he’d been a tiny kit, so he didn’t know if the older cats were right and the weather was unusually cold. I only know I don’t like it, he grumbled to himself as he picked his way through the icy slush that covered the ground of the camp. My paws are so cold I think they’ll drop off. I can’t wait for newleaf!

Imagine the baby has moved in. They're a cute little creature who’s just weeks old. Your parenting instincts are in full throttle. Now enters your beloved puppy. Are they used to lounging on the furniture or jumping up for attention? Do they order you to give them a back rub by pawing, barking, or nudging you? Can you see the problem that’s developing there? They won’t stop this behavior just because you’re holding a newborn