As you may know, Megan recently returned from Middlebury's Breadloaf Writer's Conference...well, she wasn't as much there as she was here, commuting 2 hours back and forth from Shaftsbury to Middlebury on an almost daily basis so she could change diapers and calm tantrums.
A day into Breadloaf, Megan received a call from a neighbor stating they had found a stray cat, possibly our missing grey cat Greta. Just picture a happy, hopeful Megan speeding back to Shaftsbury, only to find a scrawny petite cat in the neighbor's yard who was obviously not grey, and obviously not our beloved Greta.
But of course the empathetic Megan couldn't just leave this cat. She has a perpetually bleeding heart.
"She's a 1-2 year old petite girl who might have some fleas," Megan told me on the phone, as she headed back to Breadloaf after depositing the crated cat at the clinic.
Turns out that she was a he - and more likely 13 years old. He most certainly had fleas. A quick physical exam revealed he had 4 remaining teeth of the original 30.
His knees creak when walking, but he's a loveable old gentlemen and the techs at WMAH fixed him right up, washing the flea dirt away, putting weight back on his bones. Already he's endeared himself to the front desk.
Of all the cats that have crossed my path, he's one of the most gentle. Even while shaking my head in disbelief that Megan was suckered into taking him in, and then myself suckered into taking him in, she somehow picked the right cat. "He needs a noble wilderness name, like Emerson or Thoreau," Megan instructed me, leaving the scrawny, flea-bitten cat in my care.
Sorry, dear, but you were at Breadloaf - and we named him Gomer.
Hello All - While Megan readjusts herself to the VT Homeland (playing with the girls and churning through schoolwork), I thought I'd take the opportunity to a) introduce myself, b) defend my parenting skills while the mom is away, and c) comment on how wonderful it is to watch my life partner go through all this BOLP excitement.
a) Megan refers to me as the Dogtor - call me what you will but don't believe everything she writes about me.
b) Indeed, I was on girl duty for four nights in a row and while their Mom missed them horribly, my hope is that she felt comfortable leaving them in my care. Sure, I may have let our 10 month old bury her head in the side of the beagle while giggling at the cat - but it's not like she found and ate chicken poop in the driveway...or did she? Sure, our 3 year old may have run around the house wearing nothing but a tutu - but it's not like I'd let her blindly go down a 3 story slide...or did I?
c) While the job and children (and dogs/cats/chickens/goats/horse) keep me close to home, I have been lucky enough to see Megan read from BOLP four times thus far. The feeling of watching your spouse up in front of a crowd share her stories is difficult to describe, especially for someone not in the literary world (although fluid therapy texts and laparotomy instructions may prove more exciting than you might think). I marvel at her ease in talking in front of friends and fans - her pre-reading insights, her dedications, her southern accent coming out for moments of southern dialogue, the natural and original way of answering post reading questions. She rocks. She is stunning. She is brilliant.
Is your spouse allowed to gush on your own website? Just in case I'm not, here's Megan trying to climbing a tree:
So please, next time she's reading and I can't be there, send me a picture.