Warriors

I love books. All kinds of books (except shmucky romance novels. Oh, and books written by people who shouldn't be writing books). I also love when my kids get caught up in a good book and can't tear themselves away. These are the times when I do the proverbial mommy-melt and give in to really late bedtimes and an occasional skipped chore or two. I understand. I can't put a book down now and then myself.

An author by the name of Erin Hunter (an ominously applicable surname for an author of this particular genre) has somehow managed to write and publish 20 books about the tumultuous lives of four clans of wild cats. Yes, it's true. Through a very complicated version of meow-language undecipherable by humans, these cats fight for dominance and territory in a relatively small area of woodland. Fortunately, the feline leader of each clan has a full set of nine lives. Naturally.

The reason I am blogging about this particular series of books is twofold. First, I love that my boys are reading. And not only have my boys been sucked into this surreptitious series but they've begun writing their own versions of this fantasy feline world. The boys have both created a large cast of character cats that I've enjoyed immensely. My favorite two are aptly named Poppypelt and Squeezie. They've been assigned their own personalities and Tanner has even created his own scoring system for loyalty, speed and strength for his growing clans of cats. Aahh, education + a huge serving of creativity = happy mommy.

Second, the theme of the series has become more of a reality at our house recently. Let me explain. In her books, Erin Hunter delves deeply into anthropomorphism (when an animal character is prescribed human characteristics). For example, the back cover of the fourth book reads: "...[There are many problems] facing the young warrior in these blazing summer months, as he struggles to handle sinister omens, an apprentice with a shocking secret, and a devastated Clan leader who is a shell of her former self."

When I first read this, I chuckled. "...as he struggles to handle a sinister omen?" Is cat kibble dropped carelessly into its water bowl considered a sinister omen for a cat? Or this one: "...an apprentice with a shocking secret..." Like the apprentice cat doesn't want anyone to know it actually enjoys licking its butt or regurgitating large hairballs? That kind of shocking secret? And can a feline Clan leader really feel devastation or fully realize she's been reduced to a "shell of her former self?" Could this be due to ringworm or a poor diet?

So after laughing off all of the anthropomorphism-ing Hunter throws at her felines, I went back to my simple, oblivious life. Until two weeks ago, when I found a dead bird on our garage stairs. A sinister omen indeed. I didn't realize our own beloved house cat, Lincoln, had a shocking secret: he's a murderer. A few days later a dead and bloody rabbit appeared on our front step. This is where I, rather than the cat, felt devastation. But the next day Lincoln landed himself in the laundry room for several days with a case of the pukes and kitty runs (yes, diarrhea). He lost at least a pound or two, becoming a shell of his former self. Even his kitty cheeks looked a bit sunken. His devastation came with a trip to the vet, a few shots in the rump and a round of de-worming.

So I stand corrected. But for the obvious differences, like tails and recurring hairball issues, cats are freakishly like humans. Struggles, nasty little secrets, devestation and moral collapse are apparently universal. I think I'll go hug my cat now. Goodnight!


THE WARRIOR CAT, LINCOLN
THE PREY: DEAD RABBIT

THE WARRIOR: Fat and happy once more