Paw Prints in the Moonlight by Denis O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

each other.

SPRING
    W ith the coming of spring a whole new world opened up for Toby Jug and me in the northeast of England. In this part of the world, springtime brings more than just relief from winter, awakening the earth around us again in ways that more southern European climes enjoy for most of the year. The first greening of the trees and the bursts of vitality from crocuses, snowdrops and then daffodils in the gardens and woods are always welcome. I wanted Toby to enjoy to the full this first spring of his life. This particular springtime was especially anticipated because it would signify not only the passing of a severe winter but hopefully also mark the end of Toby Jug’s life or death traumas. It was a time heralding hope that both he and I could take advantage of sunny days outdoors.
    At first I didn’t let him outside alone in the garden because I was afraid something might attack him. There were hawks and crows about, as well as weasels and foxes, and I was very much aware that Toby Jug wasn’t big or strong enough to protect himself, nor was he at this stage sufficiently aware of danger or mobile enough to run away.
    I had become accustomed to taking him almost everywhere
I went in the cottage. Sometimes I just carried him in my hand or stuck him in the pocket of my wool cardigan with his head peeping out, so he could see what was happening. At other times I would place his jug near to where I was working, whether it was in the kitchen preparing food or at my desk in the study, so that he could keep me in sight. It was most important to him that he was able to see me wherever I was in the cottage – if he couldn’t he would set up a rumpus which was out of all proportion to his size. His wails were no longer so feeble that they could not penetrate walls, even walls as thick as those in my cottage. Therefore, when I was at home I tried not to aggravate him by leaving him alone. It also made me feel guilty whenever he became distressed. I felt totally responsible for him and I liked to have him with me anyway.
    He was not as yet physically robust enough to be given the freedom to run around the cottage on his own. There were lots of places that I was sure would attract the attention of the kitten when he was in his actively curious mode. There were cracks in the old skirting board and holes near the water pipes where spiders dwelt and where an unwary miniature kitten might disappear. It would take no end of ingenuity to retrieve him without demolishing part of the cottage. I consequently decided that until he achieved a decent size and weight I would restrict his access to certain parts of the cottage.

    With the improvement in the weather now that spring was here I felt that it was warm enough to allow Toby to venture into the garden, but at first I judged it better for safety’s sake to only take him out in his jug. The garden of the cottage was extensive and varied and for Toby Jug it promised to be a cat-wonderland of scents and sights. When he was capable of exploring the garden he would discover a multitude of natural delights which were the products of my time and effort.
    When I first bought the cottage in 1964 it was much in need of renovation and the garden was grossly overgrown. Two years later, when Toby Jug came into my life, I had succeeded in clearing the lawn of weeds and the shrubbery had been cut back to manageable proportions. As I reworked each section I concentrated on planting roses and plum trees near to the house. The latter had a special significance for me. On a working visit to Hong Kong some years earlier I had been introduced to the ancient Chinese art of plum-tree painting, which dates back over a thousand years. In keeping with my interest in gardening I bought a famous book on the subject and discovered that plum trees flower with fragrant and fragile blossoms and the trees grow into extraordinary and aesthetically pleasing shapes which are quite unlike