A few years back, my Grandma Pat would tell me that she would write children’s stories. One of the stories that she wrote was called “Lilly, the slug-eating cat”. She gave me a draft of the story she wrote many many years ago. I took her original story, and wrote my own version of it. She is the most loving, caring, and passionate person I’ve ever met. She loves and connects with animals better than anyone else I know. She lives in an area where there is a lot of wildlife. Most people would consider some of those animals that live near her to be dangerous, but like the loving person she is, she sees them as beautiful extensions of mother Earth. I have so many stories about her taking in animals, consistently leaving out food and water for them, and showing them love that they would not get elsewhere. When the animals struggled to find or hunt food on their own, they always knew they had a place to get what they needed.
The story is for you, Grandma Pat. I hope I did it justice. Thank you for always encouraging me and supporting me during my writing journey. I love you!
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My Grandma Pat lived in a secluded area in the woods. Obviously, she loved people, but nothing compared to her love for animals. When others would be scared of bears, elk, raccoons, or feral cats, she would invite them into her life, feed, and care for them, even if they were just passing by to say “hello” in a language she, somehow, understood.
She would do anything to give animals a better life, especially cats. Grandma Pat loved to visit the humane society, and give the cats attention that they wanted so badly. One day, Grandma Pat convinced Papa Jeff to let her have a cat that would live inside with them. She was so excited to go to the humane society. This time was different. Instead of just going to spend time with them for a little bit, she knew that she would be coming home with a brand new cat.
When Grandma Pat walked into the building, like she had so many times before, it was like the animals knew the most caring person in the world walked in. The staff loved when she would visit because all of the animals would immediately go from being angry and aggressive to happy and relaxed. It gave the volunteers a much needed break. All of the animals recognized her and loved when she would come visit. She had a special gift of connecting with animals. She didn’t see them as ferocious, untrained animals; she saw them as a part of her family.
Grandma Pat would walk up to every single cage, open the wired door, and pick up every single animal. Even if it was just for a minute, the animals felt at peace and a level of love that gave them hope. During those moments, every animal felt a sense of freedom: a sense of belonging. As she was holding the last few cats, she heard a loud meow coming from the back. Instead of hearing a sound that would annoy the average person, she heard a beautiful sound. She walked up to the last cage, opened it, and held the cat close to her chest. She instantly knew that this was the one she would be taking home. She looked into the cat’s emerald, green eyes, and whispered,
“Lilly. I think that’s a beautiful name for you. That’s what I’ll name you. I’ll name you Lilly.”
She officially had another member of the family. When she pulled into the driveway, she picked up the cat with the biggest smile on her face. She was not entirely sure if Papa Jeff would approve of her choice, but she didn’t hesitate to swing open the door, walk to the living room, and show off her new friend.
“How did I know that you would choose a black cat?” Papa Jeff Smiled.
“You know me too well. When other people see black cats as omens, I see them as good luck charms.” Grandma Pat said with an even bigger smile.
Lilly made herself right at home. Of course, she loved the inside and her snuggles with Grandma Pat, but she truly enjoyed the big trees, wild berry bushes, and tall grass surrounding the house. One day, after a long day of playing outside, Lilly went right up to Grandma Pat and jumped on her lap. Without even looking, she started petting Lilly. She began to scratch under Lilly’s chin and immediately felt something sticky and gooey. She shifted her full attention and noticed that Lilly’s face was covered in mud and pine needles, which wasn’t the first time. She rubbed the sticky substance between her fingers, as if she was doing the universal sign for money. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what that slime was. Was it tree sap? Honey? Snot? NO! it was a slug, or whatever was left of it.
Grandma Pat ran to the sink, washed her hands, grabbed a wet rag, and began wiping the slime off of Lilly’s face.
Without skipping a beat, like a concerned Mom giving advice to a son or daughter, she looked at Lilly and said, “Listen here, Lilly. You may find the slugs delicious, but they have feelings just like you and I do. Now, no more eating slugs!”
Grandma Pat wagged her finger to make her point as clear as possible. Lilly must have listened, because months went by without the same situation happening. She would still have pine needles and other things stuck in her fur, but Grandma Pat knew it wasn’t slug slime
One day, as Grampa Pat was putting out cat food for the raccoons, she saw Lilly running out of a Huckleberry bush. Because Grandma Pat raised teenagers and mischievous grandchildren, She knew that Lilly was up to no good. Still, she gave her the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t pay any mind. She went back to putting out bowls of water and various types of food for all of the animals that visit. Grandma Pat’s motherly instincts were right; Lilly was up to no good. Lilly ran up to Grandma Pat. She looked down and saw a slug hanging halfway out of Lilly’s mouth.
“LILLY! she screamed.
“What did I tell you about eating slugs! You do not eat slugs!” She explained.
From that day forward, Grandma Pat called her Lilly, the slug-eating cat: not a nickname she was given, but rather a nickname she earned.
Every time Grandma Pat went outside and saw a slug, she would lean down, pick it up, and put it somewhere far away from the house. She didn’t care if her hands got sticky. Before bringing the slugs to safety, she would say the same thing:
“Beware of Lilly, the slug-eating cat. She has a heart of gold, but never does what she is told. Young or old, she will do as she wishes. It may start with slugs and end with fishes. I wish you the best of luck. If you see a black cat, get as far away as you can. Her name is Lilly, the slug-eating cat, and there is a reason I call her that.”
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