From the Familiar (and the rest of the Horde) will be mostly photos and updates on my best fur friend/Familiar Freya (aka HRF–Her Royal Furriness–The Queen, Herself, etc.) and her furry siblings: Artemis and Apollo and Bragi (aka The Horde.) Not likely to follow any particular schedule–they tend to be ridiculous (and ridiculously cute) all the time.
I had two desires as a kid, that filled me to the brim with buzzing energy and endless, probably exhausting, repetition: I wanted to be a writer, and I wanted a cat.
Holy cow, did I want a cat. Specifically, I wanted a Siamese cat, like my Nan, who was the coolest, most elegant lady I knew. A near-stranger I saw only a handful of times throughout my childhood, her seemingly effortless poise was complemented by three beautiful Siamese cats who adored her and hated everyone else, and especially hated the grubby-fingered kid who kept following them under couches to try to pet them.
Cats were the coolest, and Siamese the coolest of all.
Now, years later, I look back at those memories and wonder how I thought my Nan’s cats–or indeed any cats–were the epitome of effortless cool. Because I have three beloved, beautiful Siamese mixes of my own now, and, well, look:
This is Artemis. Loves water, especially splashing anyone in radius of her paws and the water bowl. Unbelievably anxious, for which she takes medication, and very fond of her own voice. Favorite things include standing on the stairwell where the acoustics are best and singing the song of her people at top volume from the hours of 2-4AM, chasing dog kibble across the living room, and getting belly rubs. All while talking. And talking. And Talking. Pretty sure she’s serenading me in this picture.
This is Apollo, Artemis’ brother (or so we assume. They were surrendered to the shelter together and adopted to us as a bonded pair.) Basically a golden retriever in a cat’s body. Will lick your face if you let him, plays fetch with string and cotton balls, and will eat anything that holds still long enough. He and Art share a braincell, and she has it most of the time.
Freya, my eldest at nearly sixteen (don’t tell her), has her own braincells, but uses them exclusively for mischief and, occasionally, evil. If I’m working from an outline, she must sit on it. Not on the finished, discarded pages, no, but the page I am using right at that minute. Tarot cards? Pft, you mean chew toys, obviously. She doesn’t want to eat unless it’s not dinner time, then she is starving and will hang off your pant leg to let you know. She enjoys participating in magic, especially if said magic involves fire for her to watch or herbs to scatter everywhere. When I adopted her, I joked to my friends that she was my familiar, and I think she took it as both a directive and a challenge.
I didn’t set out to have a dog as an adult. We had a little dog when I was growing up, and I loved her dearly, but I didn’t feel a hole in my life without a dog the way I did before I adopted Freya. But life works in weird ways and, when I needed a reason to keep leaving my house and not turn into a total recluse (of the depressed variety), Bragi landed in my lap (quite literally.) The rescue said he was a Newfoundland and I laughed for a good two minutes looking at his puppy picture. Has his own braincell, but occasionally donates it to Artemis, because she’s his favorite. Loves to fetch, and swim, but hates getting his paws wet in puddles. 95% absolute gentleman, 5% goofball.
And that’s them! Greetings from the Horde!
-Kate
Kate Hall 