When Gwen met the kitten, he nestled in her hand and turned his head toward her. Even with his eyelids stitched closed, he fixed her with an expression that communicated volumes. She imagined his whole being saying to her, "Hi! You seem goodhearted and fun. Don't you find that people generally are goodhearted and fun?" What else could her next move be? Reader, she adopted the kitten.
Homer, sightless yet courageous, did require Gwen to pay close attention to him to prevent disaster: what if he wandered out the door without knowing about traffic and steep drops into nowhere? The extra care that Gwen devoted to Homer brought her unexpected insights in addition to all the fun--Homer's only fear was being alone; sound explained his world to him, and, most importantly, she writes, "I wanted his strength, his courage, his reflexive loyalty. I wanted to be as cheerful as he was in the face of adversity. And I wanted a man with those same qualities."
While Gwen waited for the human equivalent of Homer to appear, she and Homer guaranteed each other's security. She saved his young life, and he (who, at four pounds, was tiny) proved to be a superior guard cat at a critical moment. For Gwen's ongoing romantic quest, Homer was always there to play his role as a deal-maker or a deal-breaker. Upon meeting Homer, one aspiring swain hissed at him and backed him into a corner. As Gwen pondered what kind of person would want to frighten a blind cat, she opened the door and banished Bachelor Number One forever. Other swains may have passed muster for longer periods of time, but when Gwen broke up with them, some would ask, "Does this mean I can't see Homer ever again?" Readers enchanted by Homer's many sublime and loving antics will know exactly how they felt at such a prospect.--John McFarland
Shelf Talker: A heart-warming and charming memoir of how adopting a sightless kitten brought joy and love (and new direction) into a woman's life.