Jane Johnson’s Wild Road

In Jane Johnson’s novel, The Secret Country, her characters travel between Earth and Eidolon along wild roads, invisible doorways that can only sensed by those receptive to magic.  As I read her story, this reminded me of another novel I had read, one also involving talking cats.  As she delves into folklore and mythic characters, such as centaurs, satyrs, and dryads (I’m excluding dragons from that list because dragons are real), I wondered if she had borrowed the concept of the wild roads from some of the same sources. 

The novel in question was The Wild Road by Gabriel King.  A little research revealed that Johnson wrote this novel (under a pseudonym) with M. John Harrison back in the 1990s.  So the Eidolon Chronicles follow a trail she blazed earlier in her career, one that paved her way for later adventures. 

Interior Illustration by Adam Stower
(who has also written his own books).

Jane Johnson has spent her life following her own wild road.  As a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, she earned a masters degree in Scandinavian studies, concentrating on those old Icelandic sagas that Tolkien loved.  She then went to work for George Allen and Unwin, Tolkien’s publisher.  Within a short time there, she became responsible for all Tolkien-related books, as well as overseeing many popular authors, including Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Arthur C. Clarke, and George R. R. Martin.  (The latter author's Fantasy novels in the Song of Fire and Ice sequence have been compared to Tolkien's, and adapted into the HBO “Game of Thrones” TV series).  Her love of Tolkien also took her to New Zealand, where she served as an advisor on Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings films.  (She is featured on the extended-edition DVDs).  Additionally, she wrote visual companions to the films, using the pseudonym Jude Fisher.

As if all that's not enough, Johnson's wild road extends beyond her love for J.R.R. Tolkien.  During a research trip to Morocco in 2005, a near-fatal climbing incident caused her to reevaluate her life.  So she gave up her life in London, and moved to that North African country, where she married a Berber tribesman.  She now splits her time between his village in the Anti-Atlas Mountains, and a town in her native Cornwall.  In addition to telecommuting in her duties as Fiction Publishing Director for HarperCollins, she still writes and publishes her own fiction.  Her most recent titles include adult historical novel The Sultan’s Wife, and Gold Seekers, the fifth installment in her children’s Eidolon series. 

In Fiction, would-be heroes travel along wild roads on fabulous adventures.  Jane Johnson walks those wild roads herself.  Thankfully, she then records her journeys, so that we can accompany her.

Dragon Dave

The Invisible Meowing Cat

Recently, my wife and I went to Panera Bread.  This is one of our favorite lunch spots, but we have to get there early, as not only do other adults enjoy eating there, but also a nearby high school lets out before noon, and then teens flood the restaurant.  But with the kids out of school, and their choices of lunch hangouts less restricted, Panera Bread has gotten quieter and less busy. 

Enjoying our Ham & Cheese on Rye
(Hold the onions).

It’s pleasant to share our sandwich without having to talk loudly to hear each other, and we can actually enjoy the background music for a change.  But on our recent visit, we heard a new sound: that of a cat meowing.  Now, occasionally I’ll hear a cat meowing outside my house, or issuing a challenge to a cat in another yard.  But this was different.  The meow was loud and insistent, yet it never varied in tone or volume.   Each meow sounded too identical to its predecessor, and was so quickly and regularly followed by another, that I wondered if someone had recorded a cat’s meow, and was replaying it again and again, as if for a practical joke.  I also wondered if it might form an underlying part of the background music.  Had the recording artist been experimenting with different sounds, and decided that a repeated meow would enhance his song?

Then I noticed a couple that had just taken the table across the dining room.  The man kept reaching down toward his feet, and his movements suggested he was stroking something.  I wondered if he had brought a cat into the restaurant, so I leaned over in my booth a little, and peered down at his shoes.  By this time, my wife was also wondering where the meowing was coming from, so she turned around, and lifted her head above the booth.  But neither of us saw a cat, just this man regularly reaching down beneath the table and stroking something near his feet.

It was such a novel experience I really couldn’t be annoyed.  I was too curious about the cat.  How did he keep it by his feet, if it was meowing so insistently? Was it in a cage or fabric holder of some kind, or did he keep it on a lead?  The man and his wife talked loudly and ate quickly, and--somewhat irregularly for Panera Bread customers--soon rose and left the restaurant.  (On their way out, his wife asked him if he wanted a drink refill, and he barked “No,” as if he couldn’t wait to leave).  Again, I tried to look, while not appearing too obvious about it, but saw no sign of a cat.  Still, he must have had one with him, as after they left, the meowing stopped. 

Another reason to get there early: coffee cake!

I almost missed the meowing, and hoped the man hadn’t noticed my squinting, and thought I was annoyed with him.  After all, he and his wife were probably just traveling somewhere, and decided to bring their cat in with them instead of leaving it in the car.

The next day, I heard something drop into my mailbox.  I knew it couldn’t be the mail, as the postman had already stopped by.  I found this inside.

Hey, what'cha lookin' at?

It’s a real estate paper, dropped off by a local agent, advertising houses for sale in the neighborhood.  Yet someone took the time and effort to transform it, and many like it, into the face of a cat.  Like our recent lunch at Panera Bread, it was such a novelty that I decided to hang onto it for a while.  I keep waiting for it to start meowing, but so far, nothing.

Dragon Dave

House Hunters: Backyard Edition

A Guest Blog by Dragon Dave's Wife

The other day I noticed some visitors I had not seen since last spring.  They seemed to be checking out the banana plants in our back yard.  

"What do you think of the location?"

"There's definitely some nice shade here.
We should inspect the foundation, though."

I didn't notice the couple again before we went on vacation, and so, for the most part, I forgot about them, thinking that they had merely passed through our neighborhood as in previous years.

Upon returning from Texas I noticed that the bananas were getting a little ragged.  When I considered pruning the yellowing and broken leaves, I noticed a piece of dried grass hanging from a leaf.  After a closer look, I realized that our visitors had decided to stay and enjoy our yard.  

Needless to say, pruning the bananas has been put on hold.

With the location decided,
construction is underway.

Two days later: the nest is complete.
(Furnishings included)
 

Now we must wait and see if the happy couple's new house will be big enough for their growing family.

Or will the neighbors drive them away?

Dragon Dave's Wife

Related Internet Links 

Information on Hooded Orioles

The real House Hunters 

The Wild Cat of Texas

After a day out and about, driving around and enjoying the local Texas sights, we pulled into the parking lot of our resort, grabbed our things from the car and walked toward our unit.  Suddenly my wife motioned for me to stop, pulled the camera from its case, and edged quietly toward a black cat beside the walkway.  She whispered for me to attract the cat’s attention.  “Meow!” I cried.  “Meeeeeeooouuuuwwww!”

The black cat paused, looked toward us, and allowed my wife to take a few photographs.  Then, unlike the deer, it walked slowly forward.  My wife reached down slowly, and when the cat failed to react, gently petted it.  The cat rubbed against her leg.

Then my wife tried to walk forward, but the cat kept pace, remaining solidly in her path.  Each step became a careful one, for fear of treading on it, and was rewarded by another rub of her soft, dark fur against the shins.  By the time we reached our front unit, the cat remained underfoot, and her eyes homed in on our door.  My wife reached down, gently picked her up, and moved her a few steps away. 

The cat scampered back, before I could slip the key into the lock.  So my wife carried her farther away this time, and I opened the door just enough to step inside, and kept a careful watch as my wife slipped past me.

The cat wore no collar, but seemed gentle and affectionate.  If she has no house or apartment to return to, I hope she likes deer corn. 

Dragon Dave

The Cat Who Liked Opera

A guest blog by Dragon Dave’s Wife

Dragon Dave’s blogs on his dogs reminded me of the pets I had while growing up.  Along with the family dog, we always kept a cat or two around the house.  During my high school years, two kittens came to live with us, one for me and one for my sister.  These kittens were sisters like us, and each had their own personality.  One would run off and hide when company arrived.  This scaredy cat was named Heidi.  She was my sister’s cat; she was white with gray spots and a gray tail.

Unlike her sister, my cat welcomed guests.  In fact, she expected not only to be petted, but for each guest to give her some of whatever food was being served. She was named Polly Anna.  She was a sweet, tiger-striped tabby with a white chest and four white socks, only one of her socks had a hole in it and a gray toe poked out of it.  Her name was often shortened to Polly Cat or Polly.  She usually let me pick her up and carry her about, but she always put her paws on my shoulders and dug her claws in, to make sure she was safe.  She refused to be babied, carried around upside down, or on her back.  I still can feel the pinpricks of her claws on my shoulders.  

Polly taught me how to speak Cat, and I can still get a cat to look at me with a few well-chosen sounds.  As with most cats, Polly had her own vocabulary of different sounds, from happy purrs, greeting miats, to demanding meows that sounded like "Now!"  She made a particular cry when she brought me presents.  Usually, these consisted of items like corn husks, green beans, twigs, and small plants, but occasionally she brought me the odd mouse.  Polly proved a good hunter, adept at catching mice in the barn and the occasional bird, although she never caught the pheasant that she stalked in the field behind the house.

At night, I took her to my room and she slept at the end of my water bed.  (She was a great foot warmer).  Some nights she refused to settle down and go to sleep, but sat at my door and asked to be let out into the living room.  I eventually realized that those were the nights my parents watched the operas on the local public broadcasting channel.  So when I opened the door, Polly would proceed to the couch and curl up to enjoy the music, not returning until after the music died away.  I believe her favorite opera was "Der Fledermaus."  

When I left for college she stayed at home with my parents, but when I returned for vacations or short visits, she was usually the first to greet me, sitting on the shelf by the door as if waiting for me.  We always enjoyed our time together.  Polly got lap time and tidbits from the table.  I got her love.  For seventeen wonderful years, she enjoyed a life full of laps, petting, table scraps, hunting, and, of course, the opera.

Dragon Dave’s Wife