Peckerwood Manor

For Halloween, I thought a good article would be about black cats and their associations in history, but in a more positive way. I don't believe they bring bad luck. Pascal and Marat were two of my rescues that I kept; they were all black house panthers and loverboys. Marat was my baby that I bottle-fed to keep him alive, but FIP robbed me of him too soon. I cried all the way to the vet, at the vet, and on the cab ride home, brokenhearted, clutching his empty cat carrier. The cab driver shared photos of his three and comforted me with compassion and the understanding only an animal lover could provide.  Pascal (pronounced Pask-all), "the rask-all," would drool on me if I cuddled him, and he was in my life for 16 years. He was tiny but had a mighty heart full of pure love. He was my road "dog" who was game for every change in my life, loved car rides, hikes, and sitting on my shoulders like a stole. He went right up to my husband when he met him, fell at his feet