CLEO: The Cat Who Mended a Family by Helen Brown

By Helen Brown

"We're simply going to look." Helen Brown had no goal of adopting a puppy whilst she introduced her sons, Sam and Rob, to go to a friend's new kittens. however the runt of the muddle was once impossible to resist, together with her overlarge ears and dainty chin.

When Cleo used to be added weeks later, she had no means of figuring out that her new relations had simply been hit through a tragedy. Helen was once convinced she could not retain her--until she observed whatever she suggestion had vanished from the earth ceaselessly: her son's smile. The reckless, rambunctious kitten stayed.

Through happiness and heartbreak, alterations and new beginnings, Cleo became out to be the not going glue that affectionately held Helen's kin jointly. wealthy in knowledge, wit, center, and therapeutic, this is the tale of a cat with a rare reward for figuring out simply the place she was once wanted most.

"A extraordinary memoir. . .I discovered that Helen Brown did not holiday my center at all--she opened it." --Beth Hoffman, New York Times bestselling writer of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt

"An absolute must." --Cat World

"The subsequent Marley &Me. Even non cat-lovers may be moved." --Good Housekeeping

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Sample text

His face was peachy white and he had baby-soft hands. I’d been mesmerized by his blue eyes, which glowed under their long lashes. Unlike the farmers, he hadn’t been frightened of conversation. I’d assumed that being English, he was probably related to one of the Beatles, if not the Rolling Stones. I’d loved the way his tawny hair draped across his collar, just like Paul McCartney’s. He’d smelled of diesel oil and salt, the perfume of the wider world that was impatient for me to join it. We’d written to each other for three years.

His tone was clipped, then jagged. He seemed to be receiving some kind of bad news. Wondering if he’d lost an elderly relative, I arranged my face in what I hoped was a sympathetic shape as he entered the bedroom. He looked pale and on edge, like someone being devoured by a drama he wanted no part of. He glanced at Jessie, then at me. His eyes were black as onyx. The phone call, he said, was for me. There’d obviously been some kind of mistake. Who’d ring me at Jessie’s house? Hardly anyone knew I was there in the first place.

Sam yelled after him. “Not funny,” I growled. Sam slid onto a kitchen chair and examined his cake. Apart from the times he was teasing his brother, Sam had transmuted into an introspective soul, so unlike the wild warrior he used to be. I occasionally worried what went on inside his head. Mixing icing in a saucepan, I asked if he’d like to help decorate the cake. He said yes—just a few jellybeans would do. Sam had kept his word about a modest birthday and invited only one friend, Daniel, from around the corner.

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