While the kids are off exploring their world of wonder, this space is just for you—a place to pause, reflect, and connect. Here, you’ll find thought-provoking articles, inspiring stories, candid reflections, and snapshots that celebrate the moments, big and small, that shape our lives.
Whether you’re here to gain insight, share in a community of experiences, or simply enjoy a quiet read, maybe even smile a bit, you’re in the right place. Explore our awards, browse our photo stories, and discover reflections that speak to the heart.
And who knows—some of what you find here might just be perfect to share with the young readers in your life.
This is your space. Welcome.
Meet Bosley, my beloved Maine Coon, who brought a touch of charm and quiet wisdom to every morning. In this photos series, you’ll see him doing what he did best—waiting patiently by the Keurig as his human brewed her daily cup.
Though Bosley has since crossed the rainbow bridge, his gentle spirit and love for life’s simple moments live on in these snapshots. I miss my buddy every single day.
So go ahead—pour yourself a cup of coffee, tea, or whatever brings you comfort, settle in, and enjoy this cozy tribute to a truly special companion.
Let Me Tell You About The Cat I Didn’t Want (But Absolutely Needed)
There are times in life when we draw a line. We tell ourselves we’re done—with love, with risk, with heartbreak, with whatever came before and hurt too much. I had drawn my line after losing Sammy, my beloved one-eyed, three-legged companion. No more cats, no more goodbyes, no more aching silences in an empty house. What I didn’t know then was that life—and a certain smug, finicky, long-haired feline—was about to nudge me across that line with a furry paw and a firm “meow.”
This is the story of how I adopted Bosley, a cat I swore I didn’t want… and how he reminded me that sometimes, the things we resist most are exactly the ones that bring us back to life.
* * *
“I am NOT getting another cat, and that’s final,” I announced emphatically. My son John had just come from repairing a computer at the Alcona Humane Society where volunteer Mary Peterson had told him about Bosley.
“Okay, Mom,” he answered, grinning. “It’s just an idea. Mary thought he might be perfect company for you since you don’t have any pets out in Las Vegas. She said he is an awesome cat, looks like a big Maine Coon.”
My glare didn’t wipe John’s grin away nor stop his ebullient outpouring of information about the cat.
“Forget it,” I repeated. I am gone too much and I don’t want to be bogged down or worry about a cat when I come for summer vacation or on holidays. (I teach school in Nevada and return home to Michigan about four or five times a year.) What I didn’t add was that it had only been a few months since I lost Sammy, my three-legged, one-eyed, feline friend, and it hurt too much to think of replacing him.
“Okay!” John said again and then continued. “I have some errands to run. Do you want to ride shotgun?” Not one to turn down mother-son time, I climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. Gullibility is not usually one of my traits—but I never saw the setup coming.
“I have to check a printer cable,” he said as he turned into the Humane Society’s driveway. “It won’t take long. Why don’t you come in?”
“NO CATS!” I announced again as I stepped out of the truck.
Once inside the building, all thoughts of printer cables disappeared. When John mentioned Bosley, the young volunteer raved and bragged about him. “He is a sweetheart. He answers back when you talk to him, we all miss him sooooo much.”
If a cat could be dubbed for knighthood, Bosley would be wearing armor. Then she reached the “BUT…” and I listened closely. “We couldn’t keep him here because he hates other cats and probably would kill any that came close. So, Diane, another member of the AHS, took him home and he stays alone, poor baby, in her husband’s office until we can find someplace where he will be an only child.”
John and the girl both looked at me. By this time I was showing signs of weakening.
“I still don’t want a cat,” I exclaimed. “But I wouldn’t mind meeting his lordship.” That was all it took. A fast call to Diane, a clamber back into John’s truck, and we were heading north to her house before I had a chance to reclaim my senses.
Diane opened the door of her husband’s office and there stood Bosley—waiting for us. It was love at first sight. I looked at the big, gray, long-haired creature and said, “You are gorgeous!”
His lordship stared me straight in the eyes without moving away or even hesitating and answered, “Meow! Of course I am! What did you expect?”
I then sadly told him, “I would love to adopt you, but I can’t. You would be alone for hours and hours at a time. That wouldn’t be fair.”
His scornful meow said, “You think I need you to entertain me? Did you forget that I am a cat? Just do what I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you—and we will do just fine?”
“But sweetie,” I told him. “I don’t have things ready for you. I would have to contact the airlines and make arrangements to take you with me.”
His blue eyes were piercing as he stared me down. “What are you waiting for? I am packed. I have my blue blankie and gluten-free food. Let’s hit the road—now!”
Foolishly we took Sir Bosley home to Harrisville without putting him in a carrier. John was holding the cat who was basking in his glory until someone let big, friendly, cat-loving Cody, the family dog, in the house. Sir Bosley, insulted and enraged, left track marks down John’s chest and arms that would have made the D&M Railroad jealous. Bosley hid in a bedroom until time to endure the indignity of backing him into the carrier for the drive to the airport where he had to go through security, be patted down by strangers, and then stuffed back into the carrier. The final insult was being placed under an airline seat for hours and hours while traveling to his new desert home.
But, as with all good stories, there is a happily-ever-after. Sir Bosley conquered his castle and ruled the house as PRINCE BOSLEY and I became his humble servant (most of the time).
I didn’t go looking for Bosley. In fact, I tried very hard not to find him. But he found me anyway—at just the right time, in just the right way. We all close ourselves off sometimes, thinking we’re protecting our hearts. But maybe what we really need is to let the unexpected in. Whether it’s a cat, a friend, a new beginning, or a second chance—sometimes, the very thing we think we’re not ready for is the thing that makes us whole again.
Thank you Alcona Humane Society for rescuing this wonderful cat and allowing me to adopt him.
Bosley ruled my home and my heart for many years. He was stubborn, loving, opinionated, and perfect. When he passed, the silence he left behind was deafening. I was heartbroken in a way I hadn’t expected, even though I knew from the beginning that this day would come.
But grief, I’ve learned, is just love with nowhere to go. And I would choose the heartache again—every single time—for the joy, laughter, and companionship he brought into my life. He wasn’t just a cat. He was my cat. And he reminded me that even when we think we’re done with love, it often finds its way back to us, dressed in fur, with a commanding meow and a heart full of magic.
Not long after Bosley had settled into his role as ruler of the house, another presence began to emerge—quietly, cautiously. A little feral cat started appearing at my patio door, always just out of reach, watching with wide eyes and hoping for a meal. For nearly two years, she came and went like a whisper. I called her Baby.
Introducing Baby to Bosley, who had made it very clear he had no interest in sharing his throne, was delicate business. I tricked him, but that’s another story. To my surprise, and maybe his own, Bosley softened. What began as tolerance became acceptance—and, eventually, love.
When Bosley passed, Baby and I mourned him together. She searched the house, cried softly in the night, and curled into the spots he once claimed as his own. It was as if his absence reshaped both our worlds.
There are more Bosley tales, of course—too many to fit here. But those are for another day.
Thank you, Prince Bosley, for finding me when I thought I had nothing left to give—and for showing me that love always finds its way back.
