Paw Prints in the Moonlight by Denis O'Connor Page B

two, I thought when first viewing the property. Although I didn’t know it at the time, plenty of space too for a certain cat to lounge in comfort. I also guessed that I would have a panoramic view of the sky when lying in the bathtub. But the best was yet to come. When I opened the window there was a breathtaking view of the Coquet Valley stretched out below. Over the tops of the huge trees, that would hide the river in summer, I was able to see far beyond to the hazy outline of the Cheviot Hills.
    Further exploration of the cottage revealed a cramped attic bedroom which had an oval window facing east from which on a clear day I could just make out the blue outline of the North Sea about ten miles away. To my city-weary soul it was a sheer delight to consider the prospect of living in a place of such outstanding natural beauty. I set about buying it straightaway. When the deeds of the cottage arrived I was intrigued to read that it was forbidden to butcher a beast on the premises and that using the grounds for duelling would not be tolerated. Interestingly, though, I had noticed that some of the stones of the outside walls of the cottage were deeply scored as if they had been used to sharpen swords. Yet another romantic notion from the past!

    Once it was mine, everything I discovered about the cottage enchanted me even though it required a lot of attention and much hard work and money to refurbish. Everything I did to improve it was a labour of love. The mysterious circumstance in which Toby Jug came into my life, I decided, was a good omen. It marked the end of the early years of professional striving and the solitude that usually goes with living in rented city flats. It also gave me a pet to care for and love. In return Toby Jug loved me with all the devotion of his being and filled an emotionally sterile gap in my life. An act of fate had brought us together and his struggle for survival helped me to evaluate what was of most importance in my own life.
    The college where I worked was housed in a medieval castle owned by the Duke of Northumberland. The castle was situated in the town of Alnwick, often described as the Windsor of the North, whose feudal walls were surrounded by trees and fields that extended all the way to the farmsteads around my cottage. The quintessential rural landscape in which I found myself living was both a balm to my jaded spirit and a boost to my freshly awakened senses. It made for an improved and healthier quality of life. Even the air was sweet and full of the fresh aroma of flowers and woodland herbs. When the wind blew easterly the tang of the sea could be scented in the garden. Toby Jug’s first experience of the outdoors reawakened me to the sights and scents of the
natural surroundings as I witnessed his rapturous response to the garden.
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    When I first took Toby Jug out into the garden, I rested his jug on a flat stone on the wall fronting the rose garden and sat close by to watch his reactions. The effect upon him was beyond my expectation and showed something of the tough personality he possessed. Instead of cowering in the bottom of his jug, as I anticipated, he stood on his hind legs with forepaws pressed against the side of his jug and gaped at what was for him a whole new world. His small eyes bulged with excitement, his tiny head pivoted all around trying to encompass these new sights and his firm little tail wagged feverishly with the inevitable result that he suddenly fell and rolled over on his cotton-wool bed. Scrambling up on all fours he began to dash around his jug, frequently bumping his head in his eagerness to see everything. Finally realizing that I was at hand, he rushed to the side of the jug where he could catch my attention and whined piteously. He was obviously desperate to be let out. So despite my fears, I lifted him out of his jug and plonked him on the grass.
    The experience momentarily paralysed him with excitement as he became aware of the smells