{"title":"Facebook Display","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"homers-odyssey-a-fearless-feline-tale-or-how-i-learned-about-love-and-life-with-a-blind-wonder-cat-1","title":"Homer's Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned About Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat (Homer Book #1)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45077863039150,"sku":"9798986772233","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage4233.png?v=1767544279"},{"product_id":"homer-the-ninth-life-of-a-blind-wonder-cat-1","title":"Homer: The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat Paperback (Homer Book #2)","description":"\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan style=\"color: #d04c40;\"\u003eA Journey of Love and Resilience...\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eIf you enjoy stories about:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e...you'll love Gwen Cooper's \u003cem\u003eHomer\u003c\/em\u003e series.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eWhat Readers Are Saying:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e\"Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of overcoming adversity and brings Homer's indomitable spirit to life. A must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003cspan style=\"color: #d04c40;\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Loved this sequel as much as the original Homer’s Odyssey!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I love everything about the Homer books. Incredibly inspiring and touching.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I loved this book! I’ve read it over and over.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Touches the reader’s heart in a profound and lasting way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003c\/span\u003e “Read Homer only if you are a cat lover, compassionate, loving, or all of the above.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45079049142446,"sku":"9780692594186","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage70925.png?v=1767544255"},{"product_id":"love-saves-the-day-a-novel-1","title":"Love Saves the Day: A Novel (Paperback)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eA story of cats, courage, music, and love...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"This book is about finding your way, mending broken relationships, and doing it all with a feline by your side. It's become my favorite book and I recommend it highly.\" \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cspan\u003e-Dolores, Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFeline wisdom\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eMothers and daughters\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“Prudence [is a] sassy but sensitive feline heroine.”—\u003cem\u003eTime\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“Unforgettably moving . . . a hard one to put down.”—\u003cem\u003eModern Cat\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“If you are the Most Important Person to a cat, you will hold them much tighter by the book’s end.”—The Vancouver \u003cem\u003eSun\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThere are two ways humans have of not telling the truth. The first used to be hard for me to understand because it doesn’t come with any of the usual signs of not-truth-telling. Like the time Sarah called my white paws “socks.” Look at your adorable little socks, she said. Socks are what humans wear on their feet to make them more like cats’ paws. But my paws are already padded and soft, and I can’t imagine any self-respecting cat tolerating something as silly as socks for very long.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo at first I thought Sarah was trying to trick me by saying something that wasn’t true. Like the time she took me to the Bad Place and said, Don’t worry, they’re going to make you healthy and strong. I knew from the tightness in her voice when she put me into my carrier that some betrayal was coming. And it turned out I was right. They stabbed me with sharp things there and forced me to hold still while human fingers poked into every part of my body, even my mouth.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWhen it was all over, the lady who did it put me back into my carrier and told Sarah, Prudence has such cute white socks! She was smiling and calm when she said it, so I knew she wasn’t trying to trick Sarah like Sarah had tried to trick me about going there in the first place. I thought maybe I should lick my paws or do something to show them that these were my real feet, not the fake feet humans put on before they go outside. I thought that maybe humans weren’t as smart as cats and wouldn’t understand such subtle distinctions unless they were pointed out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThat was when I was very young, just a kitten, really—back when I first came to live with Sarah. Now I know that humans sometimes best understand the truth of things if they come at it indirectly. Like how sometimes the best way to catch a mouse that’s right in front of you is to back up a bit before you pounce.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd later at home, looking at my reflection in Sarah’s mirror (once I realized it wasn’t some other cat who was trying to take my home away from me), I saw how the bottoms of my legs did look a bit like the socks Sarah sometimes wears. Still, to say that they were socks and not that they looked like socks was clearly untrue.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe other way humans have of not telling the truth is when they’re trying to trick one another outright. Like when Laura visits and says, I’m sorry I haven’t been here in such a long time, Mom, I really wanted to come sooner… and it’s obvious, by the way her face turns light pink and her shoulders tense, that what she really means is she never wants to come here. And Sarah says, Oh, of course, I understand, when you can tell by the way her voice gets higher and her eyebrows scrunch up that she doesn’t understand at all.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI used to wonder where the rest of Laura’s littermates were and how come they never came over to see us. But I don’t think Laura has any littermates. Maybe humans have smaller litters than cats, or maybe something happened to the others. After all, I used to have littermates, too. But that was a long time ago. Before I found Sarah.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eIt’s because of music that I adopted Sarah. This was when I was very little and had been living outside with my littermates. We were running away from some rats one day, which are the most disgusting creatures in the whole world. They have horrible long teeth and claws, and they smell bad, and if they’re not chasing you to hurt you then they’re trying to steal whatever bits of food you’ve managed to find.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen it started to rain—a huge, terrifying thunderstorm that I was sure would drown every living thing that couldn’t find a hiding place. My littermates and I, between running from the rats and then trying to hide from the rain, got separated. I ended up tucking myself under a broken cement block in a big empty lot. I was scared to be alone for the first time in my life, and started mewing in the hope my littermates would hear me and come find me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eInstead, Sarah found me. Of course, I didn’t know she was Sarah then. I just knew she was a human—taller than most of them, with brown hair to her shoulders. She looked older than a lot of the humans who live in Lower East Side, but not really old.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eUsually, I’m good at staying hidden from humans when I don’t want them to find me. Most people would walk right past my hiding places without ever seeing me. I don’t think Sarah would have seen me, either, except that she stopped in front of the lot and stared at it for a long time. She stared so long that the clouds went away and the sun came out, and that’s when she spotted my hiding place.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI thought she was just going to walk away and leave me alone. Instead, she came closer and squatted down to hold out her hand to me. But I’d never been touched by a human before and didn’t trust any of them. Plus, I couldn’t understand what she was saying because I didn’t understand human language back then. I backed up until I fell into a puddle, shivering at how cold the rainwater made my fur.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd that’s when Sarah started singing. It was the first time I’d ever heard music—almost everything I’d heard until then were ugly and scary sounds, like machines, and things shattering on the sidewalk, or humans yelling at my littermates and me when they chased us away.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSarah’s music was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I’d seen beautiful things before, like the plates of perfect food that people ate at outside tables in warm weather. Or the shady grass under trees in the park that humans go to, which meant my littermates and I could do nothing but hide from the humans and look with longing at how pretty the sunlight was and how cool the shade looked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eBut when Sarah sang, it was the first time something was beautiful just for me. Sarah’s music was my beautiful thing, and nobody was going to chase me away from it or try to take it from me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI couldn’t understand the words she was singing, but there were two words her song kept saying: Dear Prudence. She sang Dear Prudence right to me like it was my name. And it turns out Prudence was my name. I just didn’t know it yet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eBut Sarah knew it all along. That’s how I knew I could trust her, even though she was a human. I decided then and there to adopt her, because it was clear we were supposed to be together.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45079469064366,"sku":"9798986772295","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage11675.png?v=1767544232"},{"product_id":"pawsome-head-bonks-raspy-tongues-and-101-reasons-why-cats-make-us-so-so-happy","title":"PAWSOME! Head Bonks, Raspy Tongues, and 101 Reasons Why Cats Make Us So, So Happy (PAWSOME! Book #1)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Enjoyed every page. Hilarious and warm-hearted!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “This is great! I can relate to almost everything in PAWSOME!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e “Delightful\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eand funny.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“I\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ehighly recommend this book for an enjoyable, ‘sure to make you laugh’ read.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e“I thoroughly enjoyed this book!\"\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"margin: 0in; line-height: 150%;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e#31: CATS SHOWER YOU WITH SURPRISE GIFTS JUST BECAUSE THEY THINK YOU’RE AWESOME\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eOne of the very great joys in life is receiving gifts. Unfortunately, gift-giving occasions come around all too infrequently—and too often with disappointing results. (Show of hands if your junk drawer contains no fewer than five gift cards entitling you to $25 worth of merchandise in some store you’ve never spent so much as $1 in.)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eAnd even assuming you’re one of the lucky few who can count on opening a delightful box of Just What You Wanted on Christmas or birthdays, how long has it been since someone surprised you with a thoughtful present given to commemorate nothing in particular? When was the last time somebody handed you a gift-wrapped box on a random Tuesday and said, \u003ci\u003eI’m giving you this present just because I think you rock?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eDo you have to think back more than ten years to answer that question? Or is the answer maybe, just maybe, never?\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eIf you live with a cat, I’m guessing your answer is more like, \u003ci\u003eA surprise gift? Why, I got one only last week! \u003c\/i\u003eAnd that’s because cats adore bringing their humans considerate little love tokens for no other reason than to tell us, as clearly as if they’d said it in words, \u003ci\u003eHey, you—you’re WONDERFUL.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eTrue, our cats will rarely bring us something we would have picked out for ourselves. Cats, after all, are working within certain insurmountable limitations, such as not having charge accounts or access to Amazon Prime. Also, a cat’s worldview will differ in fundamental ways from a human’s, tending to veer more toward the practical. Sparkly baubles are all well and good, but something you can \u003ci\u003eeat\u003c\/i\u003e—now \u003ci\u003ethat’s\u003c\/i\u003e solid gold, baby!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eWhich is why your felicitous feline will considerately place a small mouse or songbird—or, in the case of my own strictly indoor cats, plastic-and-felt reproductions of same—on your pillow, instead of a diamond bracelet or silk Hermés scarf.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eBut it’s the thought that counts, and the thought in this case contains just as much downright, true-blue love as if it really were diamonds or silk. That fake mouse or disturbingly real songbird {{shudder}} is your cat’s way of letting you know that he was thinking about you for no darn reason other than the fact that you—yes, \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e—are so indescribably marvelous that he can’t help but think about you All. The. Time.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eWho could put a price tag on that?\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003ePAWSOME!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45079583228078,"sku":"9798986772202","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage88008.png?v=1763218162"},{"product_id":"spray-anything-more-true-tales-of-homer-and-the-gang","title":"Spray Anything: More True Tales of Homer and the Gang (Homer Book #3)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“A\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003emust-read for Homer fans. Heartwarming and beautifully written.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“This\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ebook will delight you. Hard to put down once started!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Written\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ein a warm and humorous way as only Ms. Cooper can tell it.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Such\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ean enjoyable read!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Love\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGwen Cooper and all her cats!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eSpray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eIt’s difficult to rouse Clayton—a cheerful, affectionate mush of a cat—into anything approaching anger, and if you were trying to pick a fight with him on purpose you’d probably find yourself stumped.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eYou could yank away a beloved toy he was in the midst of playing with, pull a half-chewed cat treat right out of his mouth, shove him unceremoniously off your own or someone else’s lap, stroke his fur the wrong way for a solid half-hour (as our young nephew did on one occasion), stick him full of needles like they do at the vet’s office, where Clayton is beloved—and all you’d get for your trouble is purrs and head-bonks and a series of “MEEEEEEEE”s entreating your friendship as he happily hippity-hopped after you on his three good legs.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e“Clayton’s a stuffed animal,” I’m fond of saying, and with his ultra-soft, velvet-plush black belly, he does bear a strong resemblance to the Gund teddy bears I was so fond of as a child.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eNothing, in other words, could be less threatening than Clayton is.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eEven the proximity of unknown cats—a universally reliable instigator of feline hostility—tends not to rile Clayton.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eThe sight of neighborhood or feral cats making pit stops in our tiny back yard is a fairly frequent one and Clayton, from his post before the French doors leading from our kitchen out to the yard, generally takes this sight in with unruffled equanimity.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eHe isn’t fazed in the slightest even when—upon catching a glimpse of Clayton sitting on his one haunch and observing them with friendly interest—these strange cats’ backs arch and their tails puff up, unsure what to make of a little black oddball who apparently never got the memo that cats are supposed to be wary of other cats they don’t know.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eA few years back, a feral mama cat gave birth in the space between the wooden fences separating our yard from our next-door neighbor’s.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eFar from being irritated at seeing a portion of his territory commandeered in this way, Clayton appeared ready—if not delighted—to welcome this feline family with open paws.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eThe sight of two fuzzy kittens gamboling among our trees and shrubs proved an especially frustrating allure.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eWhenever one of the kittens wandered close to the house, Clayton would stretch all the way up against the French doors on his one hind leg—front paws pressed eagerly against the glass panes—or else promptly roll onto his back to expose his tummy.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eHe’d look at me pleadingly with big yellow eyes that eloquently begged, \u003cem\u003ePlease, pleeeeeeeeease let me play with those kittens!\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eEventually, when the kittens were old enough to be weaned but still young enough to be socialized, we trapped the whole family with the assistance of our local trap-neuter-return group, Neighborhood Cats, so the mama could be spayed and the kittens adopted out into permanent homes.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eIt was the happiest possible ending—and certainly the most responsible one—but, still, it was a sad day for all of us when we saw the last of the kittens.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eClayton especially.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eJust about the only sure way of getting Clayton’s dander up is when a transient backyard feline puts our yard to use for…let’s say, “darker” deeds.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eFor a good month or so, the cat who lives three doors down took to dropping into our yard a few times each week to poop in the patch of grass beneath our stone bench.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eHe always seemed to stop by when Clayton happened to be making his daily back-door rounds, and Clayton’s all-pupil eyes would pop so far out of his head with rage—the neighbor cat’s own eyes half closed in an expression of deep and peaceful contemplation as he did his business—that I worried Clayton might actually be on the verge of an aneurism. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eFanny is generally a much cooler customer than Clayton.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eShe doesn’t deign to notice such things as who in the neighborhood is pooping where, nor does it ever seem to bother her if an errant feline visitor pauses long enough in his travels to give a territorial urine spray to our fence and rosebushes.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e(Although it should be noted that Fanny herself routinely sprays up the side of her litter box, rather than crouching to relieve herself in a more ladylike fashion, which perhaps makes her more sympathetic to spraying by others.)\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eClayton, on the other hand, is invariably incensed at such doings.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eHis ears stretch and flatten out to the sides until the top of his head is perfectly horizontal, and—squeaking his indignation as loudly as he’s able (having never really mastered a mature cat’s full-throated meow)—he’ll take a few steps forward and backward, and then forward and backward again, his whole little body quivering in outrage as he turns up a look at me that says, \u003ci\u003eDo you see this?!\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eDO YOU SEE WHAT THAT CAT IS DOING TO OUR ROSES???!!! \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eIt was Clayton’s consternation that first drew my attention to the new guy—a big bruiser of a tuxedo cat—who showed up in our yard one August day, about a month ago, to spray our bushes and startle the birds from our trees.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eGenerally, those of us inside the house take far more notice of the outside cats than they do of us.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eTo the extent that any of them regard Clayton at all, it’s either with the aforementioned wary hostility, or else with the sort of disdainful indifference that a rough-and-tumble outdoor cat might reserve for a pudgy, squeaky-voiced mama’s boy who spends an absurd percentage of his day being hand-fed treats while curled up on a soft pillow in his human mom’s lap.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eAnd, at first, this encounter seemed to follow the regular pattern.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eIt was a sunny weekday midafternoon, and Clayton mightily mew-squeaked his ire over the invading tuxie while I rinsed out my cats’ food bowls preparatory to serving them lunch—and the cat outside, having given our rosebushes a thorough hosing, lazily strolled about the yard.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e    \u003c\/span\u003eIt wasn’t until Fanny joined us in the kitchen, as she always does upon hearing the scraping and rinsing of bowls that means lunch is imminent, when the pattern long established by so many visits from other cats was disrupted.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eI knew from experience how nearly impossible it was to hear anything happening inside through the French doors when they were securely closed.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eFrom the tuxedo cat’s perspective, Clayton must have appeared more than a little ridiculous—a hopping mad three-legged cat, doing a little back-and-forth stomping “dance” while his pink mouth opened and closed in unheard protest.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eFanny had joined Clayton before the French doors, sitting on her haunches and delicately curling her long, sinuous black tail around the dainty little feet that always made such a contrast next to Clayton’s wide and thicker pads.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eUnlike Clayton, who was completely caught up in policing the tuxedo cat’s crimes and misdemeanors against our backyard flora, Fanny’s head was down, her attention absorbed by a little feathered-mouse toy that she batted around idly with one front paw.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eThe tuxedo cat’s yellow eyes had raked over Clayton once or twice in apparent boredom as he raised his nose into the air, eyelids partially lowered against the sun, to take a few exploratory sniffs of the air in this unfamiliar terrain.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eBut when the cat caught sight of Fanny, his eyes flew open and his entire body froze.\u003cspan style=\"mso-spacerun: yes;\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003eAnd then something happened that had never happened even once in all the through-the-windows encounters we’d had with outdoor cats over the years.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 14.0pt;\"\u003eHis eyes firmly fixed on Fanny, the tuxedo cat began walking forward—with a slow, deliberate step—straight over to where my cats were sitting on the other side of the French doors.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45079613440174,"sku":"9798986772257","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage50620.png?v=1767544151"},{"product_id":"you-are-pawsome-75-reasons-why-your-cats-love-you-and-why-loving-them-back-makes-you-a-better-human-1","title":"YOU are PAWSOME! 75 Reasons Why Your Cats Love You, and Why Loving Them Back Makes You a Better Human (PAWSOME! Book #2)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e\"I\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \u003cem\u003eenjoyed reading it so much! I can totally relate to most of it.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“All\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003elovers of cats should grab a copy.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e“Gwen’s\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ebooks keep getting better and better!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“I\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ethoroughly enjoyed each and every page.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"margin: 0in; line-height: 150%;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;\"\u003e#1 YOU CLEAN THE LITTER BOX\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eThere’s no end to how feline-besotted the genuine cat lover is. So besotted that a bona fide devotee can find the positive spin on even the most negative aspects of cat care—the extra expense of a home-visiting pet-sitter when you travel (“Totally worth it!”); the always-dicey experience of pilling a cat (“Muffy looks so cute wrapped in a ‘kitty burrito!’”); and even cleaning up hairballs (“Bootsie and I both love the smell of Nature’s Miracle!”).\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eBut the one un-spinnable task associated with responsible feline caretaking is cleaning the litter box. Probably the best that can be said is that, under certain ideal circumstances—including use of a high-quality litter, and making sure not too much time has passed since the last cleaning—it’s relatively painless.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eThen there are those other times. You know what I’m talking about. Those times when the store was out of your favorite litter, so you had to make do with some cheap substitute that doesn’t even pretend to cover up the odor, which probably explains why you waited a couple of days longer than you should have to clean it out…\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eAnd now here it is, the middle of summer, 95 degrees outside and even hotter than that inside, the sweltering heat and cheap litter apparently having caused the odor coming from the litter box to mutate into some hideous, nearly tangible, practically paranormal entity that surely no cat—certainly not your cat, who’s so cute and so tiny!—could possibly be responsible for, and that no human could be expected to withstand for long. Suddenly you’re Marlon Brando at the end of \u003ci\u003eApocalypse Now\u003c\/i\u003e as a suffocating dread rises in your chest and you find yourself frozen in place, helplessly repeating the only semi-coherent thought your mind is capable of forming:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eThe horror! The horror!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eIn the end, though, you roll up your sleeves, clothespin your nose, grab the scooper and a plastic bag, and head in there to do what you have to do like the brave, never-say-die soldier you are.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eAnd that’s because when the going gets tough, the tough get\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003ePAWSOME! \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45079658102958,"sku":"9798986772226","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage49023.png?v=1767544097"},{"product_id":"the-homer-collection-1","title":"The HOMER Collection (Homer Books #1 and #2)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Homer’s Odyssey is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eTwo Books in One Volume!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45094754320558,"sku":"9798989540129","price":24.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage67088.png?v=1767543521"},{"product_id":"the-homer-chronicles-1","title":"The HOMER Chronicles (Homer Books #2 and #3)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e“Loved this sequel as much as the original Homer’s Odyssey!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e“I\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003elove everything about the Homer books. Incredibly inspiring and touching.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“A\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003emust-read for Homer fans. Heartwarming and beautifully written.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“This\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ebook will delight you. Hard to put down once started!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Written\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ein a warm and humorous way as only Ms. Cooper can tell it.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45094825394350,"sku":"9798986772240","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage97265.png?v=1767543450"},{"product_id":"the-homer-anthology","title":"The HOMER Anthology (Homer Books #3 and #4)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“A\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003emust-read for Homer fans. Heartwarming and beautifully written.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“This\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ebook will delight you. Hard to put down once started!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Written\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ein a warm and humorous way as only Ms. Cooper can tell it.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Such\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ean enjoyable read!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Love\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGwen Cooper and all her cats!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45397642084526,"sku":"9798989540143","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage27400.png?v=1767543427"},{"product_id":"the-complete-homer-bundle","title":"The Complete HOMER Bundle (Homer Books #1 thru #4)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer Returns (\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eOnly\u003c\/span\u003e available as part of this bundle!)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45530115080366,"sku":"HomBunAll","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/complete_homer_bundle_f1d06708-9542-4371-8966-25094f91f7f9.png?v=1767543287"},{"product_id":"the-complete-cat-lovers-bundle","title":"The COMPLETE Cat Lover's Bundle (Homer Books #1 thru #4 plus PAWSOME!)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer Returns (\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eOnly\u003c\/span\u003e available as part of this bundle!)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 PAWSOME: Head Bonks, Raspy Tongues \u0026amp; 101 Reasons Why Cats Make Us So, So Happy\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45530402848942,"sku":"catbun","price":24.98,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/cat_lover_s_bundle_c165437e-a9a5-4002-bd94-829079617091.png?v=1767543097"},{"product_id":"the-homers-odyssey-10th-anniversary-scrapbook","title":"The \"Homer's Odyssey\" 10th Anniversary Scrapbook! (Bonus Homer Book!)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003eA book 10 years in the making…\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo mark the 10th Anniversary of the publication of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned About Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e, author and “Homer’s mom” Gwen Cooper has opened the vault to put together this OVERSIZED, full-color, beautifully decorated, keepsake scrapbook, which includes:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e•100+ oversized, full-color pages!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Hundreds of never-before-seen photos of Homer and his “fur family” from Gwen’s own family photo albums!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•A copy of the pitch letter for\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethat Gwen first sent to agents and editors back in 2008!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Pages from Gwen’s first draft of Homer’s Odyssey with her editor’s handwritten notes!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Homer’s very own superhero comic,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eThe Handicats!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e, appearing for the very first time in print!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Touching new writing and stories offering “behind the scenes” glimpses into Homer’s family life!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•And much, much more!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt doesn’t get more\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003epurr\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003esonal than this. This intimate, once-in-a-lifetime commemorative scrapbook is one you’re sure to treasure for years to come. Don’t miss out—grab your copy and become a part of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s World\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003etoday!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":45975070113966,"sku":"9798989540167","price":24.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage71734.png?v=1767546207"},{"product_id":"homer-3-book-bundle","title":"Homer 3-Book Bundle (Homer Books #2 thru #4)","description":"\u003cp\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e place to get all three \u003cstrong\u003eHomer\u003c\/strong\u003e follow-up books bundled together for one great price! Follow the continuing adventures of Homer and the gang. Sure to make you laugh, cry, and hug your own cat a little bit closer. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e place to get all three \u003cstrong\u003eHomer\u003c\/strong\u003e follow-up books bundled together for one great price! Follow the continuing adventures of Homer and the gang. Sure to make you laugh, cry, and hug your own cat a little bit closer. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer: The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003eThe odds had always been stacked against Homer, the little blind kitten nobody wanted. But destiny took a hand the day he met Gwen Cooper, and with the publication twelve years later of the international best seller \u003cspan class=\"a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e, Homer went from beloved housecat to world-wide star. He became the darling of reporters, photographers, videographers, bloggers, and radio hosts as he greeted fame with his usual joie de vivre and occasional “catitude.” He became a spokes-cat for the cause of special-needs animals everywhere, and eventually the wise older mentor to the new special-needs kitten who would enter his and Gwen’s lives. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy turns humorous and tender, this beautifully written, 115-page sequel continues the adventures of Homer the Blind Wonder Cat—the fearless feline who proved that love isn’t something you see with your eyes, that even the smallest of creatures can make a big difference, and that true love lives forever.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSpray Anything \u0026amp; Homer Returns (Homer Returns is \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eonly\u003c\/span\u003e available here!)\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cspan\u003eGwen Cooper returns with the ongoing adventures of her much-beloved, world-famous fur family. Ideal for new readers and longtime fans alike, these two collections of twelve \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-italic\"\u003epurr\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e-fect cat stories are filled with all the humor and heart Homer fans have come to know and love. Sure to be treasured by cat lovers everywhere, \u003cem\u003eSpray Anything\u003c\/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003eHomer Returns\u003c\/em\u003e will leave you laughing out loud, shedding an occasional tear, and hugging your own cat a little bit closer.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46030690320558,"sku":"9608784000028","price":33.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/three_paperback_bundle_81d5921b-c339-44d8-9d6f-aa7cc1434132.png?v=1763222247"},{"product_id":"homer-paperback-bundle","title":"The HOMER Paperback Bundle (All 4 Homer Books)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"This memoir about adopting a special-needs kitten teaches that sometimes in life, you have to take a blind leap.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- People magazine\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer Returns (\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eOnly\u003c\/span\u003e available as part of this bundle!)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003c!----\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46121665265838,"sku":"9608784000011","price":42.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/new_bundle_pic.png?v=1767542830"},{"product_id":"homer-signed","title":"Homer's Odyssey - Autographed Copy!","description":"\u003cp\u003eOrder a personally inscribed and autographed copy of \u003cstrong\u003eHomer's Odyssey! \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eFree shipping included!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat's included:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003ePersonally inscribed and autographed paperback book! \u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFree shipping!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- Amazon Reviewer\u003cspan\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46652549922990,"sku":"HomSigned","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/Autographed_copy_7674b9f1-6d9f-41e3-9f6d-7eb986369b8d.png?v=1767542688"},{"product_id":"you-only-live-nine-times-autographed-pre-order","title":"YOU ONLY LIVE NINE TIMES - Autographed copy!","description":"\u003cp\u003eA personally inscribed and autographed copy of the very first Homer Whodunit: \u003cstrong\u003eYou Only Live Nine Times\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat's included:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003ePersonally inscribed and autographed paperback book!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eComplimentary e-book \"gift with purchase\" for reading on the go!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFree shipping!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer, the Real-Life \"Blind Wonder Cat,\" Returns in His Fiction Debut!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSun-splashed Coacoochee, Florida—just ten minutes up the road from South Beach—is coming into its own in 1998. It’s the new favorite playground of models, millionaires, and workaday transplants like thirty-year-old Rachel Baum, who’s starting over with her three cats and a job at the town bookstore following a recent heartbreak.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut beneath the glittering nightlife lies an intimate community of exclusive enclaves and whispered secrets that the travel brochures never reveal. When Coacoochee’s beautiful people start turning up murdered, Homer and his feline friends sniff out clues the cops have missed. Meanwhile, Rachel’s following her own leads, unaware her cats are already one step ahead. If only they could tell her what they know, they just might keep Rachel from becoming the killer’s next target.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFrom the New York Times bestselling author of \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eHomer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e comes a charming, sun-kissed mystery where the best sleuths have paws. The \u003ci\u003epurr\u003c\/i\u003e-fect treat for longtime Homer fans and cozy mystery lovers alike, \u003cstrong\u003eYou Only Live Nine Times\u003c\/strong\u003e is twisty as the classic whodunits and even more mischievous than a basket of kittens.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"margin: 0in; line-height: 150%;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was ten-thirty a.m. exactly as Rachel Baum descended the wrought-iron staircase leading from the front door of her apartment to the back-office storeroom of Title Wave Books. Racing ahead of her were three cats—Scarlett, a plump and imperious gray tabby with a white chest and yellow-green eyes; Vashti, an emerald-eyed beauty with long, silky white fur and a gentle disposition; and, darting out in front of them all despite his blindness, a small and slender black cat named Homer. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Stop pushing, Vashti!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett aimed a warning swipe at Vashti’s head with one white paw. \u003ci\u003e“You’ll knock Homer down!” \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eScarlett didn’t like to move fast. But that was only because, as far as she was concerned, Scarlett didn’t have to move for anybody. (It’s possible that Rachel and Scarlett had watched Goodfellas together one too many times.) Nevertheless, she hated being passed by her younger sister, and so perpetuated the fiction—despite all available evidence to the contrary—that Homer was apt to lose his balance if Vashti rushed ahead too quickly.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"As if!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer scoffed. To prove his point, he leapt from the step he currently occupied up to the staircase’s railing. Balancing there for a precarious moment, he propelled himself upward once again and smoothly glided through the air, landing neatly in the precise center of Rachel’s desk in the shop’s back room, located several feet to the right of the staircase.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"HA!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer crowed triumphantly. \u003ci\u003e“Nobody’s ever knocked me down, and nobody ever will!”\u003c\/i\u003e He twitched his ears in Scarlett’s direction, to hear whether she'd been impressed by this latest feat of derring-do. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel had rescued both Scarlett and Vashti when they were less than two months old. She’d adopted Scarlett three years earlier at her mechanic’s garage, out of a cardboard box on which someone had scrawled Found Kittens. Vashti had been discovered a year after that in pitiable condition, wandering alone on the playground of the elementary school where Rachel’s mother worked. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eDr. Andi, the kindly veterinarian who’d treated Scarlett and Vashti, was the one who’d performed the emergency surgery a year ago when Homer was only two weeks old—surgery that had saved his life but left him permanently blind. The couple who’d first brought Homer to the vet decided they no longer wanted the tiny black foundling. After a week of posting flyers and making increasingly desperate phone calls, Dr. Andi had been unable to find anybody else who did.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eUntil she’d called Rachel. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer had always been blind. He didn’t know what colors were, or what it meant to picture something in your mind. (He could smell and hear things in his mind, but he knew that wasn’t the same thing.) He had no frame of reference when humans remarked on how much smaller he was than other cats, or how much curlier Rachel’s dark hair was than most people’s, or how well the new cut she’d recently gotten showcased her dark-brown eyes. He’d never seen a face and had no idea what Rachel’s or anybody else’s might look like. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eNevertheless, Homer’s other senses were so finely honed, it was like he had his own kind of vision. Even Scarlett was impressed that Homer could smell the difference between a sealed can of tuna and a sealed can of tomato soup. When they’d still been living in Coral Gables—where Rachel had run a nonprofit dedicated to Everglades wildlife preservation—Homer had been able to pick out the sound of Rachel’s car heading home at the end of the day from among the hundreds of others whizzing down LeJeune Road, five whole blocks away. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAnd even though Homer himself couldn’t have told anyone exactly how he did it, he had a way of sensing the walls and objects even in an unfamiliar room, and mapping it all out in his mind, that usually kept him from bumping into things.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“Look at him go!” Title Wave customers would exclaim upon watching Homer leap from floor to counter without knocking anything over, or thread his way seamlessly through bookshelves and disappear like a shadow into the back storeroom.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“It’s sad how easily humans are impressed,”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e Scarlett often observed. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"You shouldn't goad Homer like that,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti chided Scarlett now, swishing her glorious white plume of a tail—like an Arctic fox’s—in mild reproach.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Don't worry about\u003c\/em\u003e me!\" Homer said. \u003ci\u003e“Anything Scarlett can do, I can do better!”\u003c\/i\u003e With that, he sprang effortlessly from the desktop to the back of Rachel’s computer chair. He perched there for a moment, with the jaunty air of a parrot on a pirate’s shoulder, before jumping to the floor. Rachel had just reached the foot of the stairs, and Homer strolled over casually to rub his head against her shins.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eTo Rachel, all the meowing and feline acrobatics conveyed nothing more than three cats who were impatient to start their day. “Take it easy, guys,” she told them. “I’m moving as fast as I can.” Pulling a keyring from the pocket of her jeans, she opened the locked storeroom door, and all four of them entered Title Wave Books. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs always, Rachel paused to savor the quiet peacefulness of the store before it opened. Sunlight streamed through tall, south-facing Art Deco windows, and the wave-patterned terrazzo floor that had given Title Wave its name seemed to undulate in varying shades of blue and sand. The faint smell of salt from the nearby ocean permeated everything. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe cheerful cat calendar tacked to the wall behind the register declared that it was Friday, October 2nd, 1998. Tonight Rachel was hosting a book signing for Danny Allen, the owner and head chef of Sabrosa, which was located only three blocks down trendy Hibiscus Road from Title Wave. His new cookbook, \u003cem\u003eMiami Spice\u003c\/em\u003e, had come out a week earlier, and copies were selling briskly thanks to a relentless round of local and national publicity.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel knelt to give Homer a scritch under the chin. “Remind me to look for our black Sharpies later,” she told him, wishing as she so often did that her cats could actually talk to her.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer was delighted with the attention and pressed his face into Rachel’s hand. \u003ci\u003e“I will!”\u003c\/i\u003e he promised. He didn’t know why Rachel couldn’t understand him when he talked, when all three cats had no problem understanding each other or the humans around them. “Humans are slow,” was what Scarlett always said, although sometimes she’d grudgingly concede that Rachel was better than most of them. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs she flipped on the central AC, Rachel was grateful, not for the first time, that her apartment upstairs had its own separate unit. It would have been hard to justify air conditioning the entire building twenty-four hours a day in the blistering Miami heat, and Rachel didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her mom’s friend Dorothea. A retired teacher who’d once taught sixth grade at the elementary school where Rachel’s mother still taught first, Dorothea Wilson had had the foresight to invest her pension in Coacoochee real estate back when it was still cheap. She owned Title Wave Books, along with the building that housed it, and she’d come through with a new job and a new home just when Rachel had desperately needed both.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel was a thirty-year-old Miami native who’d never lived anywhere else. It was only six months ago that she’d moved east to Coacoochee from Miami’s Coral Gables, where she’d shared a home with the fiancé she was now no longer engaged to. A ten-minute drive up A1A from South Beach (assuming no traffic, which in Miami was never a safe assumption), and a world away from Coral Gables, Coacoochee was a sun-swept spot right on the Atlantic Ocean.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMeasuring two square miles in its entirety, Coacoochee was the very definition of a small town, albeit one that could hardly be described as “sleepy.” For most of Rachel’s youth, Coacoochee had been nothing more than a collection of dilapidated Art Deco buildings where, some thirty years earlier, entertainers who’d been famous during her mother’s youth had put on extravagant shows at the big hotels. Changing tastes and decades of neglect had left the town moldering into decay, its once-gorgeous Deco apartments mostly occupied by recent immigrants and broke retirees who couldn’t afford anything fancier. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThen the Eighties TV show \u003cem\u003eMiami Vice\u003c\/em\u003e had persuaded the rest of America there was still a hint of glamour to be found in South Florida. Artists and adventure seekers had flocked to Coacoochee, lovingly restored its shops and hotels, opened restaurants and nightclubs, and put the town back on the celebrity radar. These days, Coacoochee was practically overrun by the beautiful crowd. As Isabella Stuart, Coacoochee’s best-known gossip columnist, liked to say, it had become a playground for the genetically blessed.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was also filled with plenty of the workaday types, like Rachel, who kept the whole thing running.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel switched on the overhead track lights and got a pot of coffee started in the small café, carefully arranging muffins, scones, and croissants—delivered fresh that morning from Butterflake Bakery—in the display case. Homer, in the meantime, positioned himself atop the Local Authors display table, which was closest to the front entrance. The moment when the first customer of the day entered, and Title Wave’s front door opened onto Hibiscus Road, was always Homer’s favorite moment of the morning. He waited for it now—tail flicking, ears pricked, every ounce of him straining at attention. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHibiscus Road was an open-air pedestrian mall that stretched twelve city blocks east to west, from the Oceanside Drive boardwalk at one end all the way down to apartment-lined Jacaranda Drive at the other. It was a vibrant blend of Mediterranean Revival, Midcentury Modern, and Nautical Moderne architecture, lined with restaurants, art galleries, eclectic shops, jazz clubs, nightclubs, a performance theater, and Coacoochee’s last remaining cigar store, where elderly Cuban men in colorful guayaberas gathered to sit outside and play dominoes over medianoche sandwiches. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMinutes after Rachel had unbolted the front door and flipped the Closed sign to Open, the door swung wide with the day’s first customer and a cacophony of aromas from Hibiscus Road tumbled in. Homer smelled the tang of seaweed and salt water mingled with the sweetness of citrus blossoms from sidewalk planters; the woodsy fragrance of the royal palms that lined Hibiscus Road and the heady touch-up paint that city workers dabbed as needed on curbs and benches every morning; the fake-coconut smell of tourists drenched in sunscreen on their way to the beach, and the floral perfume of locals on their way to work; a profusion of exotic spices spilling from the back doors of trendy restaurants that wouldn’t open their front doors until later in the day.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThreading through it all: the aroma of the books around him, the fresh coffee brewing in the store’s café—and, most importantly, the reassuringly familiar scent of Rachel herself.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe day’s first customer turned out to be Daisy Locarro, looking slightly the worse for wear but still undeniably stunning in what was clearly last night’s low-cut party dress. Originally from Palm Beach, Daisy had arrived in Coacoochee five years earlier for vaguely defined reasons. “Palm Beach was dull,” was what she was apt to say when anybody asked. Daisy always seemed to be working as a part-time assistant for this or that celebrity or Coacoochee notable, collecting gossip wherever she went. But the gigs never lasted long, and nobody was quite sure where she got the cash to finance her “party all night, sleep all day” lifestyle. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Here comes trouble,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti observed from her favorite overstuffed armchair in New Fiction.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Look at that dress she's not wearing,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett added from her sunny spot in the front display window, one of two that flanked the store’s recessed entrance.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46685159489710,"sku":"9TimesSigned","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/Autographed_copy_2717d37b-2251-4821-807d-4c2ab2e1aeef.png?v=1767542659"},{"product_id":"you-only-live-nine-times-autographed-copy-copy","title":"YOU ONLY LIVE NINE TIMES (A \"Homer Whodunit\" Mystery #1)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer, the Real-Life \"Blind Wonder Cat,\" Returns in His Fiction Debut!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSun-splashed Coacoochee, Florida—just ten minutes up the road from South Beach—is coming into its own in 1998. It’s the new favorite playground of models, millionaires, and workaday transplants like thirty-year-old Rachel Baum, who’s starting over with her three cats and a job at the town bookstore following a recent heartbreak.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut beneath the glittering nightlife lies an intimate community of exclusive enclaves and whispered secrets that the travel brochures never reveal. When Coacoochee’s beautiful people start turning up murdered, Homer and his feline friends sniff out clues the cops have missed. Meanwhile, Rachel’s following her own leads, unaware her cats are already one step ahead. If only they could tell her what they know, they just might keep Rachel from becoming the killer’s next target.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFrom the New York Times bestselling author of \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eHomer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e comes a charming, sun-kissed mystery where the best sleuths have paws. The \u003ci\u003epurr\u003c\/i\u003e-fect treat for longtime Homer fans and cozy mystery lovers alike, \u003cstrong\u003eYou Only Live Nine Times\u003c\/strong\u003e is twisty as the classic whodunits and even more mischievous than a basket of kittens.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"margin: 0in; line-height: 150%;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was ten-thirty a.m. exactly as Rachel Baum descended the wrought-iron staircase leading from the front door of her apartment to the back-office storeroom of Title Wave Books. Racing ahead of her were three cats—Scarlett, a plump and imperious gray tabby with a white chest and yellow-green eyes; Vashti, an emerald-eyed beauty with long, silky white fur and a gentle disposition; and, darting out in front of them all despite his blindness, a small and slender black cat named Homer. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Stop pushing, Vashti!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett aimed a warning swipe at Vashti’s head with one white paw. \u003ci\u003e“You’ll knock Homer down!” \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eScarlett didn’t like to move fast. But that was only because, as far as she was concerned, Scarlett didn’t have to move for anybody. (It’s possible that Rachel and Scarlett had watched Goodfellas together one too many times.) Nevertheless, she hated being passed by her younger sister, and so perpetuated the fiction—despite all available evidence to the contrary—that Homer was apt to lose his balance if Vashti rushed ahead too quickly.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"As if!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer scoffed. To prove his point, he leapt from the step he currently occupied up to the staircase’s railing. Balancing there for a precarious moment, he propelled himself upward once again and smoothly glided through the air, landing neatly in the precise center of Rachel’s desk in the shop’s back room, located several feet to the right of the staircase.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"HA!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer crowed triumphantly. \u003ci\u003e“Nobody’s ever knocked me down, and nobody ever will!”\u003c\/i\u003e He twitched his ears in Scarlett’s direction, to hear whether she'd been impressed by this latest feat of derring-do. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel had rescued both Scarlett and Vashti when they were less than two months old. She’d adopted Scarlett three years earlier at her mechanic’s garage, out of a cardboard box on which someone had scrawled Found Kittens. Vashti had been discovered a year after that in pitiable condition, wandering alone on the playground of the elementary school where Rachel’s mother worked. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eDr. Andi, the kindly veterinarian who’d treated Scarlett and Vashti, was the one who’d performed the emergency surgery a year ago when Homer was only two weeks old—surgery that had saved his life but left him permanently blind. The couple who’d first brought Homer to the vet decided they no longer wanted the tiny black foundling. After a week of posting flyers and making increasingly desperate phone calls, Dr. Andi had been unable to find anybody else who did.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eUntil she’d called Rachel. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer had always been blind. He didn’t know what colors were, or what it meant to picture something in your mind. (He could smell and hear things in his mind, but he knew that wasn’t the same thing.) He had no frame of reference when humans remarked on how much smaller he was than other cats, or how much curlier Rachel’s dark hair was than most people’s, or how well the new cut she’d recently gotten showcased her dark-brown eyes. He’d never seen a face and had no idea what Rachel’s or anybody else’s might look like. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eNevertheless, Homer’s other senses were so finely honed, it was like he had his own kind of vision. Even Scarlett was impressed that Homer could smell the difference between a sealed can of tuna and a sealed can of tomato soup. When they’d still been living in Coral Gables—where Rachel had run a nonprofit dedicated to Everglades wildlife preservation—Homer had been able to pick out the sound of Rachel’s car heading home at the end of the day from among the hundreds of others whizzing down LeJeune Road, five whole blocks away. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAnd even though Homer himself couldn’t have told anyone exactly how he did it, he had a way of sensing the walls and objects even in an unfamiliar room, and mapping it all out in his mind, that usually kept him from bumping into things.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“Look at him go!” Title Wave customers would exclaim upon watching Homer leap from floor to counter without knocking anything over, or thread his way seamlessly through bookshelves and disappear like a shadow into the back storeroom.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“It’s sad how easily humans are impressed,”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e Scarlett often observed. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"You shouldn't goad Homer like that,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti chided Scarlett now, swishing her glorious white plume of a tail—like an Arctic fox’s—in mild reproach.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Don't worry about\u003c\/em\u003e me!\" Homer said. \u003ci\u003e“Anything Scarlett can do, I can do better!”\u003c\/i\u003e With that, he sprang effortlessly from the desktop to the back of Rachel’s computer chair. He perched there for a moment, with the jaunty air of a parrot on a pirate’s shoulder, before jumping to the floor. Rachel had just reached the foot of the stairs, and Homer strolled over casually to rub his head against her shins.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eTo Rachel, all the meowing and feline acrobatics conveyed nothing more than three cats who were impatient to start their day. “Take it easy, guys,” she told them. “I’m moving as fast as I can.” Pulling a keyring from the pocket of her jeans, she opened the locked storeroom door, and all four of them entered Title Wave Books. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs always, Rachel paused to savor the quiet peacefulness of the store before it opened. Sunlight streamed through tall, south-facing Art Deco windows, and the wave-patterned terrazzo floor that had given Title Wave its name seemed to undulate in varying shades of blue and sand. The faint smell of salt from the nearby ocean permeated everything. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe cheerful cat calendar tacked to the wall behind the register declared that it was Friday, October 2nd, 1998. Tonight Rachel was hosting a book signing for Danny Allen, the owner and head chef of Sabrosa, which was located only three blocks down trendy Hibiscus Road from Title Wave. His new cookbook, \u003cem\u003eMiami Spice\u003c\/em\u003e, had come out a week earlier, and copies were selling briskly thanks to a relentless round of local and national publicity.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel knelt to give Homer a scritch under the chin. “Remind me to look for our black Sharpies later,” she told him, wishing as she so often did that her cats could actually talk to her.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer was delighted with the attention and pressed his face into Rachel’s hand. \u003ci\u003e“I will!”\u003c\/i\u003e he promised. He didn’t know why Rachel couldn’t understand him when he talked, when all three cats had no problem understanding each other or the humans around them. “Humans are slow,” was what Scarlett always said, although sometimes she’d grudgingly concede that Rachel was better than most of them. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs she flipped on the central AC, Rachel was grateful, not for the first time, that her apartment upstairs had its own separate unit. It would have been hard to justify air conditioning the entire building twenty-four hours a day in the blistering Miami heat, and Rachel didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her mom’s friend Dorothea. A retired teacher who’d once taught sixth grade at the elementary school where Rachel’s mother still taught first, Dorothea Wilson had had the foresight to invest her pension in Coacoochee real estate back when it was still cheap. She owned Title Wave Books, along with the building that housed it, and she’d come through with a new job and a new home just when Rachel had desperately needed both.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel was a thirty-year-old Miami native who’d never lived anywhere else. It was only six months ago that she’d moved east to Coacoochee from Miami’s Coral Gables, where she’d shared a home with the fiancé she was now no longer engaged to. A ten-minute drive up A1A from South Beach (assuming no traffic, which in Miami was never a safe assumption), and a world away from Coral Gables, Coacoochee was a sun-swept spot right on the Atlantic Ocean.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMeasuring two square miles in its entirety, Coacoochee was the very definition of a small town, albeit one that could hardly be described as “sleepy.” For most of Rachel’s youth, Coacoochee had been nothing more than a collection of dilapidated Art Deco buildings where, some thirty years earlier, entertainers who’d been famous during her mother’s youth had put on extravagant shows at the big hotels. Changing tastes and decades of neglect had left the town moldering into decay, its once-gorgeous Deco apartments mostly occupied by recent immigrants and broke retirees who couldn’t afford anything fancier. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThen the Eighties TV show \u003cem\u003eMiami Vice\u003c\/em\u003e had persuaded the rest of America there was still a hint of glamour to be found in South Florida. Artists and adventure seekers had flocked to Coacoochee, lovingly restored its shops and hotels, opened restaurants and nightclubs, and put the town back on the celebrity radar. These days, Coacoochee was practically overrun by the beautiful crowd. As Isabella Stuart, Coacoochee’s best-known gossip columnist, liked to say, it had become a playground for the genetically blessed.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was also filled with plenty of the workaday types, like Rachel, who kept the whole thing running.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel switched on the overhead track lights and got a pot of coffee started in the small café, carefully arranging muffins, scones, and croissants—delivered fresh that morning from Butterflake Bakery—in the display case. Homer, in the meantime, positioned himself atop the Local Authors display table, which was closest to the front entrance. The moment when the first customer of the day entered, and Title Wave’s front door opened onto Hibiscus Road, was always Homer’s favorite moment of the morning. He waited for it now—tail flicking, ears pricked, every ounce of him straining at attention. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHibiscus Road was an open-air pedestrian mall that stretched twelve city blocks east to west, from the Oceanside Drive boardwalk at one end all the way down to apartment-lined Jacaranda Drive at the other. It was a vibrant blend of Mediterranean Revival, Midcentury Modern, and Nautical Moderne architecture, lined with restaurants, art galleries, eclectic shops, jazz clubs, nightclubs, a performance theater, and Coacoochee’s last remaining cigar store, where elderly Cuban men in colorful guayaberas gathered to sit outside and play dominoes over medianoche sandwiches. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMinutes after Rachel had unbolted the front door and flipped the Closed sign to Open, the door swung wide with the day’s first customer and a cacophony of aromas from Hibiscus Road tumbled in. Homer smelled the tang of seaweed and salt water mingled with the sweetness of citrus blossoms from sidewalk planters; the woodsy fragrance of the royal palms that lined Hibiscus Road and the heady touch-up paint that city workers dabbed as needed on curbs and benches every morning; the fake-coconut smell of tourists drenched in sunscreen on their way to the beach, and the floral perfume of locals on their way to work; a profusion of exotic spices spilling from the back doors of trendy restaurants that wouldn’t open their front doors until later in the day.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThreading through it all: the aroma of the books around him, the fresh coffee brewing in the store’s café—and, most importantly, the reassuringly familiar scent of Rachel herself.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe day’s first customer turned out to be Daisy Locarro, looking slightly the worse for wear but still undeniably stunning in what was clearly last night’s low-cut party dress. Originally from Palm Beach, Daisy had arrived in Coacoochee five years earlier for vaguely defined reasons. “Palm Beach was dull,” was what she was apt to say when anybody asked. Daisy always seemed to be working as a part-time assistant for this or that celebrity or Coacoochee notable, collecting gossip wherever she went. But the gigs never lasted long, and nobody was quite sure where she got the cash to finance her “party all night, sleep all day” lifestyle. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Here comes trouble,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti observed from her favorite overstuffed armchair in New Fiction.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Look at that dress she's not wearing,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett added from her sunny spot in the front display window, one of two that flanked the store’s recessed entrance.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46737778606254,"sku":"9Times","price":3.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage3D-6x9Tablet.png?v=1767542628"},{"product_id":"you-only-live-nine-times-paperback","title":"YOU ONLY LIVE NINE TIMES (A \"Homer Whodunit\" Mystery #1)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer, the Real-Life \"Blind Wonder Cat,\" Returns in His Fiction Debut!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSun-splashed Coacoochee, Florida—just ten minutes up the road from South Beach—is coming into its own in 1998. It’s the new favorite playground of models, millionaires, and workaday transplants like thirty-year-old Rachel Baum, who’s starting over with her three cats and a job at the town bookstore following a recent heartbreak.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut beneath the glittering nightlife lies an intimate community of exclusive enclaves and whispered secrets that the travel brochures never reveal. When Coacoochee’s beautiful people start turning up murdered, Homer and his feline friends sniff out clues the cops have missed. Meanwhile, Rachel’s following her own leads, unaware her cats are already one step ahead. If only they could tell her what they know, they just might keep Rachel from becoming the killer’s next target.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFrom the New York Times bestselling author of \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eHomer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e comes a charming, sun-kissed mystery where the best sleuths have paws. The \u003ci\u003epurr\u003c\/i\u003e-fect treat for longtime Homer fans and cozy mystery lovers alike, \u003cstrong\u003eYou Only Live Nine Times\u003c\/strong\u003e is twisty as the classic whodunits and even more mischievous than a basket of kittens.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"margin: 0in; line-height: 150%;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was ten-thirty a.m. exactly as Rachel Baum descended the wrought-iron staircase leading from the front door of her apartment to the back-office storeroom of Title Wave Books. Racing ahead of her were three cats—Scarlett, a plump and imperious gray tabby with a white chest and yellow-green eyes; Vashti, an emerald-eyed beauty with long, silky white fur and a gentle disposition; and, darting out in front of them all despite his blindness, a small and slender black cat named Homer. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Stop pushing, Vashti!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett aimed a warning swipe at Vashti’s head with one white paw. \u003ci\u003e“You’ll knock Homer down!” \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eScarlett didn’t like to move fast. But that was only because, as far as she was concerned, Scarlett didn’t have to move for anybody. (It’s possible that Rachel and Scarlett had watched Goodfellas together one too many times.) Nevertheless, she hated being passed by her younger sister, and so perpetuated the fiction—despite all available evidence to the contrary—that Homer was apt to lose his balance if Vashti rushed ahead too quickly.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"As if!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer scoffed. To prove his point, he leapt from the step he currently occupied up to the staircase’s railing. Balancing there for a precarious moment, he propelled himself upward once again and smoothly glided through the air, landing neatly in the precise center of Rachel’s desk in the shop’s back room, located several feet to the right of the staircase.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"HA!\"\u003c\/em\u003e Homer crowed triumphantly. \u003ci\u003e“Nobody’s ever knocked me down, and nobody ever will!”\u003c\/i\u003e He twitched his ears in Scarlett’s direction, to hear whether she'd been impressed by this latest feat of derring-do. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel had rescued both Scarlett and Vashti when they were less than two months old. She’d adopted Scarlett three years earlier at her mechanic’s garage, out of a cardboard box on which someone had scrawled Found Kittens. Vashti had been discovered a year after that in pitiable condition, wandering alone on the playground of the elementary school where Rachel’s mother worked. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eDr. Andi, the kindly veterinarian who’d treated Scarlett and Vashti, was the one who’d performed the emergency surgery a year ago when Homer was only two weeks old—surgery that had saved his life but left him permanently blind. The couple who’d first brought Homer to the vet decided they no longer wanted the tiny black foundling. After a week of posting flyers and making increasingly desperate phone calls, Dr. Andi had been unable to find anybody else who did.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eUntil she’d called Rachel. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer had always been blind. He didn’t know what colors were, or what it meant to picture something in your mind. (He could smell and hear things in his mind, but he knew that wasn’t the same thing.) He had no frame of reference when humans remarked on how much smaller he was than other cats, or how much curlier Rachel’s dark hair was than most people’s, or how well the new cut she’d recently gotten showcased her dark-brown eyes. He’d never seen a face and had no idea what Rachel’s or anybody else’s might look like. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eNevertheless, Homer’s other senses were so finely honed, it was like he had his own kind of vision. Even Scarlett was impressed that Homer could smell the difference between a sealed can of tuna and a sealed can of tomato soup. When they’d still been living in Coral Gables—where Rachel had run a nonprofit dedicated to Everglades wildlife preservation—Homer had been able to pick out the sound of Rachel’s car heading home at the end of the day from among the hundreds of others whizzing down LeJeune Road, five whole blocks away. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAnd even though Homer himself couldn’t have told anyone exactly how he did it, he had a way of sensing the walls and objects even in an unfamiliar room, and mapping it all out in his mind, that usually kept him from bumping into things.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“Look at him go!” Title Wave customers would exclaim upon watching Homer leap from floor to counter without knocking anything over, or thread his way seamlessly through bookshelves and disappear like a shadow into the back storeroom.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e“It’s sad how easily humans are impressed,”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e Scarlett often observed. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"You shouldn't goad Homer like that,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti chided Scarlett now, swishing her glorious white plume of a tail—like an Arctic fox’s—in mild reproach.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Don't worry about\u003c\/em\u003e me!\" Homer said. \u003ci\u003e“Anything Scarlett can do, I can do better!”\u003c\/i\u003e With that, he sprang effortlessly from the desktop to the back of Rachel’s computer chair. He perched there for a moment, with the jaunty air of a parrot on a pirate’s shoulder, before jumping to the floor. Rachel had just reached the foot of the stairs, and Homer strolled over casually to rub his head against her shins.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eTo Rachel, all the meowing and feline acrobatics conveyed nothing more than three cats who were impatient to start their day. “Take it easy, guys,” she told them. “I’m moving as fast as I can.” Pulling a keyring from the pocket of her jeans, she opened the locked storeroom door, and all four of them entered Title Wave Books. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs always, Rachel paused to savor the quiet peacefulness of the store before it opened. Sunlight streamed through tall, south-facing Art Deco windows, and the wave-patterned terrazzo floor that had given Title Wave its name seemed to undulate in varying shades of blue and sand. The faint smell of salt from the nearby ocean permeated everything. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe cheerful cat calendar tacked to the wall behind the register declared that it was Friday, October 2nd, 1998. Tonight Rachel was hosting a book signing for Danny Allen, the owner and head chef of Sabrosa, which was located only three blocks down trendy Hibiscus Road from Title Wave. His new cookbook, \u003cem\u003eMiami Spice\u003c\/em\u003e, had come out a week earlier, and copies were selling briskly thanks to a relentless round of local and national publicity.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel knelt to give Homer a scritch under the chin. “Remind me to look for our black Sharpies later,” she told him, wishing as she so often did that her cats could actually talk to her.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHomer was delighted with the attention and pressed his face into Rachel’s hand. \u003ci\u003e“I will!”\u003c\/i\u003e he promised. He didn’t know why Rachel couldn’t understand him when he talked, when all three cats had no problem understanding each other or the humans around them. “Humans are slow,” was what Scarlett always said, although sometimes she’d grudgingly concede that Rachel was better than most of them. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eAs she flipped on the central AC, Rachel was grateful, not for the first time, that her apartment upstairs had its own separate unit. It would have been hard to justify air conditioning the entire building twenty-four hours a day in the blistering Miami heat, and Rachel didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her mom’s friend Dorothea. A retired teacher who’d once taught sixth grade at the elementary school where Rachel’s mother still taught first, Dorothea Wilson had had the foresight to invest her pension in Coacoochee real estate back when it was still cheap. She owned Title Wave Books, along with the building that housed it, and she’d come through with a new job and a new home just when Rachel had desperately needed both.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel was a thirty-year-old Miami native who’d never lived anywhere else. It was only six months ago that she’d moved east to Coacoochee from Miami’s Coral Gables, where she’d shared a home with the fiancé she was now no longer engaged to. A ten-minute drive up A1A from South Beach (assuming no traffic, which in Miami was never a safe assumption), and a world away from Coral Gables, Coacoochee was a sun-swept spot right on the Atlantic Ocean.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMeasuring two square miles in its entirety, Coacoochee was the very definition of a small town, albeit one that could hardly be described as “sleepy.” For most of Rachel’s youth, Coacoochee had been nothing more than a collection of dilapidated Art Deco buildings where, some thirty years earlier, entertainers who’d been famous during her mother’s youth had put on extravagant shows at the big hotels. Changing tastes and decades of neglect had left the town moldering into decay, its once-gorgeous Deco apartments mostly occupied by recent immigrants and broke retirees who couldn’t afford anything fancier. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThen the Eighties TV show \u003cem\u003eMiami Vice\u003c\/em\u003e had persuaded the rest of America there was still a hint of glamour to be found in South Florida. Artists and adventure seekers had flocked to Coacoochee, lovingly restored its shops and hotels, opened restaurants and nightclubs, and put the town back on the celebrity radar. These days, Coacoochee was practically overrun by the beautiful crowd. As Isabella Stuart, Coacoochee’s best-known gossip columnist, liked to say, it had become a playground for the genetically blessed.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eIt was also filled with plenty of the workaday types, like Rachel, who kept the whole thing running.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eRachel switched on the overhead track lights and got a pot of coffee started in the small café, carefully arranging muffins, scones, and croissants—delivered fresh that morning from Butterflake Bakery—in the display case. Homer, in the meantime, positioned himself atop the Local Authors display table, which was closest to the front entrance. The moment when the first customer of the day entered, and Title Wave’s front door opened onto Hibiscus Road, was always Homer’s favorite moment of the morning. He waited for it now—tail flicking, ears pricked, every ounce of him straining at attention. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eHibiscus Road was an open-air pedestrian mall that stretched twelve city blocks east to west, from the Oceanside Drive boardwalk at one end all the way down to apartment-lined Jacaranda Drive at the other. It was a vibrant blend of Mediterranean Revival, Midcentury Modern, and Nautical Moderne architecture, lined with restaurants, art galleries, eclectic shops, jazz clubs, nightclubs, a performance theater, and Coacoochee’s last remaining cigar store, where elderly Cuban men in colorful guayaberas gathered to sit outside and play dominoes over medianoche sandwiches. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eMinutes after Rachel had unbolted the front door and flipped the Closed sign to Open, the door swung wide with the day’s first customer and a cacophony of aromas from Hibiscus Road tumbled in. Homer smelled the tang of seaweed and salt water mingled with the sweetness of citrus blossoms from sidewalk planters; the woodsy fragrance of the royal palms that lined Hibiscus Road and the heady touch-up paint that city workers dabbed as needed on curbs and benches every morning; the fake-coconut smell of tourists drenched in sunscreen on their way to the beach, and the floral perfume of locals on their way to work; a profusion of exotic spices spilling from the back doors of trendy restaurants that wouldn’t open their front doors until later in the day.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThreading through it all: the aroma of the books around him, the fresh coffee brewing in the store’s café—and, most importantly, the reassuringly familiar scent of Rachel herself.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003eThe day’s first customer turned out to be Daisy Locarro, looking slightly the worse for wear but still undeniably stunning in what was clearly last night’s low-cut party dress. Originally from Palm Beach, Daisy had arrived in Coacoochee five years earlier for vaguely defined reasons. “Palm Beach was dull,” was what she was apt to say when anybody asked. Daisy always seemed to be working as a part-time assistant for this or that celebrity or Coacoochee notable, collecting gossip wherever she went. But the gigs never lasted long, and nobody was quite sure where she got the cash to finance her “party all night, sleep all day” lifestyle. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Here comes trouble,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Vashti observed from her favorite overstuffed armchair in New Fiction.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 18.0pt;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Look at that dress she's not wearing,\"\u003c\/em\u003e Scarlett added from her sunny spot in the front display window, one of two that flanked the store’s recessed entrance.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46740796866734,"sku":"9798989540174","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/paperback_afa7c8c1-e7d5-4107-b2ae-5673fa818640.png?v=1767541930"},{"product_id":"homers-odyssey-limited-edition-first-draft-facsimile-with-editorial-notes-only-15-available","title":"Homer's Odyssey: Limited Edition First Draft Facsimile with Editorial Notes (only 15 available!)","description":"\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eOnly 15 Copies Available\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003ePlease do \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eNOT\u003c\/span\u003e apply a discount code to this order. We will have to cancel and refund any order for this item that is placed using a discount code. \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eEvery two years, I produce an extraordinarily limited run of facsimiles that offer something no other edition can: a window into how Homer's story came to life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eThis exclusive collector's edition includes:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul class=\"[\u0026amp;:not(:last-child)_ul]:pb-1 [\u0026amp;:not(:last-child)_ol]:pb-1 list-disc space-y-2.5 pl-7\"\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eComplete facsimile of my original first draft manuscript of Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e - see the story as it first emerged, with all its raw energy and original passages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eMy editor's handwritten comments throughout\u003c\/strong\u003e - witness the collaborative process that shaped the New York Times bestseller read by millions!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eHigh-quality reproduction of an original color plate\u003c\/strong\u003e from the first edition\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003ePersonally signed and hand-numbered letter of authenticity\u003c\/strong\u003e (1 of 15)\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\n\u003cstrong\u003eFree shipping within the U.S.  \u003c\/strong\u003e(Outside the U.S., please email gwen@gwencooper.com for a price quote.)\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eFor devoted readers and collectors, this offers an intimate look behind the curtain at the creative process - the conversations between author and editor, the passages that changed, the moments of discovery that ultimately brought Homer's remarkable spirit to the page.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eAfter this edition sells out, it will be several years before I create another.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eEdition Details:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul class=\"[\u0026amp;:not(:last-child)_ul]:pb-1 [\u0026amp;:not(:last-child)_ol]:pb-1 list-disc space-y-2.5 pl-7\"\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eStrictly limited to 15 copies\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eHand-numbered 1-15\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eShips in protective packaging\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli class=\"whitespace-normal break-words\"\u003eAvailable exclusively through this store\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47063824826542,"sku":"Homer RD","price":150.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/20251021_113704.jpg?v=1761062070"},{"product_id":"homer-the-ninth-life-of-a-blind-wonder-cat-homer-book-2-copy","title":"Homer: The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat Audiobook (Homer Book #2)","description":"\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan style=\"color: #d04c40;\"\u003eA Journey of Love and Resilience...\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eIf you enjoy stories about:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e...you'll love Gwen Cooper's \u003cem\u003eHomer\u003c\/em\u003e series.\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong style=\"font-size: 0.875rem;\"\u003eWhat Readers Are Saying:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e\"Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of overcoming adversity and brings Homer's indomitable spirit to life. A must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003cspan style=\"color: #d04c40;\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Loved this sequel as much as the original Homer’s Odyssey!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I love everything about the Homer books. Incredibly inspiring and touching.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “I loved this book! I’ve read it over and over.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Touches the reader’s heart in a profound and lasting way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003c\/span\u003e “Read Homer only if you are a cat lover, compassionate, loving, or all of the above.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47123051839662,"sku":"9thLifeAud","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/9th_Life.jpg?v=1767541900"},{"product_id":"homers-odyssey-audiobook","title":"Homer's Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned About Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat (Homer Book #1)","description":"\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eLove isn't something you see with your eyes...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47123821232302,"sku":"HomerAud","price":25.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/Homer_s_Odyssey.jpg?v=1767541860"},{"product_id":"spray-anything-audio","title":"Spray Anything: More True Tales of Homer \u0026 the Gang (Homer Book #3) (Copy)","description":"\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“A\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003emust-read for Homer fans. Heartwarming and beautifully written.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“This\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ebook will delight you. Hard to put down once started!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Written\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ein a warm and humorous way as only Ms. Cooper can tell it.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Such\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ean enjoyable read!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“Love\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eGwen Cooper and all her cats!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47123836862638,"sku":"SprayAud","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/Spray_Anything.jpg?v=1763214393"},{"product_id":"pawsome-audio","title":"PAWSOME! Head Bonks, Raspy Tongues \u0026 101 Reasons Why Cats Make Us So, So Happy (PAWSOME! Book #1)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “Enjoyed every page. Hilarious and warm-hearted!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ “This is great! I can relate to almost everything in PAWSOME!”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e “Delightful\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eand funny.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ \u003cem\u003e“I\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003ehighly recommend this book for an enjoyable, ‘sure to make you laugh’ read.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐\u003cem\u003e“I thoroughly enjoyed this book!\"\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e#31: CATS SHOWER YOU WITH SURPRISE GIFTS JUST BECAUSE THEY THINK YOU’RE AWESOME\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eOne of the very great joys in life is receiving gifts. Unfortunately, gift-giving occasions come around all too infrequently—and too often with disappointing results. (Show of hands if your junk drawer contains no fewer than five gift cards entitling you to $25 worth of merchandise in some store you’ve never spent so much as $1 in.)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eAnd even assuming you’re one of the lucky few who can count on opening a delightful box of Just What You Wanted on Christmas or birthdays, how long has it been since someone surprised you with a thoughtful present given to commemorate nothing in particular? When was the last time somebody handed you a gift-wrapped box on a random Tuesday and said, \u003ci\u003eI’m giving you this present just because I think you rock?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eDo you have to think back more than ten years to answer that question? Or is the answer maybe, just maybe, never?\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eIf you live with a cat, I’m guessing your answer is more like, \u003ci\u003eA surprise gift? Why, I got one only last week! \u003c\/i\u003eAnd that’s because cats adore bringing their humans considerate little love tokens for no other reason than to tell us, as clearly as if they’d said it in words, \u003ci\u003eHey, you—you’re WONDERFUL.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"MsoNormal\" style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eTrue, our cats will rarely bring us something we would have picked out for ourselves. Cats, after all, are working within certain insurmountable limitations, such as not having charge accounts or access to Amazon Prime. Also\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\" class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003e, a cat’s worldview will differ in fundamental ways from a human’s, tending to veer more toward the practical. Sparkly baubles are all well and good, but something you can \u003ci\u003eeat\u003c\/i\u003e—now \u003ci\u003ethat’s\u003c\/i\u003e solid gold, baby!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\" class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eWhich is why your felicitous feline will considerately place a small mouse or songbird—or, in the case of my own strictly indoor cats, plastic-and-felt reproductions of same—on your pillow, instead of a diamond bracelet or silk Hermés scarf.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\" class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eBut it’s the thought that counts, and the thought in this case contains just as much downright, true-blue love as if it really were diamonds or silk. That fake mouse or disturbingly real songbird {{shudder}} is your cat’s way of letting you know that he was thinking about you for no darn reason other than the fact that you—yes, \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e—are so indescribably marvelous that he can’t help but think about you All. The. Time.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\" class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003eWho could put a price tag on that?\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;\" class=\"MsoNormal\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-size: 16.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';\"\u003ePAWSOME!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47127263641774,"sku":"BoPAud","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/Pawsome.jpg?v=1763214291"},{"product_id":"the-complete-cat-lovers-audio-bundle","title":"The COMPLETE Cat Lover's Audio Bundle (Homer Books #1 thru #4 plus PAWSOME!)","description":"\u003ch2\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e edition narrated by Gwen Cooper!\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAudiobooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer Returns (\u003cu\u003eWill be delivered the morning of \"Black Friday\" 11\/28\/25!\u003c\/u\u003e)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 PAWSOME: Head Bonks, Raspy Tongues \u0026amp; 101 Reasons Why Cats Make Us So, So Happy (\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eonly part of this bundle through Nov. 9th!\u003c\/span\u003e)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cbutton class=\"custom-buy-now-button\"\u003e\u003c\/button\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47127410213038,"sku":"catbunaudio","price":35.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/audiobook_bundle_1_6d9de33c-c0b3-48f2-9604-ca714cc3a961.png?v=1767541751"},{"product_id":"lstd-autographed-copy","title":"Love Saves the Day - Autographed Copy!","description":"\u003cp\u003eOrder a personally inscribed and autographed copy of \u003cstrong\u003eLove Saves the Day! \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eFree shipping included!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat's included:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003ePersonally inscribed and autographed paperback book!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli style=\"font-weight: bold;\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eEXCLUSIVE *\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eNEW*\u003c\/span\u003e BONUS STORY continuing Prudence the cat's adventures!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFree shipping!\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003ch2\u003e\u003cem\u003eA story of cats, courage, music, and love...\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"This book is about finding your way, mending broken relationships, and doing it all with a feline by your side. It's become my favorite book and I recommend it highly.\" \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cspan\u003e-Dolores, Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFeline wisdom\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eMothers and daughters\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“Prudence [is a] sassy but sensitive feline heroine.”—\u003cem\u003eTime\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“Unforgettably moving . . . a hard one to put down.”—\u003cem\u003eModern Cat\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“If you are the Most Important Person to a cat, you will hold them much tighter by the book’s end.”—The Vancouver \u003cem\u003eSun\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\n\u003c\/style\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThere are two ways humans have of not telling the truth. The first used to be hard for me to understand because it doesn’t come with any of the usual signs of not-truth-telling. Like the time Sarah called my white paws “socks.” Look at your adorable little socks, she said. Socks are what humans wear on their feet to make them more like cats’ paws. But my paws are already padded and soft, and I can’t imagine any self-respecting cat tolerating something as silly as socks for very long.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo at first I thought Sarah was trying to trick me by saying something that wasn’t true. Like the time she took me to the Bad Place and said, Don’t worry, they’re going to make you healthy and strong. I knew from the tightness in her voice when she put me into my carrier that some betrayal was coming. And it turned out I was right. They stabbed me with sharp things there and forced me to hold still while human fingers poked into every part of my body, even my mouth.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWhen it was all over, the lady who did it put me back into my carrier and told Sarah, Prudence has such cute white socks! She was smiling and calm when she said it, so I knew she wasn’t trying to trick Sarah like Sarah had tried to trick me about going there in the first place. I thought maybe I should lick my paws or do something to show them that these were my real feet, not the fake feet humans put on before they go outside. I thought that maybe humans weren’t as smart as cats and wouldn’t understand such subtle distinctions unless they were pointed out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThat was when I was very young, just a kitten, really—back when I first came to live with Sarah. Now I know that humans sometimes best understand the truth of things if they come at it indirectly. Like how sometimes the best way to catch a mouse that’s right in front of you is to back up a bit before you pounce.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd later at home, looking at my reflection in Sarah’s mirror (once I realized it wasn’t some other cat who was trying to take my home away from me), I saw how the bottoms of my legs did look a bit like the socks Sarah sometimes wears. Still, to say that they were socks and not that they looked like socks was clearly untrue.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe other way humans have of not telling the truth is when they’re trying to trick one another outright. Like when Laura visits and says, I’m sorry I haven’t been here in such a long time, Mom, I really wanted to come sooner… and it’s obvious, by the way her face turns light pink and her shoulders tense, that what she really means is she never wants to come here. And Sarah says, Oh, of course, I understand, when you can tell by the way her voice gets higher and her eyebrows scrunch up that she doesn’t understand at all.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI used to wonder where the rest of Laura’s littermates were and how come they never came over to see us. But I don’t think Laura has any littermates. Maybe humans have smaller litters than cats, or maybe something happened to the others. After all, I used to have littermates, too. But that was a long time ago. Before I found Sarah.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eIt’s because of music that I adopted Sarah. This was when I was very little and had been living outside with my littermates. We were running away from some rats one day, which are the most disgusting creatures in the whole world. They have horrible long teeth and claws, and they smell bad, and if they’re not chasing you to hurt you then they’re trying to steal whatever bits of food you’ve managed to find.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen it started to rain—a huge, terrifying thunderstorm that I was sure would drown every living thing that couldn’t find a hiding place. My littermates and I, between running from the rats and then trying to hide from the rain, got separated. I ended up tucking myself under a broken cement block in a big empty lot. I was scared to be alone for the first time in my life, and started mewing in the hope my littermates would hear me and come find me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eInstead, Sarah found me. Of course, I didn’t know she was Sarah then. I just knew she was a human—taller than most of them, with brown hair to her shoulders. She looked older than a lot of the humans who live in Lower East Side, but not really old.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eUsually, I’m good at staying hidden from humans when I don’t want them to find me. Most people would walk right past my hiding places without ever seeing me. I don’t think Sarah would have seen me, either, except that she stopped in front of the lot and stared at it for a long time. She stared so long that the clouds went away and the sun came out, and that’s when she spotted my hiding place.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI thought she was just going to walk away and leave me alone. Instead, she came closer and squatted down to hold out her hand to me. But I’d never been touched by a human before and didn’t trust any of them. Plus, I couldn’t understand what she was saying because I didn’t understand human language back then. I backed up until I fell into a puddle, shivering at how cold the rainwater made my fur.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd that’s when Sarah started singing. It was the first time I’d ever heard music—almost everything I’d heard until then were ugly and scary sounds, like machines, and things shattering on the sidewalk, or humans yelling at my littermates and me when they chased us away.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSarah’s music was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. I’d seen beautiful things before, like the plates of perfect food that people ate at outside tables in warm weather. Or the shady grass under trees in the park that humans go to, which meant my littermates and I could do nothing but hide from the humans and look with longing at how pretty the sunlight was and how cool the shade looked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eBut when Sarah sang, it was the first time something was beautiful just for me. Sarah’s music was my beautiful thing, and nobody was going to chase me away from it or try to take it from me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI couldn’t understand the words she was singing, but there were two words her song kept saying: Dear Prudence. She sang Dear Prudence right to me like it was my name. And it turns out Prudence was my name. I just didn’t know it yet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eBut Sarah knew it all along. That’s how I knew I could trust her, even though she was a human. I decided then and there to adopt her, because it was clear we were supposed to be together.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cstyle\u003e\n.custom-buy-now-button {\n    display: inline-block;\n    background-color: #2196F3; \/* Button color matching the theme *\/\n    color: white;\n    padding: 15px 25px;\n    text-decoration: none;\n    font-weight: bold;\n    border-radius: 5px;\n    margin-top: 20px;\n    box-shadow: 0px 4px 6px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); \/* Adds a subtle shadow *\/\n    text-align: center;\n    cursor: pointer;\n}\u003c\/style\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47127894655150,"sku":"PruSigned","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/autographed_by_author.png?v=1775572427"},{"product_id":"homer-collection-audio","title":"The Homer Collection Audio Bundle (Homer Books #1 and #2)","description":"\u003ch2\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e edition narrated by Gwen Cooper!\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAudiobooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer's Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c!----\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-width: 800px; margin: 20px auto; border: 2px solid #D04C40; border-radius: 10px; box-shadow: 0 4px 10px rgba(0,0,0,0.1); overflow: hidden; font-family: 'Merriweather', serif; background-color: #f8f9fa;\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"max-height: 600px; overflow-y: auto; padding: 20px;\"\u003e\n\u003ch2 style=\"margin-top: 0; color: #d04c40; font-size: 24px;\"\u003eSample Chapter\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003c!-- Sample Chapter Text --\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eYears ago, back when I still had only two cats, I was fond of saying that if I ever adopted a third I would name him Meow Tsetung and call him “The Chairman” for short.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Don’t look at me like that, it’ll be cute,” I would insist when my friends regarded me as if I were a loon. “Little Chairman Meow.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe joke was twofold: the name itself, and also the idea that I would adopt a third cat. I might never have taken the monumental step of adopting two except that I’d been living for three years with Jorge, the man I was sure I’d marry. We’d split up recently, and I had gained custody of our feline offspring—a sweet-tempered, fluffy white beauty named Vashti and a regal, moody gray tabby named Scarlett. I was grateful for my two girls every day, but also painfully aware of the potential complications they would create in my newly single life—not to mention my newly single finances.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThen one afternoon, a couple of months after Jorge and I broke up, I got a call from Patty, a young veterinarian only three years older than I was, who was the newest member at the practice that treated Scarlett and Vashti.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAn orphaned, four-week-old stray kitten had been abandoned in her office, she said, after a virulent eye infection had required surgical removal of both his eyes. The couple who had originally brought him in didn’t want him. Nor did any of the people on her adoption list, not even the ones who had expressed a specific interest in adopting a handicapped cat. I was her last call, the last possibility she could think of before…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eShe didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. I knew there was almost no chance that an eyeless kitten would be adopted from a shelter before his time ran out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eDon’t, warned the Greek chorus that lives inside my head. Yes, it’s sad, but you’re in no position to do anything about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI’d always been an obsessive reader, a passionate lover of books, and I knew the kind of power words had over me. Pitting me against words like blind, abandoned, unwanted, and orphan was like sending someone armed with a toy rifle into trench warfare.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eStill, I recognized the wisdom of my inner Greek chorus, even if I couldn’t be as coolly analytical as it was. So I said, “I’ll come in and meet him.” I paused. “I’m not promising anything, though.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI should note that, prior to this, I had never taken an I’ll meet him and we’ll see attitude when it came to pet adoption. It never occurred to me to meet the pet in question first, to see if he was “special” or whether there was some sort of unique bond between us. My philosophy when it came to pets was much like that of having children: You got what you got, and you loved them unconditionally regardless of whatever their personalities or flaws turned out to be. While I was growing up, my family adopted or fostered numerous dogs, almost all of whom were strays or had been abused in their previous homes. We’d had dogs who couldn’t be housebroken, dogs who chewed up carpeting and wallpaper, dogs who dug compulsively under fences or who even occasionally snapped when they were startled. My cats, Scarlett and Vashti, had been adopted a year apart from acquaintances who’d found them as six-week-old kittens—mange-ridden, half starved, and covered in fleas and sores—wandering the streets of Miami. I had committed to them sight unseen; the first time I’d met them had been the day they’d come to live with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eSo I felt more than a little dishonest, driving down to my vet’s office the following afternoon. Patty might not know it, but I knew myself well enough to understand that when I’d said, “I’ll come in and meet him,” what I’d meant was, I really don’t want a third cat right now, but I’d feel like a bad person if I gave you a straightforward no after hearing this cat’s story.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe receptionist at the vet’s office greeted me warmly as I entered, summoning Patty, who popped her head out from a door behind the reception desk with a cheerful, “Come on back!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eWe reached the last examination room at the end of a narrow, wood-paneled corridor, and Patty opened the door for me. On the exam table was a lidless plastic box. I walked over and peered in.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eHe’s so tiny was my first thought. Both of my cats had been almost this young when I’d taken them in, but I’d forgotten how absolutely tiny a four-week-old kitten is. He couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces. He had curled himself up in a miniature sphere in the farthest corner of the box, a fuzzy softball that would have fit easily into the palm of my hand. His fur was all black, and it had that static-electricity fluffiness that very small kittens have, as if their fur has actively rebelled against the notion of lying flat. Where his eyes had been were two tiny stitches, and around his neck was one of those plastic cones they put on pets to keep them from scratching stitches out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Hey there,” I said softly. I scrunched down a bit, so my voice would come from the kitten’s level and not sound too booming or scary. “Hey, little guy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThe black fuzzball in the corner of the box uncurled itself and stood up hesitantly. I tentatively reached a hand—a hand that suddenly seemed monstrous in size—into the box and lightly scratched the bottom of it. The kitten walked slowly toward the sound, his head bobbing uncertainly under the weight of the plastic cone. His nose bumped against one of my fingers, and he sniffed it curiously.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI glanced up at Patty, who said, “You can pick him up if you want to.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI lifted him carefully, cradling him just below my chest with one hand supporting his bottom and the other around his chest and front legs. “Hi, little boy,” I whispered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAt the sound of my voice, he turned himself around and reached up to my left shoulder with his front paws; they were so small, they sank between the cables of the light cotton sweater I was wearing. He struggled a bit, and I could tell he was trying to hoist his full weight onto my shoulder. But his claws, such as they were, were too tiny to get a good grip. Giving up, he twisted again and brought his face as close to where my jaw met my neck as the plastic cone would allow. He tried to rub his face against mine, although all I felt was plastic against my cheek. Then he started to purr. The cone funneled the sound until it was so loud, he sounded like an improbably small motor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eI had expected that, having no eyes, he would be incapable of conveying much expression—and it occurred to me that this, perhaps, was the secret fear of the people who’d refused to adopt him. A pet whose face couldn’t register love, couldn’t reflect emotion, might always feel like a stranger in your home.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eThis kitten didn’t have his eyes anymore, but the muscles around them had been left intact. And I could tell, from the shape the muscles were taking, that if he’d had eyelids they would have been half closed in an expression eminently familiar to me from my other two cats. It was an expression of utter contentment. The ease with which he slipped into it suggested that, despite everything he’d already been through—despite every reason he’d had to expect the opposite—in the depths of his kitten-y little soul, he’d always known there would be a place where he could feel completely warm and secure.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003eAnd now, at last, he’d found it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"color: #343a40; line-height: 1.8; font-size: 18px;\"\u003e“Oh, for God’s sake.” I put him gently back into his box, then rooted around in my purse for a tissue. “Wrap him up, I’m taking him home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47166777688238,"sku":"homcollaud","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/homer_collection_audio.png?v=1767541188"},{"product_id":"homer-anthology-audio","title":"The Homer Anthology Audio Bundle (Homer Books #3 and #4)","description":"\u003ch2\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e edition narrated by Gwen Cooper!\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAudiobooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer Returns (will be delivered on Friday, Nov. 28!)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47166940676270,"sku":"homanthaud","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/anthology_audio.png?v=1767540614"},{"product_id":"homer-chronicles-audio","title":"The Homer Chronicles Audio Bundle (Homer Books #2 and #3)","description":"\u003ch2\u003eThe \u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eONLY\u003c\/span\u003e edition narrated by Gwen Cooper!\u003c\/h2\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e is not just a book about a blind cat, it’s a testament to the power of love and resilience. Gwen Cooper’s narrative pulls you into a journey filled with heartwarming moments and incredible bravery. Homer’s story will make you laugh, cry, and believe in the extraordinary potential within all of us.\" \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e- USA Today\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003eContinue reading if you like:\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHeartwarming Animal Stories\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eUplifting Messages\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eBravery and Courage\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eHappy Endings!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"A truly remarkable tale of courage and love, Homer's Odyssey captures the essence of what it means to overcome adversity. Gwen Cooper’s vivid storytelling brings Homer’s indomitable spirit to life, making you fall in love with this little blind cat who sees with his heart. This book is a must-read for anyone who has ever loved an animal.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e - Amazon Reviewer\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003ch3\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAudiobooks Included in this Bundle:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/h3\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Homer - The Ninth Life of a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e🐾 Spray Anything - More True Tales of Homer and the Gang\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47166991466670,"sku":"homchronaud","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/chronicles_audio.png?v=1767540432"},{"product_id":"cat-wore-black-autographed","title":"THE CAT WORE BLACK - AUTOGRAPHED PRE-ORDER!","description":"\u003cp\u003eA personally inscribed and autographed copy of the second Homer Whodunit: \u003cstrong\u003eThe Cat Wore Black\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhat's included:\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cul\u003e\n\u003cli\u003ePersonally inscribed and autographed paperback book!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eComplimentary e-book \"gift with purchase\" for reading on the go!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eA Title Wave Books bookmark (because every good mystery deserves a good bookmark!)\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003cli\u003eFree shipping!\u003c\/li\u003e\n\u003c\/ul\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eCOMING SOON: Join Homer and the gang on Sunny Miami Beach for the second Homer Whodunit cozy mystery!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"font-claude-response-body break-words whitespace-normal leading-[1.7]\"\u003eIt's autumn 1998 in glamorous Coacoochee — just ten minutes up A1A from South Beach — and tourist season is about to kick off with the social event of the year: an exclusive fashion show and after-party aboard the yacht of movie star Claudia Campos. Champagne flows, flashbulbs pop, and a priceless emerald necklace steals the spotlight, draped around the neck of bookstore manager Rachel Baum's green-eyed cat, Vashti. Then the lights go out. When they come back on, the emerald has vanished. The event photographer lies dead. And everyone on the yacht is a suspect.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"font-claude-response-body break-words whitespace-normal leading-[1.7]\"\u003eRachel didn't plan to get involved. But the dead man was last seen arguing with someone she knows, the missing emerald belongs to one of her closest friends, and the deeper she digs, the more Rachel realizes nearly everyone at that party was keeping secrets long before the lights went out. Meanwhile, Rachel's three cats — led by her blind cat, Homer — have launched their own investigation, unaware that the closer they get to the truth, the more danger all four of them are in.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47721418260654,"sku":"CWBPRE","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/white_ereader.png?v=1775837204"},{"product_id":"au-the-homers-odyssey-10th-anniversary-scrapbook-au","title":"AU The \"Homer's Odyssey\" 10th Anniversary Scrapbook! (Bonus Homer Book!)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003eA book 10 years in the making…\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold\"\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo mark the 10th Anniversary of the publication of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s Odyssey: A Fearless Feline Tale, or How I Learned About Love and Life with a Blind Wonder Cat\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e, author and “Homer’s mom” Gwen Cooper has opened the vault to put together this OVERSIZED, full-color, beautifully decorated, keepsake scrapbook, which includes:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e•100+ oversized, full-color pages!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Hundreds of never-before-seen photos of Homer and his “fur family” from Gwen’s own family photo albums!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•A copy of the pitch letter for\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s Odyssey\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethat Gwen first sent to agents and editors back in 2008!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Pages from Gwen’s first draft of Homer’s Odyssey with her editor’s handwritten notes!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Homer’s very own superhero comic,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eThe Handicats!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e, appearing for the very first time in print!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•Touching new writing and stories offering “behind the scenes” glimpses into Homer’s family life!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e•And much, much more!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt doesn’t get more\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003epurr\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003esonal than this. This intimate, once-in-a-lifetime commemorative scrapbook is one you’re sure to treasure for years to come. Don’t miss out—grab your copy and become a part of\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003eHomer’s World\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan class=\"a-text-bold a-text-italic\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003etoday!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47734253224110,"sku":"9798989540167","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage71734.png?v=1767546207"},{"product_id":"prudences-day-off-paperback","title":"Prudence's Day Off: A Love Saves the Day Story (Paperback)","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003ePrudence returns--and she's as feisty, opinionated, and secretly tender-hearted as you remember!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePrudence is older now, and a few things have changed — she's a little creakier, a little less patient with nonsense. But she's still the same dignified cat she's always been. At least, that's what she tells herself. When twelve-year-old Sarah leaves for summer camp with a rift between them still unhealed, Prudence is left with a quiet house, a worried Laura, and a mouse she can't seem to catch. Then one impulsive chase sends her out the front door and into Hamilton Park — a place she's watched from her window for ten years but has never actually \u003cem\u003ebeen\u003c\/em\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFrom the New York Times bestselling author of \u003cstrong\u003eHomer's Odyssey\u003c\/strong\u003e comes an unexpected adventure with the unforgettable narrator of \u003cstrong\u003eLove Saves the Day\u003c\/strong\u003e. \u003cstrong\u003e\"Prudence's Day Off\"\u003c\/strong\u003e is funny, tender, and full of feline wisdom about love, family, and finding your way back to both.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Gwen Cooper","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47738559070382,"sku":"9798989540181","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0645\/0030\/1998\/files\/BookBrushImage5.png?v=1776263449"}],"url":"https:\/\/shop.gwencooper.com\/collections\/facebook-display.oembed","provider":"Gwen Cooper Cat Books","version":"1.0","type":"link"}