We all must compromise sometimes. Hopefully we work with people who sympathize with our deepest desires and won’t ask us to compromise too much too often. Art and love. It’s like breathing in and breathing out. They make my life go pitter pat.

I haven’t gotten the kabash, yet, from Laura Godwin, my publisher at Henry Holt, but I knew moments after I wrote the dedication to Velvet Paws, Pointy Claws, that I would have to compromise.

I dedicate the book to my first true love cat, Olif (pronounced Oh-Leaf). I had just lost a white cat named, Filo (pronounced Fee Low). Olif is Filo spelled backward, as he was everything she wasn’t. She was white and flakey, he was black and dependable. At a young age, Filo ran off to join a punk rock group down the street while Olif nested with me for 16 sweet years. I had a lot of names for Olif, like I do all my animals. Olif mostly went by Teeters or Leafy, or, A Small Black God with a Tremendous Intellect. Or, El Greco the Master Tile Setter. His sidekick for many years was a brain challenged little cat I found out in nowhere as a tiny kitten castaway. His day-to-day name was Birdy Merriweather, but he also went by, Young Tim Wakefield A Small but Aspiring Medical Student. I also called Olif, The Rabbi, for the way he slept curled on the pillow above my head in winter. My cat hat.

Olif was murdered by a pit bull in our backyard in Los Angeles, Eagle Rock neighborhood. I blame the dog’s non existent owners. I knocked on doors asking if anyone knew who owned the dog. I led him up the hill and asked the guy I thought he lived with, “Is this your dog? If not, I’m turning him in. He just killed another cat.” The guy shook his head ‘no.’ Maybe he didn’t understand english. I asked myself that a lot in those days. He was the kind of owner who gives pit bulls a bad name. He allowed his dog to roam free killing cats and beating up dogs. How do I know? I saw him, and turned him in to the law 3 times, only to see Missing Cat! signs reappear and get glimpses of the white and butterscotch muscle-mouth dog who wore only a chain around his neck and balls under his tail. He needed an editor… he needed to compromise.

But back to the pleasing of people.

Editors have a tough job. They need to stay 2 steps ahead, while not offending the norm. Words like, “god” and “black” might be offensive to some people. Or people might think they should find them offensive cause maybe their aunt would. I’ll betcha. I’ve worked in media long enough to know Norm. OK, here’s the dedication I have today:

“For Olif, a small black god with a tremendous intellect, a powerful hunger and a crumpled little tail.”

Here’s what I’ll have in the book:

“For Olif, a small loud cat with a tremendous intellect, a powerful hunger and a crumpled little tail.” Or something like that.

Ultimately it doesn’t matter what someone else reads. He was my small black god and I’ll worship his memory no matter what I say.

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