{"id":19137,"date":"2025-03-18T18:37:28","date_gmt":"2025-03-18T23:37:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=19137"},"modified":"2025-03-26T11:12:49","modified_gmt":"2025-03-26T16:12:49","slug":"lifespan-lovespan-the-golden-storm","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/03\/18\/lifespan-lovespan-the-golden-storm\/","title":{"rendered":"Lifespan, Lovespan &amp; The Golden Storm"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>Lifespan, Lovespan &amp; The Golden Storm<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Tara Flaherty Guy<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>Lifespan, Lovespan<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><br>Lucy lies in a splash of late afternoon sun where it slants in through the patio door, warming the carpet and her soft grey fur. It is unseasonably warm for late October, and the patio door is open. The whispered shhhh, shhhh, of dry leaves blowing across the deck is a soothing sound, like a mother comforting a fretful baby. I would lift Lucy up and whisper that sound to her, but it hurts her to be picked up now; I can tell by the low sound she utters whenever I try. Moreover, she has gone completely deaf in the last few years, and my leaf-lullaby would go unheard. Her soft grey and pink ears no longer twitch and turn toward the slightest sound as they did in her youth; Lucy is 22 years old now. The grand old dame of our house has reached a remarkable age for a cat. And now she is dying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">In her wakeful moments, which are fewer and fewer, she watches the household goings-on<br>through half-closed eyes, placidly ignoring the other cats. No matter, she was never a favorite among them\u2014she was always inexplicably an outcast, an interloper. Through the years her friendly overtures and inquiring sniffs were rebuffed, even hissed at. Given her sweet and malleable disposition, this is a mystery to me \u2013 one I will never understand. I once had a cat psychologist from the University come and observe the group dynamic. Several hundred dollars later, her company remained spurned by the other cats; there were no shared baskets, no furry limbs entwined in a drowsy tangle, never was she a maternal substitute for any of the various kittens who came and went. It has led to a rather solitary life for her, at least among her own kind. Gentle soul that she is, she has lived her whole life virtually friendless. Except for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">So it is that in these, her last days, her dimming eyes seek me out, as though I were a<br>talisman, a mile marker, a touchstone. She watches me move through my days as though I were the sun and she the sunflower, turning, always toward me, as I move across her sky. I know with certainty and regret that I am her whole world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The warm breeze gusts in through the patio door, and I hear the susurration of the<br>leaves again, a late autumn sound, sad and sweet. I lie down next to Lucy on the floor,<br>and put my face close to hers, reaching out to stroke her. I see with a small shock that there<br>are large tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Surely a side effect of the various<br>maladies afflicting her, I think; but I\u2019m suddenly struck by a memory that comes<br>unbidden, of my father\u2019s last days, which also wound down amidst the muted golds and russets of all. One late afternoon I went to check on him and found him awake and weeping softly in the twilight of his sickroom. I bent over him and saw tears overspilling and trickling down his cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong Dad? Do you hurt somewhere?\u201d Lucid for the first time in days, he<br>squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cNo, I\u2019m just sad,\u201d he said quietly and turned his face to the wall. He died the next day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I wipe away Lucy\u2019s tears, like I did for my dad, then I wipe my own, as the westering sun<br>sinks low on the horizon. A half-laugh, half hiccupping little sob escapes me as I imagine my dad\u2019s faux umbrage at me drying the tears of of my old grey cat just as tenderly as I had dried his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><em>Maybe we all know when our days are near finished<\/em>, I think. <em>No matter our species<\/em>. Suddenly I long for a world where love doesn\u2019t always end in loss, where lovespan doesn\u2019t exceed lifespan. I gently gather my old, deaf cat to my breast. She will not hear the leaves\u2019 lullaby, but she will feel my heart beating next to hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>The Golden Storm<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I am old now, rather long in the tooth as they say, but the memory is clear, intact, like a<br>dragonfly set in amber. I have heard it said I was about eight weeks old the day I met my sister,<br>Maggie, though naturally I would have no way of verifying this. It happened on the same<br>momentous day that the woman arrived and freed me from my grievous captivity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The first I saw of the woman was when the Captor opened the door to our large chamber<br>and ushered her in, explaining, with a flair for the obvious, that this was the \u201cCat Room.\u201d Inviting the visitor to make herself at home, the Captor turned and left, quietly closing the chamber door behind her. The visitor moved slowly around the room, opening our cage doors, speaking quietly, cajolingly. In fact, she was speaking Cat, with small mews, and chirps that are impossible to spell using the inadequate human alphabet, but might be best symbolized by, \u201cBrrrrrrt!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cCome on out,\u201d She purred at me and my siblings. Instantly heartened by the kind, albeit<br>human face peering in at me, I disentangled from the furry pile of my entwined brothers and sisters, and in a giant leap of faith, sprang out of our cage directly at her. To her credit, her reflexes were as sharp as if kittens flung themselves at her bosom every day. They were not cat-quick, of course, but they were superior. She caught me, and held me to her breast, where I could feel her heart beating in a timbre which \u2014though slower and with larger bass notes\u2014reminded me of Mother\u2019s heartbeat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cSadie,\u201d She whispered. \u201cYes, you look like a Sadie,\u201d She repeated, stroking my head,<br>massaging my ears and generally imbuing me with such a sense of security and it must be said, love, that I knew that she must be mine. And she was. Subsequently, though she moved around to the other cages in the room putting gentle fingers forward through other wire doors, she returned to me\u2014 our bond instant, undeniable, and irrevocable. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">When the Captor reentered our chamber, the woman made arrangements, exchanging a<br>handful of the worthless green papers that they use for trading, in return for me. Gently placing me in a container-contraption with holes in the walls, and a swinging barred front door, we were soon in her conveyance, humming and bumping down the road toward what I intuited would be my destiny. I would be hers forever, I was certain of it, until one of us shuffled off this mortal coil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The conveyance eventually slowed, then stopped, and I felt myself lifted aloft in my<br>container, and transported into a large, cool, unfamiliar space. I detected all manner of interesting scents and smells, which I was heartened to discover, did not include the ubiquitous cat-toilet smell I had been breathing for weeks. I couldn\u2019t see her, but the woman continued speaking to me softly in Cat, as though to reassure me, which I remember appreciating, even as young as I was. She gently lowered my container to the floor, landing me softly upon plush carpeting. Once there, she gently pinched open the latch on my container and swung wide my prison door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Encouraged by her continuous brrrrrrts and tiny mews, I tumbled with young kitten<br>clumsiness outside of the container. I remember staring rather dazedly around me, intimidated by the vast new area, which apart from myself, appeared to be Cat-free, something I had not<br>experienced until then. It was at precisely that moment that I heard what I would later recognize as a door slamming open, then a louder, deeper voice than hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cAre you home? Did you get one?\u201d I heard the big voice say from a distance, which I could<br>tell by the up-Doppler effect, was approaching me and the woman from somewhere away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cYes,\u201d she said quietly, then added, \u201cShhhhhhhhh&#8230;.not so loud, she\u2019s afraid.\u201d I blessed her<br>kind heart, and shrank back against her knee, gazing up the tall new human with the loud voice who seemed to have no thought or care for my sensibilities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWell, let\u2019s see how this goes,\u201d he said without further preamble, and strode across the<br>room. Pulling back a sliding glass door, he called out into the wilderness that I could see beyond the chamber walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cMaggie, come! Here, Mags, come meet the new kitty!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">In the blink of an eye, without allowing me even a millisecond of preparation, a huge golden<br>hurricane rocketed through the open door and bore down upon me with an incalculable velocity. It uttered a sharp sound which I would come to understand later was a \u201cbark,\u201d which turned my bowels into ice water, and then it was upon me! This honey-colored force majeure was all long fur, terrifying gigantic eyes, slavering tongue, cold nudging nose, and unbearable breath. The monster began emitting a high-pitched whistling sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I will ask you to remember as I acknowledge what was perhaps one of my lowest moments<br>that I was just a kitten, unknowledgeable in the ways of the world, and suddenly apprehended by a slavering beast. I sprang straight up into the air a distance at least four times my own height, then I\u2019m sorry to say, my bladder loosed itself all over the plush carpet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">At that, the tall, loud one swore, and pivoted, sprinting off as though I had detonated an<br>explosive device in the chamber. The woman picked me up and held me to her heart again, away from the golden storm, an action which calmed me then, and many times to come, in what would be our long life together. The boorish one returned with a cloth and a red container labeled \u201cResolve,\u201d and set about spraying and scrubbing the exact site of my humiliation, an action which did nothing to endear him to me; he acted as though my innocent, terrified emission was akin to a hazardous waste trainwreck in a rural river town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">If you haven\u2019t discerned it by now, the golden hurricane was in fact my sister, Maggie. She<br>was a dog, of the sort I have heard referred to as \u201cGolden Retriever,\u201d a purebred status which to her credit, she never did lord over me. What I would come to learn in the 13 years that my sister Maggie and I had together, was that her hurricane was made of love. Her rain was slobbery kisses, her wind the whistling whine of delight, her nudging cold nose was simply an invitation to join her in play, which turned out to be Maggie\u2019s raison d\u2019\u00eatre. And though it is widely known that cats prefer \u201cnapping\u201d to \u201cplaying,\u201d I daresay we came to a mutual understanding, and indulged ourselves in both in happy proportion, for all our years together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">When Maggie reached the end of her days, I was at her side in quiet, purring support, and<br>stayed there until she breathed her last. Our humans laid her to rest under the riotous lilacs on the lakeside of our home, where I visit whenever I\u2019m permitted out of the house. I\u2019ll never forget my sister, Maggie \u2013 that great golden storm \u2013 whom, to my great surprise, I loved my whole life long<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"450\" height=\"351\" class=\"wp-image-19308\" style=\"width: 450px\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2025\/03\/Lucys_Last_Day-e1742826707808.jpg\" alt=\"\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Tara Flaherty Guy<\/strong>&#8216;s cat, Lucy, who &#8220;Lifespan, Lovespan&#8221; is written about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"450\" height=\"323\" class=\"wp-image-19310\" style=\"width: 450px\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2025\/03\/Baby_Sadie-e1742828435196.jpg\" alt=\"\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">A picture of Sadie who narrates &#8220;The Golden Storm&#8221;.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Tara Flaherty Guy<\/strong> is a creative writer living in St. Paul, MN. Her work has been published in <em>Talking Stick<\/em>, <em>Miracle Monocle<\/em>, <em>Emerge Literary Magazine<\/em>, <em>Exposed Brick<\/em>, and <em>Longridge Review<\/em> among others. Guy has a BA in Creative Writing from Metropolitan State University in St. Paul, Minnesota, where she lives with her husband and three geriatric, self-involved cats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">\ud83e\udca0 <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/03\/19\/letter-from-the-guest-editor-10\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/03\/18\/morning-light\/\">Next<\/a> \ud83e\udca1<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Lifespan, Lovespan &amp; The Golden Storm Tara Flaherty Guy __________ Lifespan, Lovespan Lucy lies in a splash of late afternoon sun where it slants in through the patio door, warming the carpet and her soft grey fur. It is unseasonably warm for late October, and the patio door is open. The whispered shhhh, shhhh, of&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[75,173,14],"class_list":["post-19137","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-boudin","tag-cnf-2","tag-cnf"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19137"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19137\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19311,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19137\/revisions\/19311"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}