Todd Johnson review: I really enjoyed Stubs Feral. It is a rich, compelling story, and I had fun reading it. From the well developed characters, especially Twigy, to the all of the wonderful greyhound stories, to Twigy's interaction with the school kids, to the fanstatic, well imagined life of Stubs and all of his magical powers and relationships, it is a good read.Great job bringing in Kitty O'Really, the internal critic, who says things that the reader is thinking: "Move it on, Twigy," "Good show," etc. Kitty works as a foil for Twigy to highlight Twigy's traits and provide a great deal of contrast, and some of that is lost at the end with the transformation. Maybe the idea is that Kitty represents deception/trickery/showbiz/myth, all of which provide import.Twigy's story, which he keeps calling his father's story, is about the cat, but it's also about so much more, including: community, tradition, myth, storytelling, relationships between humans and humans and animals, family, dog racing, and the supernatural, among other things. As he tells it, I sometimes questioned whether he was a credible narrator because he questions himself, questions his age, questions reality, talks with animals, listens to Cowboy Buckaroo, He even questions his role in chapter 29, which I suppose is something that all older folks do.. The questions, however, all fall to the wayside as more and more kids and teachers are part of the audience, and more and more the reader is willing to suspend any disbelief while waiting to see what happens next. That is a true sign of a successful story.*********Where'd you come from? Dad asks.The cat meows.The two ladies across the aisle hear the meow. One says: Is that a cat?The cat jumps up in his lap.Well, you're a friendly one, Dad says. He grunts at the weight. You're a big one.Dad scratches an ear and the cat hisses, shows teeth, sniffs Dad's duct tape, licks it, and then hisses, a screeching hiss that goes up and down the dining car.That catches everybody's attention. Heads snap; wide eyes stare. Dad smiles, points and nods at his lap. Dad holds up his hand, index finger pointing at the ceiling.Everybody's eyes center on the hand wrapped with duct tape. "I injured my hand," Dad yells, for all to hear. I had no bandage, I mean the regular kind. I think it smells bad to this cat. The cat continues to lick away at it. Don't do that, Dad says, moving his hand away. The cat follows it, keeps licking.One of the ladies across the way feels informative, announces in a loud stage whisper: It's a cat!The dining car attendant jovially confirms: Cat! He says, pointing.Cat! Everybody informs everybody, and down the dining car it goes.Cat?Cat.One fellow at the other end of the car is hard of hearing.CAT! His table partner yells.That your cat? A voice floats down the aisle from the other side of the car.Dad shrugs, shakes his head. Negative.Another voice: Well then, whose cat is it?And yet another voice, from the far end of the car: Better toss that cat out the door, or that cat will be trapped on the train.Too late. Train left the station. No way. You don't open a door on a moving passenger train. Period. Throw the cat out of a moving passenger train? Who would do something like that?Austin, Joel and Hugo raise their hands.
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