If you’ve ever loved a pet…

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I’m going to share a local story that made me cry.

But in a good way, as it has a beautiful ending.

Mainers have been following updates on this tale for the past few weeks and the entire timeline below is quoted from Sullivan Sanctuary.

Let me know if you’re crying at the end too.

😉

Hi… my name has been Pie, and Charlie, and Phoenix.
But today, I want to tell you my whole story — the way I lived it.

When I was a tiny kitten, a little girl named Abby picked me up and held me close. She was seven, and she smelled like crayons and summertime. She named me Pie, and I loved the way she said it — soft and warm, like a hug. I grew up with her. I slept on her pillow every night. I followed her everywhere. I was her best friend, and she was mine.

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One day, when Abby was eighteen, she took me to Petco in xxxxxx to be groomed. We lived in xxxxxx, so the drive felt familiar. But when we got there… something scared me. A noise, a smell, a moment too big. I panicked. I ran. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to leave her. But my paws carried me into the woods behind the parking lot, and suddenly I couldn’t find her anymore.

I heard her calling for me.
I heard her crying.
I tried to go back, but I was too scared and too lost.

For days, Abby and her family searched. They walked the woods. They called my name. They made flyers and hung them everywhere. I saw one once — my own face staring back at me — but I didn’t know how to get home.

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July turned into August. Abby had to leave for college. I didn’t know that, but I felt her sadness in the air. I felt the world change.

And I kept walking.

For two long months, I wandered through Maine’s woods. I slept under trees. I hid from storms. I was hungry, scared, tired, and lonely. But I kept going, because something inside me whispered that love might still be out there.

One late September day, I came upon a house in xxxxx . I was so tired. My paws hurt. My belly hurt. My heart hurt. A young boy walked into the yard — gentle, quiet, kind. His name was Joey.

He knelt down slowly.
I walked to him.
And for the first time in months… I felt safe.

Joey called me Charlie. It wasn’t the name I grew up with, but it felt like love. And I could tell Joey needed me. So I stayed.

For five beautiful years, I was Joey’s cat. I greeted him after school. I slept beside him. I played with his siblings. I watched him grow up. I loved him, too — because my heart has always had room for more.

Meanwhile, Abby was growing up far away. She went to college. She fell in love. She built her life. But when her father passed away suddenly three years ago, she started searching for me again. She checked shelters. She checked social media. She held onto a tiny hope that I might still be alive.

I didn’t know she was looking for me.
But I never stopped loving her.

In January 2026, my body started to feel strange. I was losing weight. I was having accidents. I didn’t understand what was happening. Joey’s mom took me to the vet, and they said I was an older diabetic cat. Joey gave me insulin every day. He tried so hard to help me.

But in September, Joey’s family went on a weekend trip. Someone was coming to feed me and give me my medicine, but I fell asleep in the sun and missed my dose. The next day, I felt dizzy and confused. My legs didn’t work right. I wandered away — not far, but far enough that I couldn’t get back.

I saw a kind lady. I walked up to her because I didn’t feel good and I didn’t know what else to do. She gave me food and water and called for help.

That’s when Sullivan Sanctuary found me.

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Peyton and Lindsay scooped me up gently, whispering soft things. They brought me to Casey, who made me a warm bed and called me Phoenix, because I looked like a cat trying to rise again. They rushed me to the emergency vet because they knew I was in trouble.

They tried to find my family — and they did. Joey’s mom was so worried. They loved me so much. But when they learned how sick I was, they made the brave, heartbreaking choice to let the Sanctuary take over so I could survive.

They saved my life.

And then… something unbelievable happened.

A woman saw my picture online. She stared at my freckles. She sent photos. She asked questions. And suddenly everyone realized:

I wasn’t just Charlie.
I wasn’t just Phoenix.
I was Pie.
Abby’s Pie.
Her childhood best friend.

After five years, she found me.

When Abby walked into the room at the vet, I didn’t understand at first. I sniffed the air. I listened to her voice. And then… something inside me lit up like it had been waiting all this time.

I knew her.
I remembered her.
My girl.

I leaned into her hands and felt home again.

Abby and her husband followed Casey back to the Sanctuary, where Lindsay met them. Everyone cried and laughed and connected the dots of my long, winding journey. They told me I was going home.

On Sunday, I’ll go back to Abby — back to the place where I first learned what love was. I’ll see Owen, my old kitty friend. Abby will give me my medicine. And the Sanctuary will visit me. And Joey… Joey can visit too. Because I love him, and he loved me, and Abby said he will always be welcome.

I had three names.
I had three families.
And I loved them all.

I survived woods, winters, illness, and time.
I found love over and over again.
And I never stopped trying to find my way home.

My name is Pie–Charlie–Phoenix.
And this…
this is my story.

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Just looking at the final picture chokes me up.

Love.

It really does conquer all.

❤️

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News you can’t use.

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Bringing you all the news that’s not fit to print every Monday… just because I can.

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Have we been doing this?

I was unaware.

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I suppose that would be handy if you get the urge to bake Martian bread.

Just knock down a wall.

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This explains so much.

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My first thought on reading this?

You’re an idiot.

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And look. I was right.

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Woodchucks are a type of marmot and we have an entire woodchuck family under our barn.

My sandals are scared.

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A little family history.

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This is the home where my father grew up in England.

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That’s him in the foreground as a little fellow.

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This is the family at the rear of the house, my father second from the right.

It was a glorious estate named Lovell and I’m fortunate to have an album full of old photos from the turn of the century.

I’ve tried to research its history over the years but was never able to find much, even though I have the original address.

Enter my nemesis, AI.

And though I loathe its very existence and hate to admit its usefulness.…. after posing just one question I had a full break down in seconds.

Damn it.

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My grandfather is on the bench at the left.

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Top to bottom… my father, grandfather, and aunt.

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The whole clan. Grandfather seated on the right with grandmother standing beside. My father and aunt on the grass. Great grandmother and great grandfather (who looks like a marvelous old character!) seated on the left.

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The gardening staff. Caring for what seemed to be a popular picture taking backdrop.

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Reduced to flats.

Understandable, but still sad.

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It’s a shame so little of the original house stands today.

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It was always on my bucket list to find, but now that I have? It hardly seems worth the trip.

😰

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Meanwhile, in Maine.

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I love living in my state and especially in one of its rural towns.

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We’ve had our neighbor’s horses, goats and chickens all wander over to say hello but as of yet, no cows.

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I want cows too!

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That’s a traffic jam you’ll never see in the city.

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Whaaat?

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And people think Oregon is weird….

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🤣

Closer to home, the geese are on the move.

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A few cold nights is all it takes for these birds to say sayonara and head for warmer shores.

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We were invited to dinner at a friend’s house recently and I made my cappuccino mousse trifle with raspberries.

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It’s always a hit and in exchange? Our British ex pat friends shared a lovely bottle of gin they picked up in Scotland that I’d never even heard of.

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Ooh la la.

If you’re a G&T fan? This is delightful. Smooth, crisp and oddly… almost creamy. It’s made with hand harvested sugar kelp seaweed and is a true small batch gem from the Outer Hebrides.

It’s not available in Maine, so I may have to make a pilgrimage to Boston soon.

🍸

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Let’s play.

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You know the drill.

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I’m going with 4 and 6.

4. When we visited France… me with very rudimentary French language skills and my husband with a non existent grasp… we felt like fish out of water, which resulted in many strange hand signals that probably insulted the natives. (It was pre cell phone days, no on demand translator for us) So yes, being able to converse without looking like brain dead baboons would be helpful.

6. First class is ridiculously more expensive than business so I rarely if ever book it. But it would be nice to have a little more elbow room and a full can of Coke.

As for the rest, we’re retired and don’t need vacation days.

Perfect weather is nice, but it’s on those gloomy rainy days that we discover the great museums and art galleries.

I’m a type A researcher. If there’s a secret spot? I’ll find it.

Make lifelong friends? My husband will talk to a rock. We never meet strangers.

Now you.

Pick two!

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What a waste of time.

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The knee surgery saga continues.

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And at 62?

It’s time for replacement parts.

The husband and I (his presence was mandatory as my designated care giver) spent a mind numbing two and a half hours in a conference room at the hospital the other day, sitting through a class of pre and post op information I’ve already been given three times.

Seriously, the lecture and presentation were word for word identical to the large folder of material given to me by the orthopedist.

I’d say it was a complete waste of time, but I did learn not to pack a lizard in my bag….

So there’s that.

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And yes..

That was an actual part of the presentation.

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I sneaked a picture for the blog and earned a dirty look from the nurse.

If she holds it against me in the operating room? I’m blaming you.

🤣

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Meaningless Maps

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Another round of useless statistics for your viewing pleasure.

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Looks like a lot of people stick close to home.

I wasn’t born in Maine, but I got here as quick as I could.

😉

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Notice the Pacific Northwest map says weed, not weeds.

🤣

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Maine doesn’t have any 100,000 plus cities. And that’s fine with me.

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Sorry.

I couldn’t resist.

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To a menopausal, hot flashing woman?

44 sounds perfect.

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I wish we had that much snow, but sadly we haven’t for years.

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Half a tree is better than none.

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There’s a crabapple tree in our stone garden bed.

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We didn’t plant it, but it sprouted and grew well…. so we let it be.

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Ten years later it perfumes our yard with blossoms in the spring and provides shade for the flowers and respite for the birds.

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Until this week when it literally split in half.

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The lower section on the left broke away from the trunk and got tangled up in the other big section resulting in a mess.

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Knowing it was going to break off and wreck havoc in the first storm, we decided to cut off the broken parts.

😰

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Which were absolutely loaded with fruit.

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I hated to do it, but there really was no choice.

And as with most projects around Casa River as soon as we started…. things went wrong.

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After a few initial swipes with the chain saw?

The chain fell off. And when we tried to fix it?

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It started to rain which drove us into the shed.

Grrr.

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Half an hour later we were back at it.

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With me sighing as each branch fell.

I hate cutting mature trees.

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But kudos to my husband for not destroying my blooming sedum.

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Only one blossom lost.

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The garden bed looks like hell because my knee hurt too much to tend it this year and we’ve had a horrible drought all summer.

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My knee isn’t the only thing crunching around here.

Everything is brown.

😩

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News you can’t use.

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More pointless facts to fill your brain.

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Unless they settled the age old boxers vs briefs debate? I’m not sure I care.

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Sadly it doesn’t. And it’s a knee friendly exercise, so… damn.

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While it would feed a lot more people than my usual chicken, I’m not sure I’m up for fixing that much stuffing.

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I just finished watching Monarch – Legacy of Monsters with Kurt Russell. Lesson learned?

Do Not Explore The Underground Forests!

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Here’s a novel idea …

Stop fracking.

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I can’t speak for everyone, but personally?

No.

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I have a date!

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No, I haven’t been scrolling Bumble or eHarmony…

But the orthopedist scheduler finally called and it looks like my crunchy pain riddled knee will be on the table by the end of October.

I’m happy to finally have a date, but still immensely frustrated with the process and our healthcare system in general.

I started this journey in January. Which means a nine month wait.

I waited 3 weeks for an appointment with my primary.

Waited 6 months for an appointment with the orthopedic PA.

Waited another month to see the orthopedist.

Waited almost another month to be scheduled.

Then two appointments at the dentist… so I could be ripped off to the tune of $3,500 …. for a clearance letter.

Followed by an appointment at the hospital for an EKG, MRSA swab and multiple blood tests.

Still to come?

A 2 1/2 hour pre op class.

An hour long pre op phone call with the surgical nurse.

An appointment with my primary… again… for another clearance letter.

A pre op appointment with the PA and an orthopedic nurse.

Then, finally… the surgery.

10 appointments in nine months for a partial knee replacement. When I had my full abdominal hysterectomy in 2015? It went like this – primary sent me to a gynecologist, gynecologist said you need a hysterectomy, 3 weeks later I had a hysterectomy. To my mind that was a major surgery and I zipped through it with ease.

This has been a nightmare in comparison. Though I’ve had friends tell me it’s taken them upwards of a year.

That’s just wrong.

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It damn well better be.

😉

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