“Human sacrifice, dogs and cats, living together… mass hysteria!”
That’s right, the great Bill Murray aka Dr. Peter Venkman, in that cinematic masterpiece: Ghostbusters.
Why yes, Dr. Venkman, we have a bit of mass hysteria going on at my house at the moment. We have adopted a cat.
I am not a cat person – my friends and family know this. I like dogs. I have been a firm member of “Team Canine” all of my life. Yet, here I am, coexisting with a cat. How did this happen you ask?
Three weeks ago, it was a dark and stormy night – literally. Late in the evening I was walking our dog Taz and as we trouped up the driveway, out from under the car was this pitiful little cry. Ugh, a cat.
I sent hubby Greg out to investigate and he returned with this little mess of a thing wrapped up in his shirt. Even I could see she was in real trouble – just a bag of bones, wearing a little blue collar with a bell, wet, tired, and severely malnourished. A midnight run to the store for kitty litter and cat food and here we are almost a month later, still cohabitating; the owner yet to be found. I thought my ace-in-the-hole would be Taz. Wrong: turns out he’s a cat lover – thanks a lot dude.
Having a cat in my house flies in the face of everything that I know to be true about myself. My disdain for cats goes way back in my personal history. There is even a decades old ugly rumor that I killed my BFF Danielle’s cat: Tisha. It’s not true, but the damn thing did die two weeks after it scared the hell out of me one night during a sleepover.
If I’m being honest, the cat is beginning to grow on me. Her big green eyes are very charming when she’s trying to get my attention. I’m reminded that Taz and I weren’t exactly the best of buddies in the beginning of our relationship eleven years ago. If you’ve read my book , you know that Taz and I have faced challenges such as the time he ate my wedding bouquet, and when he peed on the Christmas tree, and when he shit all over the front door (probably because he ate my wedding bouquet). We survived all the perils and he’s become the very best companion and truly part of the family.
There are some tell-tale signs that the cat is now also moving toward permanent fixture status:
What I’ve learned from this experience so far:
- I’ve mastered the intricacies of cleaning out the litter box.
- Cats, on principle, don’t generally respond to here kitty, kitty; they seem to walk away in the opposite direction, only to materialize out of thin air quite suddenly – when you least expect it.
- She is kind of cute and likes to curl up at my feet while I’m writing. This is fairly irresistible.
- She’s a bit of a flirt and knows how to wrap Greg around her little tiny kitty paw. This one really isn’t much of a surprise. Greg is a push-over for anything cute and cuddly (we call him the baby whisperer).
- Almost all Calico (Bonz is actually a “Tortoiseshell or Tortie” cat) cats are females.
So here we are: a boy and a girl; a Republican and a Democrat; a cat and a dog; all living under the same roof. What’s next – mixing chocolate and vanilla ice cream? Congress actually agreeing and accomplishing … anything? FSU winning the baseball College World Series (well, a girl can dream!)?