Blog Number Five

       Kitty was five years old and we weren't nearly as kind to him as we were to Tiger, our last dog.  We brought Junior home from the shelter almost two years ago with 8 pages of instructions on how to introduce a young kitten (four months, neutered male) to an older cat.
         Keeping them separated lasted less than five minutes.  Junior and his litter mates had been surrendered to the shelter when he was just eight weeks old.  Having been penned up in the shelter nearly all of his short little life, he erupted from the pet carrier like a rocket.  He was loving his freedom.  He was nothing but a black and white flash of color darting around our three-story house.
He took to the doggy door immediately and could fly up the stairs from the basement through the hallway "doggy door" and out a second "doggy door" to the screened-in porch without ever slowing down.  Kitty lost weight in a vain effort to keep up.  When all else failed, Kitty would simply sit on the youngster.
            There have been no big, blood-drawing fights.  The Vet calls Kitty our "silent king."  Indeed, he is a very mellow guy.  He will act fatherly toward Junior by licking his face and head, then suddenly make a lunge for his throat, but it's  all for show.  Kitty releases the kitten and walks away.
          The girls at the local shelter here in Chattanooga, TN give all their animals weird names.  Our new addition was named "Taos" (as in New Mexico).  We named him Junior because we chose him because he has the same "tuxedo" coloring as our "Starter Kitty."  The name Junior just seemed to fit him.
          Junior and Kitty enjoy several "run-arounds" per day.  We call it "Kitty Khaos".  Similar to the dogs we’ve owned--the "Dandie dithers" and the "Norwich nillies."

Blog Number Four

       Then the unthinkable.  Tiger died a couple of days before Christmas in 2009.  The dog (a confirmed cat-hater in his youth) and the cat had peacefully cohabited  for 16 months.  There were never any fights, nothing in my house was destroyed and the cat never missed his litter box.  One night, when I was in a morose mood over losing my long-term canine buddy, I penned the following thoughts:
         "Pain woke me about 3am last week.  My back was killing me so I got out of bed and walked barefoot into the kitchen.  Stepped on something really sharp.  I got a bottle of water and a couple of pain pills and hobbled into my den.  As I plucked a piece of kitty kibble and a broken pretzel from my foot, I started to cry.
         "I had a very good friend once who scarfed up anything edible that hit the floor.  I missed that friend.  We jokingly called him our canine vacuum cleaner.  When he died, he left a huge void.  My friend was named Tiger and he was a Norwich Terrier, nearly fifteen years old.  He was such a good and loyal buddy.  Always got up with me, no matter the time.  Always sat with me when I was in pain.  Even when he got too old and could no longer jump into the chair, he would lay with his head on my feet.   
       "I sat there in the dark crying and waiting for the pain pills to kick in when I felt a brush of fur against my bare leg.  Kitty jumped into my lap, pummeled me a few times with his paws, then curled up with his head on my chest and began to purr.  My tears dried up.  Life does move on."
         My husband and I knew we had to have another pet.  Kitty was just sitting around the house getting fatter.  So, we went back to the shelter and found Junior.  He was four months old and full of energy.
OMG!  A kitten is a whole new ballgame.

Blog Number Three

          So now we come to the training part. I make this sound in my throat...sort of like an old-fashioned doorbell buzzer.  It worked on the dog, it should work on the cat.  Much to my shock, it did.  Kitty hadn't been taught by any of his previous owner that kitchen counters and especially furniture is off limits in the clawing department. A friend of mine suggested having his claws removed, but I think that's a barbaric procedure (the same as cutting ears to fit a standard).  I was determined he would learn right from wrong (humanely).  After a couple of screeches with my throaty buzzer sound, he learned quickly--also much to my surprise.  I bought several of those corrugated scratch thingys, sprayed them with liquid catnip (which he truly loves), and he learned...if it smells like catnip...it's mine.
         I also have a clicker.  Whenever I wanted the dog to come to me, I just hit the clicker a few times and even though he was partially deaf, he could hear that clicker, come running into the kitchen and I would dispense a treat.  Kitty thought it looked like a good idea--hear the clicker, run into the kitchen and get a treat.  Can you believe it? A 3-yr old cat learning new behaviors? I swear it's true!
         So, how do you teach a cat to go through a "doggy door?"  Since we put Kitty's food on top of the old grooming table (out of Tiger's reach) and his litter box, both in the basement, it was important for him to learn how to get downstairs. With my dog, I shoved him through a couple of times and the light bulb turned on.
        Elapsed time? Less than five minutes.
        Kitty was a different story.  I tried shoving him through the opening, but he planted all four paws firmly on the outer edges.  After that, he darted under the bed. After watching the dog, Kitty finally figured it out.
        Elapsed time? One week.
        You just can't rush a cat.

Blog Number Two

           When our dog was alive and very old, we added the cat. We didn't think it would be kind for him to spend his remaining years with a furry object he could neither see nor hear, launching itself into his face. That's why we got the three-year old cat. Kitty was surprisingly kind to the old boy. He knew the dog was the alpha animal in the household and behaved accordingly. 

Tiger, wasn't too happy about this rather large newcomer. Tiger was a confirmed cat-hater in his youth. He barked and growled then just decided to pretend he didn't exist. It worked for him. Kitty (isn't that name creative?) nudged the dog a few times trying to engage him in play, but failed. So Mister Kitty sat in the window sill, Tiger on his floor pillow and they both avoided eye contact, but as time passed, they started sleeping together. 

            Kitty had a few "issues" in the beginning. Wouldn't play, wouldn't purr, wouldn't sit in our lap and didn't like to be petted. Did I mention that he scratched and even bit us? Our Vet told us, when you rescue an adult animal, you have no idea what trauma he may have been exposed to. So, we decided patience was our best ally. We were determined ours would be his "forever home." We persevered. Although he never learned how to play with "cat toys", after a few months he started sitting in our lap and purring. And definitely stopped the scratching and biting.    

             At the time, we had a big RV. We let Kitty sit in the unit in our driveway many times before taking his first trip. You should have seen the look on his face when we finally backed out of the driveway. "The house is moving!" He stuck to the dog like glue. If Tiger thinks everything is okay, then it must be okay. He finally learned to sit on the dashboard (while in motion), take walks on a harness, allow us to cut his nails and get brushed every day. He was now on the fast track to becoming an official member of our family. 

           On one of our walks, Kitty ate a day lily. I didn't think anything about it at first. After all, dogs eat all sorts of flora and fauna. Even Kitty had chunked down a couple of geckos and crickets. When he stopped eating, I took him to the vet. His kidneys were failing. It cost $800 to save my $50 shelter cat. 

          I took a good look at myself in the mirror. 

          Good grief, I'm becoming a cat fancier!

Blog Number One

         For the first 73 years of my life I was a dog fancier. My only exposure to cats were the summers I spent on my aunt and uncle's farm in Provo, Utah. These cats only appeared when we were milking the cows. They would sit on their haunches and my uncle would point one of the cow's teats at them and squeeze. Both my uncle and the cats were very adept at this. When the cats had their fill of warm milk, they would retire to a secluded corner and clean up the spills on their fur. I don't recall ever being able to touch or pet any of these feral cats, or that my relatives ever brought them anything to eat. That was life in the 1940s. Cats lived off the land.
          Most of my adult life was devoted to owning, breeding and showing pure bred dogs--the Dandie Dinmont Terrier. After giving up the "breeding and showing" portion of the dog fancy trilogy in 1995, my husband and I bought a Norwich Terrier puppy. The Norwich is the smallest of all the terrier breeds. When he jumped out of the car in a busy Mall parking lot, I decided to turn my hand to Obedience Training. Chasing this happy little puppy around the parking lot and fearing for both of our lives was no fun. However the training lead to another avocation. I joined the local Canine Obedience Club and became a trainer. Tiger wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but-- during his third six-week course--the light bulb popped on. He finally figured that he was suppose to look at me and not sniff the floor. He sailed through three shows and earned his official AKC "Companion Dog" certificate.
          In 2008, Tiger was 14 and going downhill. He was partially blind, partially deaf, crippled by arthritis , on some serious drugs and had to be carried outside (wait), then bring him in again. I had already given up the "breeding and showing" portion of the trilogy, then, at the tender age of 73, my own arthritic joints decided...that I would "own" no more dogs. My doctor told me that switching from dogs to cats was a sure sign of "old age." I gave him a nasty stare. Although silent, it spoke volumes.
          I couldn't stand the idea of a household without a pet. So, we went to the animal shelter. My hubby said, "get a big, kick-ass cat. One with really short hair." Yes, the new feline addition was bigger than my 12 lbs dog. He's a tuxedo kitty and tops out at 16 lbs. At that time, he was a 3-year-old neutered male indoor cat. He was listed as mellow by the shelter staff, however, they admitted that he was adopted twice and returned.
           He was the very first cat either my hubby or I had ever owned.
           Breezer (later dubbed Kitty because he responded to the name) was our "starter kitty."