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."