New Cat

Bob and I walked through our urban neighborhood this morning, instead of heading to the park as we usually do. In the postage stamp front yard of one of my neighbors sat a cat, a new cat whom I had not seen before. Once Bob got a whiff, his nose was magnetically pinned to the ground, sniffing every millimeter said cat might have walked. He was so focused on the trail that he completely missed the source who, cat-like, calmly and condescendingly observed my goofy dog.  Eventually, the olfactory parts of his brain gave way to the visual parts and he saw said cat. Who promptly departed.

At that point, I was given some insight into Bob’s neural priorities. He was clearly dismayed that said cat was gone before he had a chance for a proper greeting. He even sat down on the sidewalk for a bit, waiting expectantly for same. And then the olfactory drive kicked back in, and his sniffing took on a new urgency, as if he could smell the new cat into existence. Back home, he gave Penny, and the back yard, snorting comparative sniffs to confirm that, indeed, this was separate from and different to previous experience. And now he’s had his brekkies and is off to sleep…and dream, and ponder.

Life presents us with the unexpected. At the moment, we often miss the point. But it’s OK because our bodies, our subconscious…if you will, the universe…hold the moment for us until we are ready to see it.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

By the way, Bob and I went to a Memorial Day cookout yesterday, and he made friends and melted hearts all around. Is Bob a great dog or what.

Cat Years

Penny has made it abundantly clear that she wishes to be an outdoor cat. The longing meows while perched on the window sill.  The dash for the door when I take out the garbage. I’m beginning to think that she is the one to greet me when I come home from a protracted absence not because of separation anxiety but rather because of the potential for escape.

With trepidation, I have acquiesced to this desire. We have a typical urban “backyard” i.e. a postage stamp patio surrounded by six foot walls. Certainly adequate to confine a dog (especially a tank like Bob), but not so much for a cat. Indeed, after a couple forays out back, Penny found her way to the top of, and eventually over, said walls. There follows several anxious hours while I try to convince myself that she’s perfectly capable of handling it. She’s chipped and spayed. She’s lived here more than a year now so she knows where home is. She can hold her own with Bob, so can most likely hold her own with whatever she meets out there. And she has her claws – I would not care to have my fingers amputated at the first knuckle, and suspect Penny feels the same.

Sure enough, she eventually finds her way back over the wall. Or, I was delighted to learn that she DOES recognize the back gate from the other side and meows for re-entry.

And it occurs to me; I have a teenager. Yes, there’s all that talk about one human year is equivalent to 7 dog years or 5 cat years or whatever. And that’s valid as far as physical aging is concerned. But psychologically and intellectually, dogs plateau as toddlers, and cats plateau as teenagers. Maybe that’s one difference between dog people and cat people. Some prefer the goofy childishness of a toddler dog.  Some prefer the challenges and rewards of a teenage cat. Standoffishness – the feline equivalent of the dreaded eye roll.  Which makes those moments when your cat deigns to acknowledge you that much sweeter. Letting Penny out gave me a glimpse of how parents feel when they hand the car keys to their 16-year-old, praying they raised them to make good decisions.

Reflecting on my own teenage years – I made some stupid decisions, yet managed to survive. And maybe that’s why cats seem to have nine lives. Testing one’s independence inevitably leads to some scary situations. With good guidance and God’s grace, teenagers (both human and feline) usually land on their feet.

Now that I think about it, I STILL make some stupid decisions. Hmm, maybe it’s not just cats who plateau as teenagers. Guess I’ll always be risking scary situations and stupid decisions. But given the alternative of longingly meowing at the windowsill, I’ll take it.

Good Lesson. Thanks Penny.

The Bob/Penny Crime Syndicate

Glad to report that Bob and Penny are getting along much better these days. Penny got a little bigger. And she found her claws. So now the wrestling is more of an even match, and all in good fun. Which usually concludes with a snuggle or, at least, détente.

Which means, of course, that they are now partners in crime. They pin me by weighing down the blankets on either side of me, so that getting out of bed in the morning is like crawling out of a sleeping bag. They collude to trip me up as I carry laundry on the stairs. And most importantly, anything, on any surface, is now within their grasp.

I previously commented on Bob’s prodigious counter-surfing skills. While impressive, he still needs to keep his back paws on the floor. Penny is not similarly enslaved by gravity. And, just like babies, cats are instinctively fascinated by batting things over edges. Catch a few viral videos if you doubt me.

I’m not a big fan of cop shows, but even I know that organized crime bosses usually get nabbed by something relatively innocuous like tax evasion or inhibiting interstate commerce. Not sure there are canine/feline equivalent statutes. Even if there were, Bob would just look at me quizzically and Penny would walk away huffing “Jeez – humans!”

So the best I can do is minimize the probability of the really bad outcomes in the gangland that my home has become. Poisons, breakables, sharp things. You know, the usual suspects.

Meanwhile, one thing is quite clear, which is obvious to anyone who has ever lived with both a cat and a dog. The cat is clearly the brains of the operation. And occasionally needs to remind the lesser species of that fact.

 

“Nothin’ to see here, ma’am”

Bob has to accept a little embarrassment in order to access the really good stuff at the back of the counters.

In other words, you gotta let go of control and accept help, in order to reach further.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

Siblings

Well, it’s been over a year since my last post. No apologies.  I was kinda busy. Retired, bought a house, lung surgery (I'm OK), got a cat. And it is on this last point that … well…

Penny. Named after the part I played in Urinetown. There are pictures on Facebook and whatnot, but that’s not my point here…

Bob is a freaking bully. The first couple of months I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep Penny because of him. Because she was so small and he was so, well, mean. Bob’s a whole lot bigger and stronger than Penny, and there are times when his lizard brain instinct takes over and he goes into predator/prey mode. Thankfully, Penny’s found her claws. And so they’ve figured out how to play nice. And occasionally snuggle...such joy....

 

But sometimes lizard brain still takes over and I have to pull him off her and pin him down. I’m learning to accept that this will never change, because you can’t change instinct. The best I can do is override it, time after time after time.

So yeah, I have to acknowledge that Bob is actually a dog, not a saint. And he’s been seriously pissing me off lately. But I still love the big ole tank. I love Penny, but I’m a dog person at heart. Which is not an easy thing to admit – having favorites. No, not favorites. Simply acknowledging where my REAL loyalties lie.

Bob, this has been a really hard lesson for me. I love you, but I’m still gonna make sure your little sister has the sanctuary and love she deserves. So back the f*ck off.

With a stone in my gut..

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob. Oof.

p.s. Yes, this is a little autobiographical...

 

Routines and Priorities

For my health, I have recently made some pretty major lifestyle changes. One repercussion is that I get up about an hour earlier than I used to, and there’s a bit more puttering around before I leave for the day. After several days of “Did I take my pills this morning?” and “Shoot, I left my lunch in the fridge!” I finally seem to be settling into this new routine.

Bob, resourceful dog that he is, has taken this opportunity to adjust his morning routine to align with HIS priorities. I had assumed that his top priority on waking was the same as every other mammal on the planet – to pee. So after “Mommy first!” my next step was to drag him out the back door. Then I’d delay getting in the shower until he started scratching, lest he inevitably do so the moment I got lathered up.

However, chow hound that he is, Bob’s top priority is actually breakfast. Then he jumps back on the bed for a snooze while I shower, undisturbed. Once wrapped in my warm robe and slippers, THEN I drag him out the back door while I putter.

“How is this possible?” I hear you cry. “How can a dog wait to go out first thing in the morning?” Well, it turns out that Bob has the bladder of a…a… Why don’t we have some animal colloquialism to comment on this particular bodily function? Like “Can drink like a camel” or “Lithe as a cat” or “Farts like a cow”? Well, Bob does indeed have prodigious storage space. I once had a day trip for work, leaving before 6 am and not returning until after 9 pm. I’d made arrangements for someone to take him out late afternoon, but for a variety of reasons that didn’t happen. After 15+ hours, I arrived home to find Bob contentedly curled up on the bed. None of my senses detected any indication of an accident. Sure, when I finally did take him out, he really went at it. But I remain amazed that he held it that long.

Well, maybe this will be Bob’s legacy – “Has a bladder like Bob.”

I reflect that many of these posts comment on Bob’s habits of elimination. But isn’t that sorta true of all parents of toddlers (which Bob is and always will be)?

The point is – Bob’s unique gift gives him the freedom to rearrange his routine according to his priorities. While I may bemoan the things I don’t have, I can remember that what I DO have allows me that same freedom to rearrange my routine and to live according to my priorities.

Good Lesson. Thanks Bob.

p.s. Happy Thanksgiving from Bob and Bob's Mom!

 

Curled up

I do not think it is possible for Bob to be more curled up, smaller and sweeter. My heart just aches with how much I love him. Or, as Woody Allen said in "Annie Hall" I LURVE him..

 

As I have explained previously, I do not and cannot have children. This lurve I have for Bob gives me a taste of what it would be like. My sister in law once said "I expected to love my children, I did not expect to be IN love with them. But I am."

 

And that's how I feel about Bob. A love so deep it hurts. No, just pulls. Stretches. Reminds me to breathe.

 

Good lesson.  Thanks Bob

In Between

Wow. Crazy Bob Mom to post so soon. Was told something today that puts me "In Between" again. Uncomfortable. But Bob, You're resilient. And I just need to be in the in between. Just breathe. Wow. This Sucks. Ok. Breathing,,,

Good Lesson.  Thanks Bob.