My mom has been getting compliments on her new svelte self. Back in August, she declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. I must admit, I’m surprised. She keeps to her self-imposed diet (based on a combo of the Food Ranger and a couple of books she read). She goes to exercise classes.

She won’t get on a scale, but the other day she said, “I can’t wear these shorts anymore. They’re falling off! I can’t hold them up when I’m holding your leash.” She gave me a look that said, “Somebody needs to walk better on leash.” Who, me?

She’s always complaining about sore muscles but I have no sympathy. Mom’s got me on a good behavior program. That means I go to Magnuson Park twice a week and the Dog Lounge at least once a week. I’m tired too. Mom says, “Dogs are supposed to feel a little sleepy all the time.”

Great idea in theory, but I seem to be in a one-down position when it comes to the cats.

My mom has a guilty secret. She hates Thanksgiving. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy (duh – have you noticed?) so she doesn’t Get It. Why do people want to hang around, eat too much and pretend to be having fun? OK, maybe some people really have fun.

Not my mom. Cathy hates small talk. She actually detests parties.
“I’d rather stay home and read a good murder mystery. Or maybe watch a video and take Gracie to the dog park.”

I admit I enjoy visiting families on holidays. Everybody makes a big fuss over me. If the host has a dog, I can usually find a dish of dog food that’s tastier than what I get at home. By the end of the day, I am exhausted.

But my mom is less than thrilled. When I eat strange food, my tummy starts doing the tango. So I wake my mom at 3 AM to Go Out — Immediately — to Do My Business.

My mom gets very upset. “Why did I ever adopt another dog?” she asks me. At 3 AM, I must admit, I don’t have a very good answer.

So in the end, I guess I am better off when we just stay home. My mom sticks to her diet and I stick to mine. My mom buried her nose in a new mystery by an author she just discovered – Roberta Isleib – where the heroine is a clinical psychologist. My mom loves to second-guess therapists and she lives for a good mystery novel. She even approves of the author’s website (except for the W-word: Welcome, but let’s not go there. This is my blog, okay?)

Anyway, I have a lot to be thankful for. My dog beds. My dog walks. Food. Treats. The Dog Lounge for daycare. My raving fans all over Seattle. Our wonderful bus system, Seattle Metro, where I get to ride on my mom’s lap and get tons of attention from total strangers.

Or whatever passes for normal in a cat these days.

My mom is so happy. Ophelia has been eating…and eating. Mom put a big dish of food in the laundry room, so Ophelia would have some privacy. Ophelia dug right in with gusto. You’d think she hadn’t eaten for a month. Well, she hadn’t. She’s been eating via “assisted feeding.”

Cathy feels she has gained an hour a day. No more fluid. No more force feeding.

She also gained a new cat. Ophelia’s whole personality has changed, too. She’s become a strong, confient, dominant feline. She joins us on the sofa. She sleeps on Cathy’s bed.

Now we’re waiting for the cats to start getting along. Ophelia has a magnificent purr and a horrible, ugly hiss. I’m afraid Creampuff gets hisses, boos and growls. I get ignored. My mom gets the purrs. Welll, she pays the big vet bills.

My mom celebrated her birthday this weekend. She discovered she was eligible for a free concert on her birthday so off she went to Benaroya Hall. They featured Sibelius’s 2nd (which she enjoyed immensely, she said, much better than the other Sibelius symphonies). Of course she also went to her exercise class. And we stopped by the dog park on our way home.

Unlike me, my mom did not get a treat for her birthday. She stuck to her lifetime eating plan. I’m so proud of her. I want her to stick around till I get old and cross the bridge. After that, she’s on her own.

My birthday was last month. I got to spend the day in the lounge, which was much more fun than going to a concert. And I got to spend my mom’s birthday there too. I played hard all day and I’m still tired. Gotta rest up: tomorrow’s my day to go to the park with Aunt Sara.

Cathy was hoping our fuzzy housemate Ophelia would give her the ultimate present: eating by herself. But no…Ophelia sniffs at food and says, “No thanks.” How can she turn up her nose at chicken and tuna? Meanwhile, the ditzy Creampuff is in heaven. She’s getting everything Ophelia won’t eat.

Me? I get my usual dry, boring crunchies. No big deal. I’d still rather be a dog.

My mom Cathy was so happy. Last night she was exhausted. She needed to feed Ophelia and the thought of heating up some water and mixing food with milk thistle (for Ophelia’s liver) and goop (the high calorie gel) … well, that was too much, even for my tender-hearted mom.

So she set down a can of Friskies turkey and giblets, right next to Ophelia’s special place in the closet. And Ophelia ate. And ate.

Yaay! My mom was so excited. She called the vet and left a message.

The vet deserves a medal. Mom also emails about the unusual things she finds in Ophelia’s litterbox. I would not be turned off (don’t ask what I eat in the dog park) but we have to be sensitive to our readers, says my mom.

As far as I am concerned…Big Deal. So she ate. I do it every day. I would eat all of Ophelia’s food, Creampuff’s food and my food, if Cathy would let me.

They tell me that cats have a special relationship with their owners. Personally, I think cat owners need a special relationship with their psychiatrists.

I am sleeping off a wonderful day of playing in the park with my Aunt Sara. Every dog and every human is my potential friend. And every piece of food is my potential treat.

My mom is a long-time fan of author Jon Katz. As a fanatical but fussy reader of murder mysteries, she really liked his Suburban mysteries. She was thoroughly bummed when Katz’s publisher discontinued the series.

But she admired Katz’s pilgrimage to the mountain and she reads his books on dogs. She just read me this article about Katz’s work as a hospice volunteer.

“Maybe we should volunteer your services,” she said, looking me over with a critical eye. “But you couldn’t greet your favorite people by jumping on them.”

Moi? Jump? Who’s she talking about? Anyway, my fans adore me.

Ophelia has been growling a lot lately. She sits on my mom’s lap and growls. She growls when she sees Creampuff. Creampuff is too ditzy to take it personally. She just holds her ground and stares at Ophelia, as if she’s asking, “What’s your problem?”

Even my mom admits Ophelia seems to be neurotic. But she IS getting healthier. See the photo on the right? She doesn’t look yellow at all. Just growly.

I am trying to stay out of the line of fire. Here I am with my new chew toy, a birthday present from Summer at the Dog Lounge.

Dogs know what’s important. Food, toys and walks. Ophelia needs to get with the program.

New President-Elect Barack Obama has shown good sense already. He promised his daughters a puppy. My mom read this article aloud to me.

Frankly, I think Obama should forget about getting a puppy. The White House is no place for house training, crying and mess. He should do what my mom Cathy does: get a nice full-grown, mixed-breed dog from a shelter.

At least he’s not getting a cat, like the Ford administration. There’s hope for the country.

Ellen is a party entertainer who works with tarot cards and astrology. My mom scoffs but she’s always eager to get Ellen’s celestial advice. She says Ellen is more businesswoman than reader. Ellen has amazing intuition, she says. She’s more like a natural psychic.

So she asked Ellen to “read” the cats. And she was thrilled when Ellen said, “Ophelia wants affection. She needs more cuddling and patting.”

So Mom took Ophelia into her lap immediately. Sure enough, Ophelia purred so loudly we could hear her clear across the room.

But what about me? Ellen said I am a “spoiled canine.” Just because I tried to eat the tarot cards. Big deal.

So much for psychic powers. I’m not spoiled. I just know a good dog mom when I see one.

Last night we were honored with a visit from Mom’s friend and copywriting client, Ellen. Mom wrote the copy for Ellen’s website, Faces and Fortunes, back when she was charging about half of what she does now. Ellen’s site was very successful and they became phone friends. They met for the first time on Sunday. I went along to the Marqueen, where Ellen was staying. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs but the desk people fussed over me in the lobby.

Mom took advantage of the gift certificate she won at the Dog Park party last August (how appropriate!). She took Ellen to dinner at The Waterfront, an upscale seafood place in Seattle.

The waiter took this photo. After Mom downloaded it to Photoshop, she said she should have left a smaller tip. It was all blurry. She touched it up to get the photo. That’s my mom Cathy on the right. See, she does own some Real Clothes.

Did they bring home a treat for me? Hah. Such gratitude. I mean, if she didn’t own me, she wouldn’t have been at the dog park for the party. She’d have taken Ellen to the little Thai place around the corner.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ellen said. “I like Thai food.”

Maybe next time.