My mom Cathy used to travel a lot. She has spent Christmas holidays in London (England), Madrid, Edinburgh, Paris, New York and Chicago…and more. But since 9/11, she says, she hates to travel. She’s served her time on planes waiting to be de-iced at O’Hare. She’s driven (very nervously) on icy roads.

“There’s so much to do here,” she says. “Symphony. Ballet. Theatre. Movies.”

Dog parks? I give Mom a nudge with my very cold nose.

“And dog parks,” she says. Sometimes she reads my mind.

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.

My mom took Ophelia back to the vet on Monday. Ophelia’s lab tests show something is going on with her liver, which is why she’s turning yellow. No surprise there.

Mom came home with instructions for force-feeding, sub-Q fluids, and pills. Then she took me to the dog park. Lindsay, the park steward, is always happy to see us.

“The new kitty is sick?” Lindsay said. “Does she come with a return guarantee?”

See why I like Lindsay? That woman has great perspsective.

But she was joking and Cathy would never do that. She vowed Ophelia will never return to that shelter. And who else will be such a dedicated cat nurse?

I don’t really mind. When Cathy’s working on Ophelia, she puts me in my crate with a peanut butter kong toy. Yum. Ophelia’s not such a bad idea after all.

We don’t know this man’s name. He doesn’t have a dog.

But he gives a great butt scratch.

My mom Cathy says, “Gracie, you are here to run and play with the other dogs, not suck up affection from everyone in sight.”

Please. I am a CUPPIE. I have a responsibility to my royal subjects. This one understands his role.

Yesterday we went to the dog park. The weather was nice and my mom wanted a break. So I got to take one too.

I was kind of roaming around, looking for trouble and collecting lots of butt scratches from the humans. Not much was happening when we were there.

Then a man came with a nice dog, just about the right size and temperament for me. I went over, following dog etiquette, and introduced myself with a friendly sniff. I said hello. I went into play posture. The other dog did too. We were on the same wavelength.

Soon we were happily chasing each other. My mom walked over and told the dog’s owner, “They’re playing so well together. Isn’t that great?”

To her amazemenet, the other dog’s owner wasn’t happy. “Keep your dog away from my dog,” he snarled, snapping on a leash.

“Huh?” my mom said. “This is a dog park. If you bring your dog here, other dogs will play.”

The man huffily took his dog out of the park.

“Weird,” was the consensus among the humans…and me too. We were having fun! That poor dog needs some playtime.

“Some people shouldn’t own dogs,” said the owner of a brown dog of unknown breed.

“I agree,” my mom shuddered.

Me too. Sometimes I wonder:  If I’d waited longer, would I have had a better owner? Maybe Bill Gates would have come along and adopted me.

But on days like today, I realize things ccould be a lot worse. Almost every day I get to visit the dog park or the dog lounge. I get to play with anybody I want.

I bet that dog would trade places with me anytime.

My mom Cathy wrote a funny article about how the cats taught her to be a better copywriter. You can read the article here.

My favorite:

#1: Walk on the edge and take some risks.

These lazy good-for-nothings take no risks. Ophelia’s too fat to jump up on the counter to eat dinner, let alone walk on the edge. Of course my mom wrote this article when she still had Tiger, who was jumping around almost till the day she died.

#3: Expect to be appreciated.

Mom got this one wrong. “Dogs beg for attention,” she wrote. “Cats take it for granted.”

Ex-cuuuse me! Do I beg for anything that doesn’t promise food? I get all the attention I need without asking. And then some.

And #10: Who cares if someone hates you? There’s always another food dish around the corner.

All I can say is, don’t count on it. And the cats can give you all the copywriting tips. I’m the one who keeps you going when your schedule gets crazy and you need a little love…or a LOT of love.

And now I shall return to my nap. We had a beautiful day at the dog park, didn’t we? Who forced you out the door to enjoy this beautiful weather?

Next article, Mom: 10 tips on enjoying life I learned from my Canine Urban Princess - the world’s first CUPPIE.

Yesterday Cathy decided she should drop by her gym for a quick workout. She was having withdrawal symptoms after her nearby gym branch closed, along with her killer Sunday workout.

Great idea, mom. But why did you drop me off at the dog lounge? I was ready for a nap.

Fortunately for me, I found some nice dogs whose owners had gone away for the weekend. Some of us are old friends by now. Even more fortunately, Summer brought me up front to hang out with her at the reception desk. So I got a good rest while my mom did her thing.

After she picked me up, Cathy took me across the street to the dog park. I connected with a rowdy French bulldog who let me chase him for a good half hour.

Cathy didn’t budge. She sat in the sun. I could have got away with anything.

Soon my tongue was hanging and even my dim-witted fanatical owner got the message. Time to go home and eat. Crunchies for me, carrots for my Mom.

Hopefully we’ll get a day of rest on Labor Day, but I doubt it.

My mom Cathy keeps busy so she likes to combine her projects and errands. Yesterday she needed to go food shopping and take me for a walk, so we went to Pike Place Market. It’s a leading tourist attraction, especially in summer. Perfect or a CUPPIE: right downtown and dogs allowed.

I like Pike Place Market. All those tourists miss their dogs and they make a fuss over me. Usually I can scarf up some forbidden food. Yesterday I had a big piece of pizza crust in my mouth when my mom stopped and, right in front of everybody, yelled, “Drop!” She pulled that tasy tidbit right out of my mouth. Sigh.

But another reason I like Pike Place market is this: I can usually persuade my mom to stop by the dog park on the way home. On weekends she’s ready for some friendly conversation and there’s always at least one familiar face for her. I get extra running time.

And yesterday I got a bonus. Cathy was so tired she was falling asleep over her laptop. She didn’t notice I’d grabbed a hunk of cheese until it was almost gone. Yum! See, I’m saving her from all those calories.

Cathy doesn’t agree. Luckily it was the low-end cheddar. “If I’d bought Double Gloucester, you’d be in the dog house,” she told me firmly.

Good while it lasted. Off to another nap. Maybe next time we’ll stop by 3 Dog Bakery because I am named after the founder’s dog. The fact that they have awesome peanut buter treats is completely irrelevant.

Our neighborhood dog park, Regrade Park in the Belltown area, used to be a scary drug park. We love going there, or at least I do. I like jumping on the walls and leaping off the ledges.

And sometimes I just need to stretch out. Yes: that’s me in the foreground of this photo.

Mostly, I like all the attentiion I get from the other dog owners.

Yesterday we ran into a delightful woman who recognized me at once.. She cooed to me in baby talk and gave me a good butt scratch. She even brushed away some of the fur I’m shedding for summer (got the hint, mom?). Turns out she’s a physician in private practice.

I’ve also been patted by people with tattoos and piercings, people who are homeless and come to the park to share the love, people who are living in subsidized housing, people who are in the military, people who are living in mansions, lawyers, real estate agents…you name it. “Jail to Yale,” says Lindsay, our volunteer Park Steward.

There’s even a Regrade Park virtual community on yahoo. Recently, my mom read me a note from a Travel Nurse we met a few months ago. While she’d been working in Seattle, she wrote, she used to come here and she appreciated the community. She missed us!

True. My mom likes coming here because she meets real live people and has real conversations, after a day of working on the Internet with invisible people.

It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Some folks wn’t come at all. They go to the country parks.

But with a mom who hates to drive, it’s a perfect park for a CUPPIE (Canine Urban Princess) like me. I bet we go at least once over this weekend.

My mom Cathy is getting frustrated with her caregiving role. She says, “Tiger bounces around just like old times. She just won’t eat enough. She’s so thin and dehydrated.”

I’m not bouncing anywhere. Yesterday we went to the dog park. I stopped for a chat and a butt scratch from some friendly folks. Cathy was not amused. “You’re here for exercise!” she said.

So I ran around so she could catch up on her conversations with the regulars. And then we walked part way home. I am still tired. My mom is too but she will never admit it.

“I refuse to say I’m getting older,” she says. “Sunday and Monday I had two tough exercises classes in a row…all weights and barbells. Who wouldn’t be a little…um…well, not bouncy?”

Hey mom, I’ll jump right in (but not literally). I’ll be six in October and I’m no puppy any more.

Our big mystery: how does that tough old tabby cat jump on to the kitchen counter? She may be on her last paws, but like Mehitabel, there’s life in the old dame yet.