A Dog’s Life – Page 10

Good grief: a fountain for cats

My mom noticed that our chubby housemate, Ophelia, likes to drink water from cups and glasses.

“She’s just like Tiger, the cat who died just before we adopted her,” my mom says. “I always notice that a new cat seems to channel the cat who left us.”

Really? That’s not typical of my left-brained, logical mom. But Ophelia really does have peculiar drinking habits. Her last blood test showed no signs of any disease, so it’s purely behavioral, as my mom would say. Ornery, I’d add.

“Why don’t you get her a fountain?” the vet suggested. “Cats love running water.”

Alas, this suggestion came as my mom was putting away her credit card following Ophelia’s dental work.

“Maybe I could buy Ophelia a mansion,” the mom suggested. “Or a trip around the world.”

I like the last idea, especially if we get to stay home.

But then yesterday we were in Mud Bay Pet store, just 2 blocks away. We’re farther from a grocery store since we moved, but we are closer to the important things, like the dog park and this wonderful pet store. We had to buy cat food since we ran out between deliveries. Frankly, I’d just tell the cats to skip eating for a few days, but the mom wouldn’t go along with it. Apparently Ophelia could get sick again if she misses a meal. Let’s not go there.

As we were leaving, my mom noticed a water fountain designed for cats. It was $65 before taxes.

“Good grief,” she said. “Who’d buy this?”

The sales clerk explained that cats drink more water from these fountains. They stay healthy. And we could buy a smaller model for jsut $50.

“Let’s think about that one,” the mom said. “I’m still recovering from Ophelia’s dental bill.”

Good thinking, Mom. As we all know, Tiger lived to be twenty without benefit of a fountain. And I still have to ride the bus naked because the vet said a winter coat is not essential to my welfare and well-being.

But cats are made to be spoiled, my mom says wistfully.

And I’d look awfully cute in a dog-size winter coat, I silently remind her. City dogs get spoiled too.

Finally caught up on our sleep…

“Moving is exhausting,” the mom said. But finally last night we all got caught up on our sleep. My mom inherited a big new queen-size bed from the people who used to live here. It’s SO comfortable and there’s lots of room for everyone. Of course I take up most of the space. Ophelia takes up a lot of room too but my mom Cathy said, “No more snide remarks about Ophelia’s weight The poor thing just had dental surgery.”

That was a week ago. Mom. Ophelia’s eating everything in sight and then some.

My mom also made a startling discovery when she unpacked her clothes. “So many dress suits! I used to wear suits all the time. Might as well give them away, especially since I can’t wear shoes except running shoes and Birkenstocks.”

Then she counted up her t-shirts. We’ve said this before. If whoever dies with the most t-shirts wins, my mom is the Grand Champion. She put some in the box for Goodwill. I’m nudging her to add a few more.

But I’m not exactly home free. We counted up my bandannas. “Maybe you can share with some other dogs?” the mom said.

Fine with me. I don’t wear a coat in winter. I ride the bus naked – just the required collar and tags. Nobody notices.

Cat gets 2 teeth pulled

On Monday the mom took Ophelia to our wonderful vet, Dr. Clare. Our fattest housemate, the queen-sized Ophelia, was diagnosed with rotten molars. No comment. .

“She’ll feel better when these two teeth come out,” the vet said.

Really? Ophelia seems to be feeing just fine, as far as I can tell. She’s totally taken over the household, even though she’s by far the most junior member of our furry family. She grabs the best spot on the couch and the place of honor on my mom’s bed. Now she’s winning the contest we have going: Who can spend most money at the vet? With the expenses of her liver disease, right after she was adopted, and her dental surgery, Ophelia’s racking up the bills.

“It’s not her fault,” the mom said. “Gracie, you get sick bcause you eat junk in the park and on the sidwalk. That’s why we are getting you a muzzle.”

Royal princesses don’t wear muzzles, I tell the mom. She points out that eating the stuff I find in the dog park is not exactly a sign of royal breeding.

Time to change the subject. The vet tech called my mom to ask how Ophelia was doing. “Is she eating?” they wanted to know.

Please. We are talking about Ophelia here. She didn’t get to fifteen pounds by denying herself the good stuff.

Moving In: Finally We All Get Some Sleep

My mom and I just spent our third night in our new home. I am feeling a lot more comfortable since she unpacked my beds. Things feel almost normal again. Of course, the mom can’t find my supper dish so I am still reduced to eating from a paper plate.

“At least you are eating,” my mom pointed out. “Millions of dogs are hungry and cold out there. Some are chained to a post. You get to walk around the city with me and you eat healthful, high-quality food.”

Doesn’t she sound like a real mom sometimes?

We were both surprised to see how well the cats settled. Creampuff, our ditziest housemate, has already embarked on a campaign to leave little white hairs all over the dark colored couch we inherited from the previous owners. She likes our new windows. The views are much more interesting than we had in our former place. She can look out at neighboring balconies and see an occasional dog. She can look down at the trees and watch birds.

There’s only one piece of bad news. I am supposed to be fitted for a muzzle. How undignified. A princess should always run free. Actually, my own beloved Aunt Sara made the suggestion and our veterinarian concurred. I can’t help it. I like to eat whatever I can find, including some unmentionable things in the dog park. Apparently the muzzle will let me bark and drink water but not eat all those wonderful things I find in dark corners of the park.

“It’s much kinder,” Aunt Sara reassured the mom. “Otherwise we have to keep yelling at her and squirting her.” Hey, I don’t mind. I just ignore everything when I have certain objects in my mouth.

“And we won’t have to shove pills down her throat or have her skip a meal,” my mom said. “She can eat regular food.”

Now we’re talking.

Dog not happy with new home

Well, my mom moved us in yesterday…or rather the movers did. I can’t say I’m thrilled. My crate has been placed in the bedroom and I feel out of the way. My food dish hasn’t been unpacked so I have to eat off a paper plate. This Canine Princess deserves more royal treatment.

My mom Cathy almost had a heart attack yesterday. I was really worried for awhile about her sanity. Here’s what happened.

Cathy was getting some help from my Big Sister Summer, who used to work at the Dog Lounge. Summer is starting a new career and she’s earning extra money helping people like my mom. She helped the mom get finished packing up at the old place, and she drove us over to the new place in her small car. I had to ride in back with Ophelia, who yowled the whole way.

Summer wanted to check out the balcony so she persuaded my mom to open the door. No problem: the cats were locked up in a bathroom, out of the way of the movers. (If it were up to me, they’d stay there forever. But I digress.)

A few hours later, after Summer had gone, my mom was talking to Mark the painter, who did a magnificent job on our new home, she says. Suddenly she noticed the balcony door was still open and the cats were out.

“Oh no! Creampuff is gone!” she shrieked. She got off the phone and began hunting for our ditziest housemate.

“Creampuff loves the outdoors,” my mom said sadly. “She probably took a dive over the balcony.”

Ever the Drama Queen, the mom continued: “Creampuff is such a wonderful cat. She’s always so sweet and loving. And she’s probably crumbled down in the courtyard. How will I ever forgive myself? I will never be able to enjoy my new home, knowing that Creampuff is gone.”

I discreetly headed to my dog bed, but the mom noticed. “Gracie, you tried to warn me. Is that why you were barking?”

Ophelia appeared from the depths of a closet, where she had been hiding behind a bunch of boxes. My mom just got more frantic.

Suddenly, Creampuff showed up, out of nowhere, with her best, “What’s going on?” clueless expression. My mom grabbed her in a tight hug. Creampuff hates hugs, but who cares?

Creampuff hasn’t been hiding since. She slept next to my mom all night, purring at the top of her tiny lungs. My mom was really grateful. “I had my first good night’s sleep in three days,” she said.

Ahem. What about me? I was right there too. But when the prodigal cat returns, the faithful dog gets ignored. My mom never liked that story and now I can see why.

A new twist on Sleepless in Seattle

We are all tired today. My mom has been selling or giving away most of her possessions. She says, “As long as I’m buying a condo I will have a nice place to live. And the sellers left me a bunch of beautiful furniture to get started.”

So yesterday she sold the bed to a very nice man who drove all the way up from Olympia. His brother is coming to visit for a month and they need a bed. The mom was ready. Last time she showed the bed, two cats were sitting on it and then I jumped up to snuggle when the new buyer tried out the bed. So this time she shut the door and she got lucky: I was out with my Aunt Sara, playing happily in the dog park.

As the man was taking out the box springs, a cat’s head poked out the bottom.

“Creampuff!” my mom exclaimed, trying to act surprised. “What are you doing under there?”

Luckily the man had a sense of humor and was probably desperate. “Is the cat included? Good thing I took my allergy pills this morning,” he said.

My mom admits she was ready to say, “Sure – take the cat too!” Alas, Creampuff jumped out as he was leaving. Cats will always be part of our lives. .

I heard about all this when I got home and saw a big empty space where our bed used to be. Where are we supposed to sleep tonight? I asked in my own nonverbal way.

Well, I found out. The mom took over the couch, which we are still trying to give away. She didn’t have much room because I had to sleep at the other end.

“Tonight we are going to sleep in the new place,” my mom said firmly, as she creaked her way out of bed. “Two dance classes in a row and now this…I’m exhausted.”

Our wonderful painter, Mark, says he’s just about finished. My mom said she’d rather deal with a few paint fumes than another night on the couch. And hopefully by tonight there won’t be any couch. She just re-posted her giveaway notice on Craigslist.

Getting ready to move: Surrounded by boxes

My mom Cathy decided, “This move will be organized. I will start early.”

So she did. Lots of packing has been accomplished. But she’s going nuts: she can’t find anything. “I think I packed the bills I was supposed to pay yesterday,” she said.

Fotunately, we both got a good rest yesterday. I was finally allowed to return to the park for an outing with my Aunt Sara.

My mom has been throwing out lots of things. She’s determined to move with less than what we had when she moved here from New Mexico.

Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s lose one cat. We could pack Ophelia in a box and…

Relax, Mom. Just kidding. I know: Ophelia’s a family member, along with the ditzy Creampuff. I’m just trying to help you think outside the box…moving boxes, that is.

Ouch…we all go to the vet

City dog weighing in at the veterinarian's office “This week is going to be hellish,” my mom said. “So we might as well do everything we all dread.” So she decided to take our feline housemates to get their teeth cleaned. And since I am getting better, we decided I’d get a rabies shot update too.

As usual, I had a good time at the vet’s office. While we were waiting our turn, several other owners commented on what a great dog I am. “So beautiful,” they said. “So well-behaved.” Chloe the receptionist came over to give me a quick massage and tell me , “Gracie, you are such a wonderful dog.”

My mom put me on the scale. I’m down a few pounds. Well, no wonder. If you had to eat that awful bland diet, you’d be a poster child for weight loss too.

Creampuff’s anesthesiaq-free dentistry went swiftly. Ophelia of course was the Drama Queen of the day. She yowled all the way in the cab and made her feelings known in the reception room. Then the vet discovered she has a cavity so she has to come back and get anesthetized. Dr. Clare drew blood while Ophelia loudly proclaimed that she was on her last paws and not long for this world.

Luckily we had no trouble getting cabs each way. My mom gave the drivers big tips. She was so grateful that they took the whole family.

As soon as we got home, Ophelia headed under my mom’s bed. I must admit I couldn’t resist teasing her a litlte. She was waddling around anxiously, as if to say, “Don’t make me do that again!”

“For wahat I pay in vet bills,” the mom said, “I could have a long vacation on a Caribbean beach.”

As Tony Soprano would say, “Fuhgeddaboutit.” Cathy hates beaches. She’s an urban person. She’s happy in Seattle. She needs us.

But just in case, I’m on good behavior the rest of the day….well at leaset an hour.

Zumba for the mom, crate for the dog

Yesterday my mom Cathy was operating in frazzle mode. She was trying to make a recording for her blog and the system wasn’t cooperating. She wasn’t hearing from the guy who promised to paint our new condo. “We need to paint before we move, if at all possible,” she said.

A normal dog owner would pour a tall cool drink and collapse on the sofa with her dog. Not the mom. She looked at her watch, shoved me unceremoniously into my crate, and changed into her workout clothes.

“George’s zumba class starts in twenty minutes!” she said, as she tossed down some crunchies for the cats. (They eat only when I am out or in my crate. Otherwise I eat their food. Frankly, I don’t see why that’s a problem.) “If the bus doesn’t come right away I’m calling a cab. I need a workout!”

When she returned home two hours later she was humming a little tune and shaking her booty in time to mysterious Latin rhythms. I averted my eyes and focused on communicating an urgent, “We need a walk” message.

“Not only did I get a great workout,” Cathy told me, “I found a place where I can take my box to be shredded. We have way too much for a home office shredder. One less worry.”

We all went to bed early. Sure enough, today we’re getting names of other painters. I’m feeling strong and feisty after weeks of being under the weather.

And a one and a two and a cha-cha-cha….

Animal Cruelty: Not Just About Animals

My mom has begun to enjoy the New York TImes, especially on Sundays, especially in hard copy. But yesterday’s Magazine left both of us feeling sad. My mom read me an article about how animal cruelty is related to human cruelty. You can read it online here.

We were all feeling sad. Apparently kids who feel angry want to take things out on animals. Cats really suffer because they tend to be less obedient.

“Okay,” my mom says, “you guys can be exasperating. It is easy to forget that you don’t think logically. Especially when you – Gracie – eat all kinds of things after I spend a fortune on vet bills and special food.”

Me? I’m the one who should complain about bland tasteless food, not to mention sharing a household with two selfish, self-centered cats.

But I’m glad to hear that law enforcement people are cracking down on animal abuse because, my mom says, people who are mean to animals are just as mean to people. I could have told them that, if I could talk.

The article also said that kids can turn around fast if they learn to care for an animal in a positive way. Yes! Every family should adopt a pet from a shelter. The whole world would be a better place.

Of course, the world would also be better if we all took more naps. I’m off to set a good example.