A Dog’s Life – Page 36

Dog owner feeling sad

My mom Cathy has been feeling sad lately. Our housemate, Tiger the tabby cat, has been walking around on her last paws, as they say. She’s getting ready to cross the bridge, my mom says. More likely, that great sandbox in the sky.

Tiger has been the dominant force in our household since I joined up. She gets into my crate. She takes over my favorite dog bed. She bosses everybody around.

But Cathy says, “Tiger has been with me for just over 14 years. That’s a large chunk of my life. She’s just such a great cat.” She pats Tiger and says, “It’s okay, Tiger. You’ve served your mission. You can go peacefully.”

I’d like to say Tiger is past caring, but in fact she’s pretty alert, especially for a cat who’s probably close to 20. (Cathy adopts only older animals. At three, I barely qualified.) That’s 91 in human years. Tiger still jumps up on the couch. She snoozes in the sun. She finds the litter box (thank goodness).

But she’s not eager to eat her dinner. She might nibble a few bites from a freshly opened can. And then she gets that look in her eye like, “I don’t need this anymore.”

Cathy was telling someone, “Intellectually, I know it’s time to say good-by. I know she’s had a great life. Most cats would give their right paws to have a life like Tiger’s. But…she’s so special.”

So Cathy’s giving Tiger sub-Q fluids. She’s waiting for her regular vet to get back for a final opinion.

My job is to insist that we carry on. We must continue to go to the Dog Park as often as possible. And I bark at Tiger, just to keep things normal around here. Tiger still hisses but she’s lost the spark.

Luckily Cathy has a new teleseminar series — lots of work. It will be good for her. And I have to admit, she’s a pretty darn good seminar leader.

Dog-gone good Sundays

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.

Pill-popping pets

According to the New York Times, more and more dogs are taking psychoactive drugs. There’s a whole article in the magazine.

My mom Cathy wonders if I can take a pill so I will stop chewing.

You won’t catch me doing drugs though. I chew because I like the taste of socks. Anxiety is not a word in my vocabulary. If I were any calmer I’d be a zombie.

Why don’t those dogs just get more exercise? Friday I went off to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara. I ran for over an hour. I was exhausted.

Today Cathy dropped me off in the dog lounge while she ran some errands. She told the staff, “Gracie will probably be tired. She’ll want to snooze on the couch.”

Hah. As they told Cathy, I barked till they put me in the exercise area with the other dogs. I wanted to play!

Now I’m sprawled out on Cathy’s bed, sound asleep.

Not a neurotic bone in my body.

The cats, however, are another story. Especially that ditzy calico who eats my food. My food? Everybody knows cat food tastes better. Creampuff needs a chill pill.

Dog Park a Community

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. me at the dog park

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.

Dog Tired

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.

Prototype of a Midlife Dog

When Cathy adopted me, she had trouble seeing me as the magnificent Canine Urban Princess (CUPPIE) I am. She was so accustomed to her First Dog, Keesha, a keeshond-chow mix with fuzzy hair, pointy ears and huge paws.

She actually referred to me as a “homely little mutt.”

Then I started getting compliments from people who saw my photos. Mary Lynn of The Writers Center said, “She’s beautiful! Look at those eyes.” Cathy knew the Lynns when she lived in Silver City, New Mexico. They taught her a lot about writing. They seem nice, for cat people.

And total strangers said, “What a cute dog.” Or even, “She’s gorgeous.”

Cathy’s attention perked up when several different people said, “Now there’s a dog who looks like a real dog.”

Huh?

Cathy has always been fascinated by social psychology, so she remembered prototype theory. When we think of categories, we tend to identify prototypes associated with that category. A robin is the protoype for “bird.” The more an object looks like a robin, the more we’ll categorize it as a bird.

And the more a dog looks like me, the more it’s a dog, right? Hmm…what about those furry little mops who entertain me at the dog park? Or those Great Danes who look a lot like horses?

One thing’s for sure: Nobody would ever confuse me with a cat.

And I’ll take my compliments where I can get them.

Dog owner becomes caregiver to aging feline

My mom Cathy finally recognized her limits as a caregiver. She advertised on craigslist for a special needs pet sitter who could help give Tiger fluids. Sure enough, a delightful former vet tech named Jen answered her plea.

Jen came over Wednesday and walked Cathy through the process. She came back today and said Cathy’s doing much better. She even complimented Cathy’s ability to shove a big pill down Tiger’s throat.

Cathy was so excited because Tiger jumped up on the counter and ate a few mouthfuls of food without being prompted. What’s the big deal? I eat all the time, don’t I? cat eating

But I absolutely adore Jen. While she was talking to my mom, she gave me a full body massage. She rubbed my tummy and talked to me in soothing tones, clearly recognizing my royal stature.

Cathy offered to help Jen develop her website when Jen gets ready to expand her practice. My mom has a one-track mind.

Jen did offer a parting shot as she headed out.

“You could give Gracie low-calorie carrots instead of her usual treats,” she said. “Dogs don’t know the difference.”

Who said the f-word? I’m not fat. I’m just becoming royally queen-sized.

aging cat is a hassle

My Mom Cathy has been distracted by our elderly roommate, Tiger, which takes attention away from me. No way to treat a princess.

See, Cathy is supposed to be giving Tiger fluids. So far she managed to stick herself with the needle. She immediately went to her online support group. Apparently there is a HUGE group of people taking care of cats with kidney disease. As soon as she posted she got half a dozen awesome responses.

“Not to worry. We’ve all done it. Just keep the area clean.”

Sigh. Saturday afternoon is no time for a scare.

I’m angling for a fast walk to the Dog Park.

More about my elderly feline roommate

Tiger went to the vet yesterday. My mom returned looking grim. She has to give Tiger fluids. The poor cat is dehydrated.

“I think Tiger has lost her sense of smell, not her appetite,” Mom said. “She’s even backing away from the tuna fish. But she’s very interested in what’s on her plate…and my plate, too.

“Tiger just looks like, ‘I’m hungry! This looks good so I’ll sniff….Oh no! Why are you serving me gravel?'”

Apparently cats use their sense of smell to decide if food is edible. Once it’s gone, they have no clue.

But she will be happy to be proven wrong, if a newly hydrated Tiger starts eating again.

I will be on my best behavior, knowing Cathy has so much going on. But hey, I’m a dog, not a saint. There is a patron saint of dogs but no saintly dogs as far as I know.

So I hope my mom Cathy hides the chewables. And I suspect we’re in for lots of walks while mom is feeling stressed.

My Roommate Tiger the Tabby Cat Is Getting Old

My mom Cathy has been very sad the last few days. Our roommate Tiger has not been eating. She just kind of nibbles at her food. She still jumps up on the sofa and keeps me in line, but she’s more interested in sleeping than eating.

Yesterday Cathy saw Tiger snoozing peacefully in a patch of sunlight. “That’s how I’d like to end my days,” she told me. “Sleeping peacefully in the sun.” tabby cat

Mom’s going to take Tiger to the vet. She’s not happy to be stressing out Tiger but she wonders if it’s something that might respond to a few pills. Tiger is tough.

Frankly, I think Tiger is a useless parasite, but my mom thinks Tiger is…well, the cat’s meow. They’ve been together 14 years (longer than some marriages, Mom says).

Tiger’s had 3 airplane rides and crossed an international border. She endured interstate moves in a packed Toyota from the vantage point of her cat carrier. She’s lived in at least one Canadian province and 5 US cities. She’s recovered from liver disease and pancreatitis. She has outlived 3 feline roommates and 1 canine roommate.

When Cathy moved to New Mexico, Tiger spent a few months with her friend Bob, a statistics professor in Florida. Bob made sure there were no significant differences in the way he treated Cathy’s two cats. Both were spoiled equally rotten.

Not bad for a cat who found herself in a Humane Society cage at age 5.

So I better keep my opinions to myself. Luckily, today’s my day to run in the park with my Aunt Sara. Mom needs to focus on Tiger for awhile.