Tag: dogs

Visitor from Philadelphia

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 thisdog park gift certificate was used 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.

Ophelia still hanging around

My mom has been force feeding Ophelia twice a day. She just started giving the poor cat Sub-Q fluids every other day. You’d think she’d be ready to say, “Alas, poor Ophelia….” and send her back where she came from.

But no. She exclaims, “Ophelia purred while I gave her fluids!” and “Ophelia’s so good when I feed her.”

Personally, I think it’s the Stockholm Syndrome. Mom is getting attached to this useless furry creature who runs her life. But it looks like Ophelia’s here to stay. I’m trying to make friends, but Ophelia doesn’t get it. A friendly “arf” and a sniff…who could misunderstand?

Cats are dumb.

Our housemate is turning yellow

On Saturday my mom took Ophelia to the vet. Despite the advice of the behaviorist, Ophelia was not responding was not eating as much as my mom had hoped.

Dr. Angel took one look at Ophelia’s ears. “Yellow!” she exclaimed. “Liver disease!” She gave Ophelia some fluids and announced, “We’re sending out the blood tests. Come back Monday.”

Cathy went home with a few cans of special liver food and instructions to force feed. Ophelia also gets pills to stimulate her appetite and get over an infection she picked up.

Cathy was very bummed.

Appetite? I think Mom should take Ophelia to the park and let her run with me. A few rounds in the fresh air would do wonders for anybody’s appetite. I could ask my dog friends to chase her a little.

Real Men Own…Cats?!

My mom just read me part of this article from the New York Times. Apparently more straight guys are coming out of the closet, disclosing their deep affection for the feline species.

“The article didn’t come right out and say that women are attracted to men who own cats,” Cathy told me. “But a guy who likes cats is very sure of himself and confident about his masculinity.”boy and cat

Hah. A guy who owns dogs can take his dog to the park. He’ll meet a dozen women who will “ooh” and “ah” over the dog. And a woman who owns a dog will get tons of attention — the good kind — not to mention respect from guys who admire a strong, secure female.

I’m not the least bit insecure about my status.

Why can’t a cat be more like a dog?

Cathy has been getting very frustrated with our new housemate, Ophelia. Ophelia is beautiful and gentle. She has a wonderful loud purr. But she’s terrified of Creampuff.

Yeah, you read that right. You’re probably wondering how anyone can be intimidated by that ditzy calico. But Ophelia hisses and growls – loud! – when she encounters Creampuff. And Creampuff tries to chase Ophelia.

As a result of all the trauma, Ophelia spends a lot of time under Cathy’s bed. She doesn’t even like to venture out to eat.

No dog would ever be so dumb. We won’t let a silly little cat keep us from the most important moments in our life: dinner. We’d never hide.

Ophelia doesn’t know how lucky she is. Cathy is looking up names of cat therapists. She thinks Ophelia needs a shrink.

I’m not saying a word. (Did I tell you dogs are smart?) But I think a certain dog owner needs to have her head examined. Why on earth did she adopt a furry problem child?

My paws get tired…

With the beautiful weather we’re having, my mom decided we should walk to her gym in the evening. Actually, she walks to the gym. I get dropped off at Downtown Dog Lounge to sit on the couch and hang out with my friend Summer and all the other dogs.

We walk about a mile and a half. Yesterday we were running late so my mom insisted we walk fast. No time for sniffing, she said. And besides, she added proudly, walking fast is better exercise.

Well, I sure don’t need to lose weight. I am in great shape. Maybe my mom could stand to drop a few inches here and here, but why do I have to go along with the program?

Cathy is very sensitive about weight, though, so I’m not saying a word. She holds the keys to my treats.

My owner needs the exercise…so why do I get involved?

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.

Year of the Body (yeah, but whose…)

My mom has declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. Hers. She downloaded a book on healthy eating. She bought grains and leafy green stuff. She started back to meditating at least once a day. And she’s working out more than ever.

“By Christmas,” she says, “I want to have a whole new body.”weights for new body

Of course, after setting all this in motion, she found something on the Internet about the danger of losing weight once you get past a certain age. She decided to ignore it.

Mom also cancelled her Cable TV. She has been so busy going to exercise class, she says, she has no more time to watch. And she wants to send me off on more walks with my Aunt Sara, since she’s going out more. That’s fine with me.

Our new housemate, Ophelia, is also on a diet. She refuses to eat dry food so she survives on a small amount of canned. She licks her wet food off each dry morsel.

Creampuff and I are the voices of normalcy, although Creampuff likes to eat my crunchies. I eat what my mom feeds me, plus treats, plus whatever disgusting stuff I find in the dog park.

And I’m the perfect size and shape.

Dog dies while officer writes speeding ticket

Good grief. My mom read me this story and we both felt really sad.

Sure…the guy shouldn’t be speeding, even for an important mission like taking the dog to the animal hospital. But the officer apparently said, “It’s just a dog. You can get another one.”

We’re not especially big on teacup poodles but we were pretty shocked ourselves.

My mom once read a book a long time ago, Travels with Lizbeth. A young homeless man traveled around the US with his dog, Lizbeth. Once a social worker suggested he should give away the dog to get a night at a shelter. “Who’s the crazy person?” the young man wondered.

“You can’t just get another dog,” my mom says. “Gracie, you’re very cute, but you’re not Keesha. Keesha would never chew up her own dog bed.”

Sometimes I ignore my mom and just go to sleep.

Adopting our new housemate

Good grief. We can’t have any peace around here.

We just said sad good-bys to Tiger. Well, my mom Cathy was sad. I’m philosophical. Cats come. Cats go.

We went to the Seattle Animal Shelter, just to look. Cathy’s neighbors, Diana and Rachel, offered to give us a ride. Yep…you read that right. Us. I went along too. Cathy wanted to show the Shelter folks what a good pet owner she is.gracie in shelter

Naturally I stole the show. Everyone kept saying, “What a beautiful dog.”

One of the staff volunteers gave me a toy.

Diana, who drove us down, is holding my leash firmly. I’m waiting for Cathy to finish the paperwork. Isn’t this dumb? When she adopted me, my foster mom just drove me down. She could tell Cathy would be a great owner. This Shelter is more complicated.

adaoption sceneAnd here’s Cathy with the Adoption Volunteer who helped her choose Ophelia. And me. Do I look as bored as I feel?

And here’s the adoptee herself. Can you tell she’s overflowing her carrier? Mom is making all kinds of noise about kitty aerobics.cat in carrier

No problem. I get my aerobics in the park, thank you very much.

But there’s at least one silver lining. With a 17-pound cat, nobody’s looking at my waistline. Welcome, Ophelia!