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.

Mom calls the shrink…

Not for her. She’s far too cheap.

But Cathy is worried about our new housemate, Ophelia. After making progress, Ophelia has regressed. She staked a claim on a corner of Cathy’s bed and she won’t leave. She sits on a cushion, right next to Cathy’s pillow, and she won’t budge. When she freaks out, she dives under the bed. Not good.

So Mom asked the vet for a referral to a cat behaviorist. When Cathy called for her appointment, they said Ophelia might be suffering from shelter shock. Sort of like post-traumatic stress disorder for cats.

We’ve got a PhD-qualified, trained shrink coming next week. He comes to our home and spends a couple of hours analyzing Ophelia. Mom was aghast at the cost till she realized that’s what she charges for a diagostic website makeover session. And she doesn’t even go to clients’ homes.

Hey Mom, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find Ophelia a home with a nice little old lady, where Ophelia can be the only cat. She can sit on the old lady’s lap and watch the old lady drink tea.

Except, my mom would say, they don’t make old ladies like they used to. And she adores Ophelia. They’ve bonded.

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?

Dog park attracts weird people

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.

Copywriting Tips My Mom Learned From Her Cats

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.

WNBA: Mom loves this…

Apparently some idiot on the staff of the LA Times wrote a nasty article about the WNBA. And superstar Diana Taurasi wrote an informed, intelligent response. Read it here.

My mom was always a Taurasi fan and a WNBA fan. Every year she drags people from her alumni groups to see a game. And every year they go, “Wow — we didn’t expect the basketball to be this good.” My mom the missionary, converting NBA fans to WNBA fans.

And almost every Storm game, there’s at least one Seahawks player. They don’t have to be there, do they? They know a good game when they see one.

Diana’s letter is getting so much great publicity, my mom says.

Diana’s a 2-guard, she tells me. Part of the backcourt. I don’t know what that is but I do love backyaView »rds, so…

Go read it.

Secret Agent Gracie? Or Princess Gracie?

Here I am at the Downtown Dog Lounge, greeting my faithful subjects, Summer and Cynthia.

dog with sunglassesAs a CUPPIE, I don’t spend much time in the big play area with the other dogs. I sit on the couch and get the respect I so richly deserve.

My mom says this picture makes me look like a Secret Agent. Well, no one is better at sniffing out food.

But I’m a celebrity. Didn’t Jackie-O have big sunglasses?

WNBA Storm Basketball: My Mom Sad but Loyal

My mom refuses to discuss last night’s game. You can read about it here.

After she came home, we ran into our neighbor James. He asked, “How are you?”

Cathy: “Depressed. The Storm Lost.”

James: “Umm…I don’t follow sports. Is this a tragedy? And what about Gracie here? She doesn’t care about winning or losing.”

Actually, I do. You should see me at the dog park. I dive for balls and run with them. If I were a basketball player, I’d grab the ball, don’t let anyone else get it and run like hell. And then I’d pass to someone taller who could shoot.

My mom thinks the Storm fought valiantly. She thinks Sue Bird played brilliantly: Sue turns away frombasketball whoever’s guarding her, just like I do when three dogs are trying to steal my favorite stick.

After Sue Bird, Cathy admires Yolanda Griffith. She likes Tanisha Wright’s improbable scores, Camille Little’s solid consistency and Sheryl Swoopes’s smoothness. She loved the last reguar season game, when the coach turned the game over to the bench players (but the Storm still beat Atlanta).

You have to realize my mom didn’t know what a point guard was ten years ago. Now she’s a fan. That’s nice…but that’s about the same time she got the First Dog. And that’s how I ended up here. That’s what’s really important.

The $100 Poop: Don’t Read If You’re Squeamish

My mom Cathy lives on the Internet but she’s shy to the point of being ridiculous when it comes to talking about certain topics. When she got the First Dog, she had to figure out how to tell the vet that Keesha wasn’t um…doing her business…yeah, that kind of business.

Now Mom’s a pro and she knows that we dogs need time to adjust our digestive systems after we get adopted or move to a new city. But back then she was a certified cat fanatic, desperately trying to learn how to be worthy of her splendid new dog.

Mom’s also discovered that dog owners actually look for ways to discuss these solid matters.

When Cathy lived in New Mexico, for instance, she was a volunteer marshal with the Tour of the Gila bike race. She and another volunteer were posted at an intersection to stop cars from running down the bikes. Naturally she took Keesha. And, she tells me, Keesha took the opportunity to make a very large deposit during one of the traffic breaks. The other volunteer (a cute young school teacher) called out, “Feeling better now, Keesha?”

Mom wanted to hide under her own signal flag.

So she wasn’t surprised when a neighbor in New Mexico commented, “Big poop for such a small dog!” (although she really didn’t know how to respond). Or a current neighbor commented on my output with, “Wow, that’s really solid.”

Alas, I have a delicate tummy and I eat everything in sight. On Wednesday we rushed to the vet because I had produced blood along with the usual products. The vet gave me a shot (ouch!) and pills (yuk – I’ve gotten really good at spitting them out). Mom paid just over $100 for all this.

Nothing happened. Cathy emailed the vet with a frantic message and was advised to “observe” me for 24 hours. No problem. I sleep next to her while she works so she observes me all day long.

Then it happened. Perfect. I get to go back to normal food. Mom can take her gaze (and her mind) off my rear end. I still get a few horrible pills but I can deal with them. dogs cost money

Mom calls it the $100 poop. But she doesn’t complain. “At least Gracie didn’t wake me up at 2 AM for an urgent call of nature. We live on the third floor of a city apartment.”

Under the weather

Aargh…yesterday my delicate digestive system created an unsightly mess when we went our walk. My mom dragged me off to the vet. Do you think she was worried about me? Nope…she doesn’t want me to drag pull her out of bed at 3 AM with an urgent need to do my business.

So I got prodded and poked and jabbed. Ouch! That nice Dr Morris said I need antibiotics in case there’s an infection. That nice Malari jabbed me with a needle so I’d get better faster.

Look, just tell my nice owner, my mom Cathy: enough with the walks and the running! I need a rest. She’s tired too but she’d never admit it.