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 protoypethe dog 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.

Oh no…they said the “D” word!

On Monday afternoon my mom dashed into the UrbanVet office. She carried a cage with our ailing (and wailing) housemate, Tiger. Cathy was supposed to give fluids to Tiger. She gave up Saturday after stabbing her own finger.

Cathy is terrified of human doctors so she panicked. It took several emails from an online support group to convince her she was going to live.

So what was I doing at the vet? Mom took me along to our vet because she thought I had been paying entirely too much attention to my … um…rear parts. No comment.

The vet tech poked around in places that are never publicly mentioned by Canine Urban Princesses (CUPPIES) like me. Yuk.

But as we were leaving, that nice Dr. Kira stopped by to say hello. She adores me. She told Cathy, “I’m so glad you adopted Gracie.”

Me too, most of the time.dog lose weight

But then Dr. Kira looked at me with a whole different expression.

“Gracie, you’re getting a little chunky here. Better watch it.”

“Right,” my mom said. “She gained about 7 pounds since I adopted her. Time for a diet.”

Oh no. The D-word. Just what I don’t need. I get so much exercise…what more do they want?

This time, I didn’t get a treat on the way out.

Cats get too much attention

With our tabby cat Tiger on her last paws, my mom Cathy has been distracted. She was so excited this morning: Tiger ate almost a whole can of Fancy Feast cat food. Then she jumped up on the table and took a few sips of Cathy’s iced coffee.

“Why is it okay to drink iced coffee but not eat food from the refrigerator?” Cathy asked.

Tiger twitched her tail and headed back to her home in the closet. She likes to sleep there during the day. Fine with me. Out of sight, out of mind. More of everything for me.

Alas, our ditzy roommate Creampuff, who’s healthy as a horse, is developing a taste for all this fancy food. Mom will never get her back to crunchies.

I don’t understand finicky. It’s not in my vocabulary or my genes. Garbage or gourmet — who cares?

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.

My Dog Crate is Really a Castle (With a Ghost)

Cathy wonders if my castle is haunted by the ghost of her First Dog, Keesha.

My finely-tuned nose tells me a lot about Keesha. She was gentle and friendly, like me. She worried a little too much about Cathy so she barked a lot. She always scolded Cathy for going away and leaving her.

Me? I think my mom can take care of herself…and me, too. As soon Cathy drops me off at the Dog Lounge, I give her a sad good-by look just to be polite. The minute she’s gone, I’m up on the couch, charming the receptionist and graciously accepting treats and affection from the staff.

One of Cathy’s friends thinks the dead come back to us as spirits. So Cathy wondered, “Does Keesha come back and talk to Gracie?”

I know. But I’m not saying. 2 dogs

If she did come back, I’d ask her one big question. “How do you keep that !*@#! tabby cat out of this crate?”

Tiger likes to sneak in and drink my water. She sits here and stares out the door. When I try to enter my own castle, she hisses and waves her paw.

Keesha would never tolerate this behavior. She had those cats under control.

If she did come back as a spirit, I’d ask her how…and then I’d be very, very glad that spirits don’t shed. Keesha had enough fur for three dogs.

Who’s Top Dog In This Household?

What’s wrong with this picture? That’s a 19-year old cat, sitting on her old cushion, looking smug. It’s Tiger, the Queen of our household. cat as top dog

Sometimes I try to play with her. She’s such a grump! She just swats me with her paw and yowls tha raspy meow. Since she’s old, she’s fussier about everything.

My mom ordered a couple of cases of canned food because Tiger won’t eat dry food anymore. I think she’s lost her sense of smell.

Cathy adores Tiger. They’ve been together since spring of 1994. More than some people have been married.

Tiger used to sleep next to Mom’s pillow. Now she prefers to sleep in the closet. But during the day, she likes to sit near my mom.

When my mom works on her laptop on the couch, Tiger sleeps on the armrest next to her. When my mom eats a snack (a lot more often than she should, but don’t tell her I said that), Tiger tries to share.

“When I get old, I want someone to spoil me,” Mom says. “So I’ll spoil Tiger as much as I can.”

How about spoiling me too, Mom? I’m bigger. Double the karma.

Reading Goody’s Dog Park Diary

My mom just picked up a new book, Dog Park Diary: The Social Round of Goofy Beagle, channeled through author Kim Pearson. She read it to me and I was just getting ready to review it when we saw a comment from Goody Beagle herself on my shoe-chewing entry a few days ago.dog park diary cover

Wow…comments from celebrities! Maybe Dean Koontz’s dog Trixie will drop by someday.

Goody Beagle, a lucky dog indeed, goes to the dog park every day. Their Bellevue East Side dog park has grass and trees. Our Belltown Regrade Park just has wood chips and cement (and lots of heart).

Goody writes about all the dogs who come there. She’s got a cute way to identify them: their own name and their breed. The first dog we meet is Alice B. Spaniel. B stands for Brittany. Cute.

I’d be Gracie the Mellowmutt. That’s okay, as long as you recognize I’m really Gracie the CUPPIE, the first dog on the planet to be identified as a Canine Urban Princess.

My mom liked seeing the different dog breeds. As a writer herself, she admired the way Pearson interprets Goody’s stories. “She summarizes a dog’s whole personality in just a few sentences. Wow.”

Hmm. I wonder how Goody would summarize my personality.

“So who would you play with?” my mom asked me.

Read page 10, Mom. They have to pass the sniff test.

You can tell Dog Park Diary was written by a dog, not a human. Goody writes dog to dog about the important stuff, like smelling and what my squeamish mom calls “doing your business.” There’s actually a rear view photo of Goody in the act…well, you better see for yourself.

Mom said she’s going to recommend this book as a gift for all the dog lovers in your life.

Personally, I would give a real present for the dogs, like a nice chew toy, cozy dog bed or peanut butter treat. But Mom says you have to give presents to the owners. In her young days, she once brought a package of catnip as a thank you gift when she was invited to dinner. Who knew they wanted wine?

Mom’s much more socialized now and she would recommend adding this book to your holiday and birthday gift list.

“But you have to be a hard-core dog lover,” Mom says. She once got into trouble with her Great Careers Ezine. In those days she had a personal “my life” section at the opening of each ezine, where she wrote about First Dog Keesha and the cats. One mention of Keesha exchanging a “ritual sniff” with another dog and her “unsubscribe” numbers went through the roof.

Save this book for enlightened dog owners, who will want to keep their own copy and buy more as gifts.