Cats are so dumb…

…and I nominate Creampuff as our very own candidate for Feline Airhead of the Year.

We have a small laundry room in our apartment. My mom keeps the dog food and cat food there. When she goes in to scoop up my daily ration, Creampuff races inside and hides behind the washing machine. Cathy turns out the light and leaves, closing the door. One minute later, she opens the door…and there’s Creampuff, waiting to jump out. You’d think we’d forced her to go in there.

Occasionally Creampuff doesn’t come out and then my mom forgets…until we hear yowls coming from behind a closed door.

But here’s the mystery. Hasn’t that cat caught on yet? What does she expect to find behind the washing machine: A rare treat? A juicy mouse? A secret door to the outside world?

To be fair, Creampuff really wanted to be an outdoor cat. But she got dumped at a shelter in New Mexico and nobody wanted her. Talk about age discrimination. A two-year-old cat is over the hill.

So when Cathy turned up, the shelter staff begged, “Please take her. She’s been here 3 whole months. So you know she’s flexible.”

Since when was flexibility a valued character trait in a cat? Needless to say, Cathy didn’t probe too deeply. She thought Creampuff was adorable.

Hey, don’t blame me. I wasn’t there. In fact, I wasn’t born yet.

Hmmm….humans have tasteless “dumb blond” jokes. So I’m going to ask my canine friends at the Dog Lounge, “Hey, did you hear the one about the calico cat who …” Works for me.

“Your owner wears running shoes”

“Your momma wears combat boots!” an ill-mannered dog barked at us one day.

I turned up my pointy little nose. “Wrong. My owner wears running shoes. Asics, to be precise.”

And she’s totally obnoxious when it comes to exercise. Sometime in her twenties, she was visiting a friend who said, “Come to the gym with me. I’ll lend you an outfit.” It was so long ago, she says, they were wearing leotards. Black leotards. Remember? Yuk. I’m trying hard not to get a mental image.

So after that my mom was hooked. She did Jazzercise and then the Nickolaus method and then aerobics till her tendons started screaming. She’s always been a walker (she’s never really liked driving) and about 15 years ago she took up weight lifting.

Cathy is totally vain about her exercise and she embarrasses me when she brags about how fit she is. When she was young she was a total wuss, she says. She used to like wearing dresses and she couldn’t do sports. She would duck when someone threw a ball in her direction. (She probably still does.)

Cathy especially drives me nuts when she interrupts my nap to tell me about articles she finds, like this one about how exercise helps every part of your health.

I’m already in perfect shape. I run with Aunt Sara at least once a week and Cathy’s always dragging me off to the dog park. But I can see Cathy’s wheels turning. She wants to get thinner and that means we’re gonna be walking…and walking. I feel sleepy already, just thinking about it.

Every time we walk, people stop us to say, “What a cute dog!” or “Can I pat your dog?” “She looks so friendly…”

And then Cathy has to go and say something about my “issues” or “She’ll go home with you if you’re not careful. She tried to go home with the UPS driver…”

Yeah, right. Come on, Mom. Let’s walk a little faster in those running shoes.

Dog owner to eye doctor, dog to park

gracie the dog getting treat at vetOn the right you’ll see a photo of Ruth, Office Manager of UrbanVet. She knows how a vet visit should be concluded: with me, the VIP client, getting a special treat. So I look forward to going to the vet.

My mom, Cathy, avoids the human equivalent of vets – the MDs. “Mostly arrogant jerks,” she says.

But on Monday she got busy on the Internet. I heard her telling someone on the phone, “I keep seeing this black shape…like a large bug floating in front of my left eye. Yuk. I really hate doctors…maybe I’ll wait.”

Oh no. I am too old to be trained as a Seeing Eye dog. I gave her The Look. She gave in, canceled her afternoon appointments and turned me over to Aunt Sara for a trip to the park.

When it comes to doctors, my mom is a wuss. I try to set a good example for her when I go to the vet, but no luck. Fortunately I wasn’t allowed to accompany her to the eye doctor. I would have been so embarrassed.

First, every time she meets a doctor (even socially), she clenches a fist, points to her bicep and says, ”How many women my age have muscles like this?” Usually they cave in and agree: she’s in awesome shape. She never used to tell her age but now she loves to brag (not to mention being the miserly type who grabs all the senior discounts).

And then she pitched her services…to the eye doctor. True, they really need a website and she’s pretty good. And we can use the money to buy me treats, manicures, dog lounge visits and trips to the park.

Anyway my mom got a clean bill of health. She wasn’t really surprised. But she was surprised with the service. “They were so nice,” she said. ‘Not at all arrogant. No talking down to me. I was amazed.”

But she didn’t get a treat, did she? Hah. They’ll be sending her a big bill.

“I bet it’s bigger than the bill we got for your eye infection,” she sighed when we were back home together on the couch.

Good. Nice to keep things in perspective here.

Great heart-warming dog story from Lisa Scottoline

Lisa Scottoline is on my mom’s Top Five list of mystery authors. That means when a new book comes out, Mom drops everything (well, almost everything) and reads it cover to cover.

Lisa’s got a great story about her own golden retriever:

http://tinyurl.com/5cuz87

sent to me by Ellen Zucker of FacesandFortunes.com

We Mind Our Own Business

Tonight my mom took me out for a walk later than usual. I was still tired from my trip to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara. As I stopped to …well, you know. Cathy noticed a police car stopped just across the street. Were they wondering if she was going to scoop for me? Waiting to see if I had a license?Protecting us against any danger? Or on some mission that had nothing to do with us?

No problem. We’re good citizens. My mom always carries plastic bags when we go out. And we’re legal. She’s got a license to do her business and I’ve got a license to do mine.

The police car drove away silently and we returned home, where I could resume my nap, completely innocent. Fortunately shoe-chewing is a crime only within our household.

So the pope likes cats…big fat hairy deal.

Yesterday’s New York Times reported that Pope Benedict is a cat-lover…a “soul-mate” to cats, they say. Read the story here.

According to the Times, Popes have enjoyed a special affinity with cats over the years:

“Pope Paul II, in the 15th century, had his cats treated by his personal physician. Leo XII, in the 1820s, raised his grayish-red cat, Micetto, in the pleat of his cassock. And according to The Times of London, Paul VI, pope from 1963 to 1978, is said to have once dressed his cat in cardinal’s robes.”

A cat dressed in cardinal’s robes? Those guys need to get a life.

Sure, it’s nice to know that the tough-minded Cardinal Ratzinger took care of cats in the gardens of his Congregation and even bandaged their wounds. But…wounds? What were those cats fighting about? Could a little spay-and-neuter clinic be the answer? Please tell me it’s not against the Pope’s religion to … um…fix the situation.

Anyway, if the current Pope wants a little souvenir to take back to the Vatican, I’ll make the supreme sacrifice. He can have our two spoiled felines…either or both.

There would be only one downside, as far as I’m concerned. Our cats like to eat on the floor, especially our fat old tabby. Jumping up to the counter, out of my reach, gets harder as we age. So Cathy leaves a food plate on the floor when we go out.

If I’m lucky, she forgets to pick it up when we return. So I get to sneak a delicious snack. I always look very smug when this happens.

Other than that, who needs them? They take over my dog beds. They run away when I try to play. Or they even swat my nose. Cats do not understand the concept of living in community.

cat sitting on backpack

A one-way ticket to Italy…perfect.

Here’s my candidate for deportation, sitting on top of Cathy’s backpack. She looks so innocent… but don’t be fooled. Those little paws can do a lot of damage.

Seattle People are SO Nice

Visitors and newcomers immediately comment that Seattle people are “nice.” They rarely get mad. They’re not pushy like people in other big citites. They’re friendly.

“Sometimes it’s just too much,” a displaced New Yorker told my mom, who was born in New York and retains a Big Apple soul. “You just want to scream at somebody.”

Just yesterday, my mom was holding me firmly by the leash (I have a tendency to get distracted by motorcycles and would love to take off into the street…cars? what’s a car?). She was on her way to the bus stop, waiting for the light to change, when a total stranger came up and asked, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“We’re just waiting for the light to change,” Cathy said, in a very un-Seattle tone.

“Uh-oh, Gracie,” she said. “That woman probably wanted to be helpful. She thought we were lost. But I’m in a neighborhood holding a dog. Do I look like a tourist?”

Just a couple of days ago another stranger told Cathy, “Those leashes aren’t good for dogs.”

“I’ve discussed her leash with my trainer and my vet,” Cathy said. “She’s fine.”

True.

Our feline housemates are declawed. Cathy adopted them that way and they’re happy, healthy and not at all neurotic. Pushy, yes. Demanding, yes. But very polite and they purr all the time, except when I try to play with them.  Just don’t tell any well-meaning helpful Seattle citiziens.

Cathy’s going off to exercise class. Good! She’ll work off some indignation and then we’ll go do something constructive together…like visit the dog park for the umpteenth time.

Caution: Dog Owner at Work

Uh-oh. Mom’s put on her copywriting music. She favors classical and she listens to whatever’s playing at the next Seattle Symphony concert she’s attending. Today it’s a Mozart piano concerto. Very soothing.dog helps owner work

Since Mom’s working seriously, I get to entertain myself this  morning.  Hre I am curled up on the couch, helping my mom who’s working on her laptop. Yeah, my ears go up when I’m sleeping. Don’t ask.

Fortunately Cathy feels guilty when she’s busy and she sends me off with Sara the dogwalker from Walkabout Pet Care. Sara takes a few neighborhood dogs to Magnuson Dog Park where I get to run around for a hour or so, full speed, sniffing the wind and the water. Most dogs are regulars and we’ve become friends.

“Not fair,” my mom sighs. “Gracie, why don’t you stay home and write some copy and I’ll go play in the park?”

Nice try, Mom. Maybe in your next life you get to come back as your own dog.

Visiting the dog park on a sunny day

Saturday was so beautiful. Mom was thrilled to be wearing shorts. I liked feeling sun on my fur .entering Regrade Dog Park

So after my bath and some play time at the Dog Lounge, we just had to go to the Dog Park across the street.

Look at all those rules! The only one I care about is, “Bring food at your own risk.” One day some wonderful person (my word) or idiot (my mom’s view) brought her lunch and left a whole bagel untended for all of 10 seconds. I grabbed a half and raced around the park, competing with half a dozen other dogs. Great exercise and I was the big winner.

“If Gracie steals food in the park, I’m not paying anyone a dime,” my mom says. This time she’s right.

Here’s a photo of Ed, one of the park regulars, with Sheba, one of his two dogs.

Ed likes to fuss over me (who doesn’t?), but Sheba gets jealous and knocks me down. When that happens I go over to Cathy and say, “It’s time to go home.”

We met a new dog on Saturday: Jack, newly adopted by Melissa and Jeremy.

dog park visitor with dog

They found Jack on Craigslist. He’s shaved because his fur was matted and he came with a digestive disorder. Apparently he’s allergic to corn and wheat so he’s on a special diet and doing fine. He was already house trained and very polite but they weren’t sure how he’d deal with other dogs and people.

Of course I checked him out and I’m so mellow, few dogs can resist. They even use me for temperament tests in the Dog Lounge. Within minutes Jack was sniffing out new friends all over the park.

We were waiting at the bus stop when they hailed a cab. I had to laugh. The driver seemed to be asking about the dog but Melissa was firm. “He’ll just sit on the seat and he’s very good in cars.” No room for discussion.

My mom needs to do that when we hail our own cabs. She usually brings something for me to sit on so I won’t get fur on the seats. She doesn’t argue: if they won’t take us, she’ll get another cab. I prefer the bus, myself. Some drivers welcome me and I love being the center of attention.

Dog sleeping

After a day of getting a bath, playing in the dog lounge and then catching up with my dog park friends, I was exhausted. Cathy wants me to sleep on my cushion but I’m too tired to care. Here I am dreaming about springtime in Seattle.

Urban Dog Gets Bath, Pedicure

Yesterday Cathy dropped me off at the Dog Lounge for a bath. downtown dog lounge seattle

Thank goodness…I was beginning to feel itchy.

Don’t tell anyone but I go to the groomer more than she goes to the hairdresser. “More bang for the buck,” my mom says. “Gracie looks gorgeous after her grooming session. I look…marginally improved.”

I’m not saying a word and if I were you, I wouldn’t either.

Here I am right after my bath with Terri, the trainer who’s trying to teach me some manners. When she says “No,” I listen. If she weren’t so nice…

dog trainer with gracie

And here’s Summer, who gave me my wonderful bath, trying to figure out what to charge Cathy. I should get a discount because I’m such a good advertisement for the place.

I suspect the staff thinks Cathy should pay a surcharge. When she picks me up, she asks a dozen times, “How was Gracie? Was she a good dog? Everything okay? Did she get to exercise? Will she be good and tired when we get home?”

My mom needs to get a life. But at least she makes sure I have a good one.