Like Kids All Over Again

It's like we have little kids all over again. I mean, we've already had many different dog toys upstairs and downstairs for our dog Jenny since we adopted her four years ago. But now with our new cat, Winston, there's crap everywhere. 

Literally crap. Because one of the big differences between cats and dogs is that with cats, you don't have to buy a bunch of expensive cat toys. You can simply give them paper bags, ripped paper, twisty ties, water bottle caps, strings, and so much more, and they will go bananas playing with them all. In fact, Winston is especially fond of twisty ties. Jenny, not so much. She sticks to her favorite stuffy toys like squirrel, turkey, red bone, blue bone, clam, and candy cane. 

Jenny won't play with Winston's trash toys, but Winston will play with Jenny's stuffys, and that sometimes doesn't play well with Jenny. It's like watching an old Warner Brothers cartoon with Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog clocking in for work, with Ralph trying to capture sheep, and Sam thwarting Ralph at every turn. 

Jenny will chase Winston and bark at him when she wants to put him in his place, but most of the time they get along. And like a little kid, Winston is all over the place -- he's up on shelves, the table, the counters, the kitchen sink. Everywhere; literally the kitchen sink. I just caught him trying to climb one of our window screens again, too. 

Sigh. The grand parenting positive irony here is that our teen kids, Beatrice and Bryce, are relatively neat, keeping their rooms clean, especially Bryce, which we're grateful for (we've taught them well). And Bryce is the one taking care of Winston, at least when they're not at school, cleaning his litter box and making sure he's fed. Part of her allowance comes from keeping both Winston and Jenny fed and ensuring they have fresh water. 

However, we warned Bryce that the cat would keep them up at night, and sure enough, that's what happened. So, now Bryce shoves him outside at night, along with his litter box into the upstairs hallway, and the cat is a free range roamer in the wee hours of the morning. Beatrice is relatively safe all around, because Jenny always sleeps with us, and she's easy, and we close the door to our sun room that leads to Bea's room, so Winston can't get in there and cause a ruckus. Another irony here: we wake up to relative calm and no destruction that we can see. It's only after we're with Winston when he bounces off the walls. 

Plus, when both our kids are at school, we work from home, and it's a battle of wits and wills to keep our friggin' cat as chilled out as possible so we can work. Which is impossible, because he's a cat, and he's everywhere all at once, until he naps. Not quite a kitten anymore, but definitely a young, curious, meddling cat. This morning while my wife Amy and I meditated, I could hear Winston in the kitchen sink rattling dishes looking for food, which he won't find since we now keep our kitchen cleaner than ever, and we always kept it clean pre-cat. 

Squirt bottles and cat treats help, but mercy me, Winston's a handful. A lovingly sweet handful, like a young grandson climbing up the counter to get into the cookie jar. Thankfully his big sister, Jenny, keeps him in line sometimes, but most of the time is entertained (and annoyed) like the rest of us. And she's especially excited when Winston spills his food bowl on the floor so she can get her share of cat eats. Or, cat poop if we don't keep the litter box clean. Gross!

Reminds me of the quote from Ghostbusters, “Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” Yep, just like kids all over again.

Snack Prescient

Through all the fiery evangelical rhetoric, there were snacks. My sister and I would sit impatiently on the pew next to my grandparents, our little tummies grumbling and looking forward to the post-church lunchtime at Bob's Big Boy, and then our grandmother would reach deep into her purse to pull out some candy. Usually mints, or sometimes Lifesavers (literally and figuratively), or other random candies, or gum, that probably had been in her purse for months. I realize that you don't eat gum, or are not supposed to, (and we were told if we did, it wouldn't digest for seven years, which wasn't true because you just pass it in your poop), but if that's all that Grandma had, we'd take it. Any of these snacks were a pleasant distraction from the endless hour spent in church each Sunday.

And then there was our mother, one who took "snacks on hand" to the next level. Case in point -- going to the movies. Mom had this magic bag, one that was seemingly bottomless that she'd fill with ziplocks full of popcorn, candy like M&Ms and Red Vines, and plastic bottles of soda and water. For like up to 10 people, including her grandchildren. In my experience, local theaters used to frown a lot more on patrons bringing in their own food and drink, because they wanted you to purchase their overpriced theater snacks, and my mom was super bold bringing in this overly stuffed bag of goodies. We'd roll our eyes and cringe, worried that we'd be ejected from the theater as soon as we purchased our movie tickets, but from what I remember, she usually pulled it off. And of course we were grateful to have all the yummies during the movie.

And then there's my wife Amy, mother to our children, Beatrice and Bryce, a snack visionary who I never really appreciated until recently. Raising children isn't easy, and Amy and I have done our best over the years. But Amy knew early on that kids get hungry and cranky, or "hangry", and so even tiny bags of oyster crackers saved from restaurants when we'd go out to eat clam chowder were lifesavers. Today, I always harp on my family now to never leave the house without your phone or your keys, but Amy argues to never leave the house without snacks or water. And just like my mother, Amy's bags over the years have also been seemingly bottomless, full of her own stuff like her wallet and phone and keys, snacks for the kids (and us), water for all of us, and lots and lots of love. 

And what about me? Well, I haven't been very good about having snacks at the ready over the years. There's been many times when I've picked our kids up from school or elsewhere and they've been hungry and/or thirsty, and I had brought none of those things with me. I'm sure there are dads that have done a much better job than me, dads who are prescient enough to cut off the hangries before they happen. 

Thankfully I've got Amy. We divide a conquer many things in our household, but hangry attacks are hers to preemptively strike with snacks. Plus, other than having hangry and moody teens in our house, we now have a new cat. A kitten to be exact named Winston that is Bryce's cat. And unlike our dog Jenny, who doesn't jump on our table, our kitchen counters, and other high shelves, Winston the cat does. Cats are wily adventurers that let nothing get in their way, even if that means knocking things off tables, counters, and shelves along the way. After researching cat behavior modification, spray bottles weren't recommended (although we use it strategically -- on the cat, not the kids), but positive reinforcement with clicks and treats were. So, Amy is now our resident B.F. Skinner protégé, carrying a little plastic container full of cat treats, positively reinforcing Winston to stay off where he doesn't belong. Also, by animal envy default, Jenny gets some of those treats, too. And I thought I spoiled Jenny too much. 

Snacks on hand can definitely help to curb negative behavior, and satiate the hangries, and that's why Amy follows in a long line of snack prescient Mamas and Nanas (and Daddies more prepared than me). And just in time for the holidays, where snacks abound. Amen. 

Cat-tagious

Snooper was dead and I thought it was all my fault. Every day when I was around eight years old, I was supposed to go check on our pet rabbit that lived out in a hutch in our backyard. And every day Snooper would greet me enthusiastically because I'd bring him some vegetables. But then one day, Snooper laid on his side and flies buzzed around him. He didn't move. I knew something was terribly wrong.

My mom did her best to convince me that it wasn't my fault, that Snooper was an old rabbit and time for him to go, but I still thought I did something wrong. That feeling stuck with me for months until it finally faded.

I never forgot it, though, and decades later my family got a new rabbit after our Guinea pigs died. He was only a baby bunny with mostly white fur except around his eyes and on his back. Our girls named him Dragonlily because of the black fur on his back looked like a dragon with its wings spread. 

That was six years ago now. Since, Dragonlily went from living in our house in a big cage at night to an outside hutch. During the days, unless it was raining, we had an open pen area for him to roam around. We didn't really play with him like a dog or a cat, but he was still a beloved family pet. We ran a fun (and safe) science experiment with him (and one of our Guinea pigs) that failed, and I even wrote a fun story about them -- The Adventures of Sweetheart and Dragonlily: Part 1.

But recently one morning my wife Amy noticed that Dragonlily wasn't feeling good, which was rare, and only hours after his first visit to the vet that same day where they didn't really find anything but gave us antibiotics to give him, he was dead. This time I didn't think it was anything we did. He just got sick and died, quickly. 

We've had our share of pets die over the years, and it's always sad. From two cats and a dog before we had children, to the pets since kids -- fish, Guinea pigs, and now our sweet rabbit. Each time our kids grieved and we grieved as a family. The circle of life and death understood incrementally as our kids got older. 

Our dog Jenny that we had adopted right before the pandemic lockdown is now seven and healthy. We still call her our puppy even though she was already four when we adopted her. And if you were a fan of Modern Family like we were, Amy and girls tease me that Jenny is my Stella, Jay's French Bulldog dog from the sitcom, because she's the one I care about the most. Which isn't true. Mostly. 

But our youngest Bryce has wanted a cat more than anything for months now. And I have not. Amy didn't at first either, and neither did our oldest Beatrice, but Amy has since gotten on board and Beatrice has been on the fence. 

But for me at first? No way. Amy's cats were fine when we were first dating and living together, but over the years, the scratching up of things and stinky litter boxes were a lot. Also, growing up my sister would always bring stray cats home and the few we kept were a lot. One of those was a Persian we named Fluffy that we had to shave every six months because her hair would get so matted, which caused her to howl. And one of the cats we had that my sister didn't bring home was a cross-eyed Siamese who would be lovey one minute and then growl and hiss and pounce on my head the next. 

No way. No stinky, howly, scratchy, or pouncy cats. Ever again. In fact, the only cat thing I was willing to indulge in with Bryce were funny cat videos. Bryce worked on us (and me) for months, but I wasn't budging. However, just like we did when we adopted a dog, Amy had Bryce do research about cat care and costs and to put a budget together. Our family joke was that Dad wanted Bryce to write a series of essays about why we should adopt a cat and that Bryce should put together a business plan in order to convince me that she could adopt and care for a cat. 

And I did. Until a series of events began that changed the trajectory of my cat angst. For example, Amy and I had gone to an event that had a raffle and we were one of the winners. Out of all the prizes being given away, we won the cat bed and cat accessories prize. Ugh. I also found myself watching more funny cat videos without the kids. Good God. And then our pet rabbit died, leaving us one less pet to take care of.

So, it was meant to be that one day Mom and Bryce went out to the animal shelters and brought home sweet 15-week old Winston. Mercy me, he's cat-tagious. And he's staying in Bryce's room. Forever. 

Because what happens in the middle of the night with a cat and a Christmas tree? Maybe I need to put up some "Hang in there" cat posters around the house. Sigh.

Our Only Cat Thing

Her name was Cleo. Short for Cleopatra. A cross-eyed Siamese cat we had was I was a child that would sprint across our front yard, her back legs pumping faster than her front, which would then rotate her back end to her front end 180 degrees causing her to literally flip over and tumble multiple times to an abrupt stop. She'd look stunned, meow, and then do it all over again. 

She was also a loving cat. Until she wasn't. Not unusual for cats, Cleo would lay on my stomach while I laid on the bed or the couch, purring contentedly while I petted her. After a few minutes I hear her low growl growing inside her and she'd tense up. That's when I knew she was going to pounce on my head, and if I didn't push her off me or cover my head with something, I was a goner. 

Pounce!

Decades later, the last cats that my wife Amy and I had were her cats she had before we met, a sister and a brother named Chelsea and Charlie, and I had a dog named Joshua. Her cats did not like my dog, but they all tolerated each other. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico, and after our daughters came, first Beatrice then Bryce, only Chelsea was still alive. Bryce was only a baby and Beatrice was two. Beatrice would toddle behind Chelsea, pull on her tail, and call out "Kitty!" Chelsea didn't want any of that and she'd take a swipe at Bea. Chelsea lived to be 21 years old, too. Mercy me that's old for a cat.

Then there was my mother-in-law's cat, Sweetie. They lived with us for a few years when our girls were little. Sweetie was skittish gray ghost cat that would vanish before you even entered the room. She also took swipes at Beatrice, one time connecting and leaving a big scratch on her arm. That deterred her a little bit from pursuing Sweetie, but never fully stopped her. 

So, what's with all this cat talk today? Especially on Father's Day? Well, it's because our girls now want a cat, especially Bryce, and that's never going to happen in a million years. At least, until in a million years when the girls have places of their own. 

Why? Because cats are like humans; they're extremely unpredictable. When they're indoor cats they use cat boxes that constantly stink. When they're outdoor cats they leave dead things on your porch like Biblical sacrifices. They hack up hair balls. They scratch everything. They knock everything over. They howl and hiss and run around in the middle of the night. One minute they're loving you, and then next, pouncing on your head and biting your ears and nose.

I'm sure there are many cat owners that would challenge my current distaste for cats. Blessings to you all. Amy and I are really more dog people, and while dogs can be just as bad as unpredictable cats, they're still more like docile children compared to the bizarre, unpredictable world of adult-like cats. 

So, sorry kids, no cats. Instead, my girls and I watch cat videos together with our dog Jenny by our side (not caring about the cats). Funny cat videos of cats running around like banshees. Of cats knocking things off of high shelves. Of cats getting startled and jumping five feet into the air and off of counters. Of cats pouncing on each other and/or other humans suddenly. Of cats making alien sounds after smelling food they don't like. Of cats hacking up hair balls the size of oranges. Of cats laying around and watching TV. Of cats being dressed up in funny clothes and sunglasses and made to dance. 

Each night before bed now we watch funny cat videos until we laugh so hard we cry. It's our cat thing. Our only cat thing. So funny!

Nope, don't look at me like that, kids. No cats!

Wearing School Well

What seemed simple at first turned into an engineering problem. School projects always do. This time it was youngest daughter Bryce's 6th grade special social studies project that was all about ancient Egypt. She chose to create a cat sarcophagus with a cat mummy inside it and do research around cats in Egyptian culture. That was the engineering problem -- how to help her make something that resembled a wooden cat coffin without being carved out of real wood. 

The cat mummy was the easy part. We picked out an old smaller stuffed animal (it wasn't even a cat -- it was a tiny goat) and wrapped it in a dirty ACE bandage. That worked just fine.

The sarcophagus was a different story. We thought about using all balloons of different shapes and sizes and then covering them with paper mache, but then what about being able to cut it in half like so we could put the mummy inside?

We had some old packing styrofoam in the garage that were nearly two halves of a big block. Bryce and her mom Amy felt like we could make that work as the body. But paper mache can still be messy and take a lot more work, so we found plaster cloth rolls online that just needed to be cut into strips, dipped, applied, and smoothed.

It ended up being a combination of items we used: the styrofoam, the plaster cloth rolls, balloon-like packing bubbles to add leg muscle contours to the body, an actual balloon for the head, old playdough to help shape the facial features and cat ears, and brown spray paint.

We made sure that Bryce did as much of the project as possible. That included her own Egyptian costume that Amy helped her with, and that she wanted to be as authentic as possible, plus the cat coffin that I helped her with. As parents (and I'm especially guilty of this), we want it to be the best final project product for them as possible. The good news was that Bryce really wanted to make it her own, and that's exactly what she did. 

At one point when I was helping Bryce shape the playdough for the face, she told me it looked more like a rabbit than a cat. She wasn't wrong. We adjusted it as best we could, covered it in plaster cloth, and when it was all dry, painted it splotchy brown for an aged effect.

After all the creative prep and engineering work, the payoff was seeing Bryce in her Egyptian costume presenting what she learned about cats, coffins, and mummies. She did a fantastic job (as did most of her class on their own individual or team projects). Amy and I volunteered to review each student presentation and rate them on how well they presented their projects (not on the veracity of the information itself). 

I learned some things I did not know either. I vaguely remembered that cats were special to Egyptians, but didn't realize how revered they were. They were considered magical creatures, vessels for the gods themselves, capable of bringing good luck to the people who housed them. To honor their treasured pets, wealthy Egyptian families dressed them in jewels and fed them fancy treats. When their cats died, they were mummified. When a cat died, the owners would have to shave their eyebrows in mourning. And if you killed another cat, even accidentally, you were put to death. 

Yikes. Although we're cat people anymore, I have a new found respect for them and their ancient godlike Egyptian glory thanks to Bryce, her research, and wearing school well. 

A New Dog's Life

"It seems to me

As we make our own few circles ’round the sun
We get it backwards
And our seven years go by like one..."

–Rush, Dog Years



We used to have to take him outside in a bag. It was cumbersome, but there was no other way to keep him out of view, especially from the apartment manager who lived on the property. Our dog put up with it, too, since each time it was his opportunity to run free and go to the bathroom in the Lighthouse Field next to our apartment building.

I don't think we fooled many of our neighbors, though. And even the manager found out eventually we had a dog. Of course, we didn't get rid of our little black and white Shih Tzu named Joshua. My ex-wife and I had found him abandoned nearly a decade previous, and my then soon-to-be wife Amy and me kept him.

Amy also had two cats from the same litter, Charlie and Chelsea, since they were kittens. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico and her brother Charlie was white with back patches. Together we made a little family, even if the cats did not like the dog at all (eventually they just put up with him). And it was all wonderful, even having to take our dog out in a bag to go outside for walks and to go to the bathroom.

Until it wasn't wonderful anymore. Pets like people get old, and Joshua was the first in our little family to get really old and unwell. For years he suffered seizures where he'd fall over on his side shrieking and pee. It was so hard to watch and we never found out what exactly what was wrong. He also became arthritic over the years and in his last few years he had trouble running and then even walking was difficult. We even got doggy acupuncture for him at one point, which seemed to help for a little while. We never knew exactly how old he was, but according to vets over the years, he was at least 16-18 years old at the end of his life.

And then shortly after Amy and I got married, we had to put him to sleep. That was followed by Charlie, who we found was diabetic and just got sicker and sicker in his old age, and then Chelsea, who actually lived to be 21 years old. Chelsea lived to see our new house, and our girls, Beatrice and Bryce. Bryce doesn't remember, because she was a newborn at the time, but Bea remembers. She used to pull Chelsea's tail and shriek "Kitty!". In the end, Chelsea couldn't clean herself very well and she began to track dirty litter everywhere, including our bed.

After 21 years of life, we had put Chelsea to sleep, and our little pet family came to an end. We loved them all, but swore there would be no pets again for years and years to come. Especially no cats or dogs.

Until the girls worked and worked on us in the years since, and we gave in. First, to a fish. And then to another fish. And then to two guinea pigs and a bunny (that we ran a science fair project with).

We still have the bunny, named Dragonlily. All the other kid pets are now gone. We still swear there will never be any cats in our family again. And we still wanted to swear there would be no dogs for years to come.

We did. Until we didn't, and then Amy had a great idea: if we all really wanted a dog (after all these years), then the girls would have to research dogs, how to adopt a dog and the process and costs (we'll only adopt a shelter dog in the end), the feeding and care costs, how to crate the dog at home, walking the dog every day, who could help take care of the dog when we traveled, and so much more. And who would pick up the dog poop -- everyone including the girls -- no matter how much Bryce has already protested.

Beatrice has done more of the research to date, but Bryce is helping as well. Amy has been searching them for shelter dogs online, and recently took the girls to see one the other day named CC. She was sweet, and she could've been a good dog to us, but that evening the shelter called to say she'd been adopted.

That's when my old dog Joshua's life flashed before my very eyes. From the first moment the shaggy little muppet dog ran excitedly up to me with a tiny pink tongue poking out, to the all the years in between running and playing and barking through Lighthouse Field, to all the snuggled up lap-time, to the thousands of trips in and out of our apartment in a bag, to witnessing all his painful seizures, to the end days when he slowed and seemed to be in constant pain, to when I held him close as the vet put him to sleep forever, tears pouring down my face.

It's been over 16 years since we've had a dog. And someday soon, a new dog's life will flash before our very eyes, and we'll do it all over again.