My darling wife, Jo-Ann often remarks, “In the next
life, I’d like to come back as a cat in THIS house…”
It’s not hard to see her point.
There was a time when I believed that having a
single pet in the house was more than adequate. I
had nearly always had a cat, so that was as it should
be. Then we got a dog. I liked the dog, but he was
a lot more of a challenge than the cat was. The cat
made it abundantly clear who was in charge.
After we lost the dog to an accident, it was back
to just having the one cat. He preferred to remain
anonymous whenever strangers were about, and we
never had to worry about mice. He liked dark, small
spaces, so it was rare that he asked for space on
anyone’s bed. Usually, he was content to snuggle
atop a warm basket of fresh, clean laundry, or the
dining room table.
When we moved to the lake, I promised our son
that he could have another dog, so we got Ripley.
She was much more easy-going than our previous
pup, and extremely well behaved. After she was fully
grown, the cat became sickly, and at 17, we had to
do the unthinkable. He had required a great deal of
special care in his declining years, and now that he
was gone, we were back to the relative simplicity of
having just a single pet in the house. This thought
actually did run through my head.
The thing about households is that they normally
contain a variety of individuals. Ours had a happy
little boy who loved his dog. We also happened to
have a little girl who really missed having a kitty cat.
Exit my short-lived simpler life. In our house, if you’re
not going to be a cat, you might as well be a little girl.
A friend of ours had taken in a pregnant stray, and
promised her one of the kittens.
Our friend soon learned that she was allergic
to the befriended stray, and only a single one of
the kittens managed to survive delivery. At her
suggestion, my daughter gleefully reported back to
me that we didn’t even have to wait for the kitten
to be weaned; we could take mother and daughter
as a package deal. I managed to contain my joy as
two little blue eyes looked into mine, and a sweet,
high-pitched voice asked, “Would that be OK with
you, Daddy?”
Apparently, Mommy had told her that it would
only happen with my permission. I’ll never know for
sure whether or not she was OK with it, or if she just
wanted me to be the bad guy. It’s worthy of note that
I am neither a cat nor a little girl, so I’ll let you be the
judge.
My greatest concern was the impact that these
new family members might have with respect to
Ripley, our Labrador mix. “Kitty” was very leery of this
comparatively large stranger, and took great care to
ensure that her own body was always strategically
located between Ripley and her kitten, who, for
reasons still unclear to me, had been named “Olivia”
by my little girl.
For her part, Ripley’s enduring legacy is that she
was as sweet a dog as ever I have known. She just
wanted to be friends, which became clear to Olivia
immediately. It took Kitty a bit longer, but eventually,
she relaxed around Ripley, too. Among my fondest
memories of Ripley are the times that I saw all three
cuddled together on the living room carpet, with
the kitten nestled in between Ripley’s front paws.
At other times, I recall seeing the cats lounging on
Ripley’s overstuffed bed, while Ripley lay nearby on
the cold floor. She loved those cats, and followed
them everywhere. Woe to the errant neighbor dog
that chanced upon them with Ripley nearby. Our
sweet, loving lab turned instantly into a pit bull’s
worst nightmare.
One odd consequence of this arrangement was
that our son, originally a strict dog person, became
fascinated with the new kitten, and eventually grew
extremely fond of Kitty as well. At the same time, our
daughter grew more and more attached to the dog.
Eventually, our son rescued a small, black kitten
from a park while on a school outing. It was great
to have a little kitten in the house again, and so our
menagerie grew. The sweet little black kitten grew
into something more akin to a brutish panther, but
we managed to maintain a delicate harmony.
Losing our son was as difficult on Ripley as it
by Tim Ernandes
ATale of
Two Kitties
... Plus Two
33
