“DON’T … EAT … THE … KITTY!”
I don’t know if you have ever had to utter these words. If you have, then you know how strange it sounds coming out of your mouth. Like you’re in the midst of some Grimms’ Fairy Tale. Having to warn about witches in candy houses or the dangers of poison apples or other gruesome dangers.
Like … EATING … THE … KITTY!
Because that would be bad.
But there I was. Trying to explain it to a dog. A dog who was maybe 1/3 of my weight. So, fairly big bugger. But looking at me, with her soft brown eyes, actually paying attention, she seemed to be taking it in. Trying to understand. “So … let me get this straight: Eating kitty … bad?”
Yes! Eating kitty bad!
It was my brother’s dog. He calls her Ella. I call her “Meat Chunk.” She is what you would get if a bored scientist crossed a dog with a bag of concrete.
She is a good dog. A sweet dog. I would trust her with someone else’s life. (Not mine. I trust NO ONE with mine!)
But cats? Oh, I don’t know about that. Actually, I do know about that. Because there’s a history there, and it’s not a good one. Some problems at my brother’s house with the feline kind. Let’s just leave it at that. When my brother went away with his family for a few days, Meat Chunk came over, which meant some “creative habitation” at my house.
This was thanks to our ever-moving porch cat, Sunburst. He is a former stray who is deaf, walks like he had one-too-many drinks and doesn’t quite understand that a lunatic dog five-times her size might not want to cuddle.
So, keeping a Meat Chunk and a porch cat separate was imperative, and required some tricky footwork.
It wasn’t easy. Partly because while the cat’s official residence is supposed to be the porch, we did get into a habit this year of occasionally letting him in when it got cold, or rained too much, or was sunny out, or the weather was perfect. He found a mat in the kitchen with a sunspot he really liked.
To notify us that he would like to re-join that mat, he learned that grabbing the screen door with his claws and slamming it as hard as his little porch body could was extremely effective.
KA-BAMMM!!!
The house shudders and pictures tilt on their hooks.
Suckers like us can handle this. We’re suckers!
But a Meat Chunk? Well, a Meat Chunk takes this as pretty good evidence that there is a blood-sucking demon living on the porch. More importantly, she believes it is her responsibility to personally dispatch it before it gets in and eats all her food. So, the deaf cat is outside slamming on the screen door, and the large dog is inside slamming on the actual door. It sounded like a war zone.
Add to this that at some point the large dog inevitably needed to go out and relieve herself.
So, bring on the dog-walk kitty shuffle.
Think of it as a dance. Or a full-body shell game with a cat. Someone scoops him up from here and secretly deposits him over there without the dog noticing.
Or a spy game. Someone is sent to the front door to locate the cat while the others move to the back door with the leashed up dog and prepare for covert evacuation.
“Do you have eyes on the cat?” I call out to my daughter at the front door.
“Affirmative,” she replies. “I have visual. You are clear for extraction.”
“10-4,” I say and begin quickly navigating both Meat Chunk and my dog out the back door and up the pathway along the side of the house.
Until I hear: “Wait! I’ve lost visual. I REPEAT: I HAVE LOST VISUAL …”
OH MY GOD … Where is he?!? What do I do?
Because he’s a cat, he is capable of incredible disappearing acts, only to reappear out of nowhere in the most unexpected locations … like up the pathway along the side of the house. Because THAT’S a good career-move!
Suddenly a cat pokes his head out from behind some garbage cans and makes one of his moaning cries. As he is deaf, he has no concept of volume and sounds like an air raid siren.
This causes me to start screaming, “Run you idiot!” to a cat … WHO … IS … DEAF!
The dog hears this, and decides it means: “DEMON CAT!!! KILL!!! … KILL!!! … KILL!!!” and begins bucking like a demon bronco.
The dog-walk kitty shuffle is in full-effect. People run in to grab the cat. I use all my strength to drag two dogs around the cars. Neighbors start calling the cops because they fear some carnivorous zoo animals have gotten loose. My nerves are shot, I’m winded and I have dislocated something in my spine.
But I’ve done it. I’ve completed the dog-walk kitty shuffle. I’m on the outside. Whew! Such relief. Such a feeling of accomplishment. Such … wait a minute! How do I get back in?
Everyone, back to your stations. Second Everyone, back to your stations. Second dance of the dog-walk kitty shuffle.