I am a cat person
And so it is with great difficulty that I am dealing with having a dog in our house. Mind you, the dog is infinitely adorable - a 17-year old Chihuahua, toothless, emaciated, and recently rescued by Lisa. His circumstances are heart wrenching. Found living under a car for two weeks, scavenging cat food from the local crazy cat lady (not Lisa). Lisa has been nursing him back to health and even took him with us to Palm Springs where he delighted all he came in contact with.
Still I remain in denial. That if somehow I ignore him, he’ll just vanish into the ether, like a good Palm Springs Memory. But he’s still here and Lisa delights in making me acknowledge him - take him out to pee, carry him because he’s too small to keep up, let him sit in my lap while I get my hair cut so she can go shop. “He’s a chick magnet,” I’m told as if accepting him will grant me license to have torrid affairs with other dog lovers. “He’s old, and doesn’t have much longer in this world,” I’m told in consolation, as if I wish his sudden demise, when in truth I know he’s got plenty years left.
It rankles me that already he has forced the complexities of dog ownership into my life. Suddenly, concern about his bathroom habits dominate my life and schedule as dogs need human intervention to complete their basic bodily functions in an acceptable way. Someone must be there to take him outside at various times of the day, a day at the park now involves hiring a sitter, or taking him to the kennel. Even as portable as this 3.8 pound dog is, requires a new level of planning - restaurants need patios, stores need to be dog friendly, and a suggestion to let the dog sit in the car for the 15 minutes it might take to run in and pick something up makes me sound like a guard at Auschwitz condemning the pooch to certain death in the 74 degree Volvo oven.
Of course Lisa loves him and loves having him. She enjoys the fawning of passersby and the instant conversations with other dog owners. It’s her element and definitely gives her more cache as a pet sitting - rescuing this poor abandoned beast, so loveable, so cute, so well behaved - and yet, I remain resentful of his entry into our lives, the complexity it adds, and the sense of evil I’m made to think about myself.
But denial is the middle stage in the path of acceptance, and I’m sure I’ll get there eventually. He is cute, if ancient, and I know he’s not going anywhere. But you’ll have to forgive me right now when I share a conspiring smile as one of the cats smacks his head when he isn’t looking - I am after all a cat person.
Still I remain in denial. That if somehow I ignore him, he’ll just vanish into the ether, like a good Palm Springs Memory. But he’s still here and Lisa delights in making me acknowledge him - take him out to pee, carry him because he’s too small to keep up, let him sit in my lap while I get my hair cut so she can go shop. “He’s a chick magnet,” I’m told as if accepting him will grant me license to have torrid affairs with other dog lovers. “He’s old, and doesn’t have much longer in this world,” I’m told in consolation, as if I wish his sudden demise, when in truth I know he’s got plenty years left.
It rankles me that already he has forced the complexities of dog ownership into my life. Suddenly, concern about his bathroom habits dominate my life and schedule as dogs need human intervention to complete their basic bodily functions in an acceptable way. Someone must be there to take him outside at various times of the day, a day at the park now involves hiring a sitter, or taking him to the kennel. Even as portable as this 3.8 pound dog is, requires a new level of planning - restaurants need patios, stores need to be dog friendly, and a suggestion to let the dog sit in the car for the 15 minutes it might take to run in and pick something up makes me sound like a guard at Auschwitz condemning the pooch to certain death in the 74 degree Volvo oven.
Of course Lisa loves him and loves having him. She enjoys the fawning of passersby and the instant conversations with other dog owners. It’s her element and definitely gives her more cache as a pet sitting - rescuing this poor abandoned beast, so loveable, so cute, so well behaved - and yet, I remain resentful of his entry into our lives, the complexity it adds, and the sense of evil I’m made to think about myself.
But denial is the middle stage in the path of acceptance, and I’m sure I’ll get there eventually. He is cute, if ancient, and I know he’s not going anywhere. But you’ll have to forgive me right now when I share a conspiring smile as one of the cats smacks his head when he isn’t looking - I am after all a cat person.