Most of you didn't know it, but Nick and I were in Florida for the past two weeks visiting my parents. As three dogs would be too difficult to travel with, we left Toby with a good friend and brought Leah and Meadow along on our adventure.

I didn't tell any of you about the trip beforehand, because I really didn't want anyone knowing our house was empty. Not that we have much to take...but I worry about someone breaking in, leaving the windows wide, and my cats getting out. Since they are indoor only now, (one was originally a stray and the other was feral), I'd probably never find them again.

Hello Friends! I'm back from my two week (much needed) hiatus, feeling refreshed, and with lots of news to share, most of it good.

Meadow's leg is finally healed up and she is once again done with the comfy cone. This time, hopefully, for good. Her urinary issues seem to be subsiding, although we are not sure why. Her test results had all come back normal, but our vet decided to do an antibiotic trial, just in case. Along with that, I had changed her food to a higher protein, low carb food right after her surgery because I read that cancer loves carbs. Suspecting that the new food might have caused her problems, I switched her back to her old food. Also, since she in no longer wearing the comfy cone, she is less stressed. So, whether the cause was a hidden infection, a reaction to the high protein food, or just stress - we have no idea, but as long as she is on the mend, I guess it doesn't matter much.

Toby is off of his restricted activity - I started him with short walks, then longer walks, then short runs, and now he is allowed to run full out - and his limp has not returned. That said, I do notice a slight hitch to his gait when I walk him longer than twenty minutes on pavement, so I am trying to keep his walks under that time frame, in case he does have hip problems brewing like his vet suspects. But all in all, he is doing much better, and he is much happier that he is allowed to run again.

As for Leah, the good news is, our management program is working and we have been able to prevent further incidents. She also play bowed at Meadow the other day, and has shown no more aggression towards her. The bad news is, she is definitely not better. First of all, she is lunging and barking at the cats pretty regularly from behind the confines of her X-pen, and we need to lock them up whenever she is free for safety reasons.

Things also went wrong when we had our behavioral assessment with Debi.

Leah greeted Debi with some degree of suspicion, at first, but then she wagged her tail at her, and laid down a few feet away while Nick and I talked with Debi. Several minutes passed, and then, without provocation, Leah got up and lunged towards Debi, barking aggressively. I grabbed Leah's leash and moved her away, and nothing happened, but of course, the incident surprised and worried me. Leah will bark and lunge when she is crated or behind a gate and someone is standing too close, but she does not normally aggress at visitors for no apparent reason.

Debi had not moved or done anything at all to provoke the behavior, and she herself did not see any build up towards the event, which she remarked was not normal.

We did get lots of advice from both Debi and from Lesli, Meadow's former foster mom, on things we can do to try to help Leah - and not surprisingly, a lot of what they advised was the same. Management was key, (which I'll describe in detail below). Separate walks with me for speical "Mommy and Me" time. Reducing stress in the household. Some counter conditioning by trying to make the appearance of our other animals "special time" by offering treats and praise. Not allowing Leah to run the fence searching for the neighbor's feral cats any more, which torques her up. Both of them also suggested getting Leah used to a muzzle, so she can hang out with the family more safely. I measured and ordered one, but it did not fit regardless of my careful measurements, (as it turns out Leah's head and muzzle have weird dimensions), and I am waiting for the replacement to come in the mail.

Debi also said to up Leah's obedience, and both Nick and I have been working with her regularly and she is doing really well with that. We already make a habit of asking for sits and waits for meals, to go out doors, and what not, but we had let some things slide as Leah got older, chalking it up to old age if she ignored a command - but now we are following through.

No sit? Well then sorry Hun, no pettings. Period.

There was some additional advice that Nick and I did not feel comfortable with, as benign as it was, and since Nick and I both felt the same way, there must be an underlying reason why. Obviously, we live with Leah, and we are probably picking up on things that a trainer who is evaluating her in one (albeit lengthy and thorough) visit would not notice.

But that's the beauty of advice, it does not all have to be taken.

So, along with everything mentioned above, our main goal has been careful management to keep everyone safe, and we appear to be doing a better job at it. When we go out and Leah is free, the cats are locked up, and Toby and Meadow are crated. When only one of us is here to manage the crew and keep our eyes on everyone, Leah is put in her X-pen. When Leah is free with the others in the house, supervised, she drags a leash and she is not left alone in rooms with the other animals - even to run to the bathroom to wash hands.

When we had friends by last weekend, I kept Leah behind closed doors. In the past, that action was reserved for visits from children, but this is what I will need to do when anyone visits for now on. I can't risk my guests' safety with any more unpredictable behavior.

Leah has been enjoying her prescribed daily walks with me a lot, and whenever possible, Nick comes along with Meadow - so that Leah and Meadow get to enjoy "fun outings" together.

Currently, we do not allow Leah to play with the other dogs in the yard anymore, but we do take her out there when both of us are available, so one of us can keep her occupied and she is not totally segregated from the other dogs. Once the muzzle arrives, after a few weeks of getting her used to wearing it, hopefully, we can let her rejoin the others in their daily play sessions.

I gathered our tax papers as fast as possible this year, and our taxes are already being processed. I plan to use our return to put up that long awaited fence. Half of our yard is easily climbed chain-link, and part of our fence is only three and half foot tall. We are replacing all of the fencing with six foot stockade, right up to the back door, (and four foot stockade in the front if we have enough extra money). This will help us with Meadow, as we won't have to keep her on the long line anymore since it is harder to climb stockade, and now she will have access to the back door. Luckily for us, when a firework does go off, Meadow wants to go inside, to the safety of her own home (yay!), but with the current set up, she would have to hop the back fence to reach the door and we are afraid, once free, she might take off in a blind panic. With the new placement of the fence, she will have access to the very place she wants to be, and the new fence will be more difficult to climb, so we will finally feel safe enough to leave the long line off of her  - except maybe during the weeks leading up to the Fourth of July. The new fence will serve a double function, by preventing Leah from seeing the feral cats next door and the people walking through the woods adjacent to our house - that all seem to set her off.

So, that's pretty much where we're at with the dogs update.

Nick and I also haven't found the time to get down to Kent to walk any shelter dogs recently, but we are going today, and I'm looking forward to getting back to doing a little volunteer work here and there.

Oh, as for my novel? The first draft is finally done! I have to be honest, I really dragged my feet up until the last minute, but I sat my rear down in front of the computer this Saturday and got to work. And I managed to finish my last 4000 words or so in one very long session. Now that the hardest part is over with, I'm looking forward to cutting, rearranging, and polishing my work.

Finally, don't forget to check out my Mr. Chewy's giveaway - I'm giving away a gift certificate for $50.00 worth of dog supplies. It's easy to enter - and it's free - so take a moment to check it out.

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 My Novel's Progress: About to start editing second draft.

Leah's behavior appears to be degrading. She is chasing our cats more frequently, and I sometimes wonder if this is partly due to her frustration over the ever growing cat colony that resides next door to us. When she's in the yard, Leah rarely wants to play anymore, focusing all of her attention on patrolling the fence line for feral felines.

In the house, she often springs to her feet to chase our own cats without provocation. Of course, we never allow this behavior, and a sharp verbal interruption is enough to halt the chase and have her turn to us with a look that says, "Oh, sorry. Forgot you were in the room." When we're not home, we've taken to gating Leah in the kitchen with a baby gate, that way the cats can safely hang out in the back part of our house away from her.

This seems to be preventing catastrophe with the cats, but Leah has been having other problems.

She has been bullying Toby. The best way I can think to describe this is overzealous, pushy play - or I should clarify - it is play on Leah's part. Certainly not in Toby's eyes. Every once in a while she just targets him, chases him down, grabs him by the back of the neck and tries to throw him to the ground. It's some twisted game on her part that has been happening with ever increasing frequency. We, of course, don't allow this either, which leads me, in a roundabout way, to our next issue.

You might remember back in early December when Leah put a hole in Toby's ear, but I didn't see what started the attack. What I didn't find time to blog about was that later that same week Leah and Meadow had a bad fight, and once again, I didn't see who started it. The strange thing about the fight was, I was sitting right here in my customary spot on the sofa, staring at my laptop, and the girls were on their mats on the floor in front of me, sleeping as far as I know.

Next thing I know they were fighting, and bad.

Previous to that fight, Leah and Meadow had two minor fights within the first year after we adopted Miss Meadow, but both times a sharp, "Leah, leave it!" broke them up. It was more a display than anything, with no real injuries. This time, however, neither dog responded to my shrieks of "Leave it!", "Stop!", "Knock it off!" or "Leave it!" again - so I grabbed the nearest thing - my cup of cold coffee - and I doused them.

That stopped them both in their tracks. While Leah looked around in horror because she was suddenly wet, Toby materialized and both he and Meadow raced to see who could lap up the most coffee and catch a caffeine buzz before I could mop up the spill.

Since Leah was involved in both fights, I was certainly suspicious, but I didn't see what started either one, and I had no choice but to let it go. After all, I had already increased Leah's "Nothing in Life is Free" program after the incident with Toby - what else could I do?

That is, until New Year's Day, when an unexpected chain of events led to disaster.

Nick and I brought all three dogs out in the yard to play and let them relieve themselves, our normal routine, after which we planned to take Leah and Meadow for a walk while Toby enjoyed a food filled toy in his crate.

We never did get around to that walk.

First, Leah started bullying Toby, just as described above.

I yelled at her to "Leave it," and, frustrated with how she had been treating him lately, I grabbed her by the collar and silently escorted her out of the back yard. I gated her in the front yard as a time out of sorts, where she could see me and Nick playing with the other two, but couldn't get involved.

After a few minutes, someone walked through the woods adjacent to our property, and Leah barked menacingly at him, warning him away. I told her, "Thanks, enough," and she went silent, but in hindsight, I'm sure the incident helped to rouse her up.

A few more minutes passed, when I decided to end the time out. I let her return to the back yard, and I noticed Meadow running towards her to greet her. Her usual, "Where were you? I missed you?" sort of thing. I turned my back to throw a toy for Toby, and next thing I knew, Nick was yelling and the girls were going at it. I hurried over, poor Meadow was on her back, trying to fight off Leah, both of them were growling and snapping at one another. Nick and I are tried unsuccessfully to grab tails, (hard to do with a V), hoping to pull them apart, while yelling at both of them to "Leave it!" and "Knock it off!" 

Neither dog listened.

Nick started to aim the citronella spray that he had in his back pocket because we had planned for a walk and we have a lot of stray dogs in our area, when suddenly, the girls stopped fighting. But as Leah tried to walk away, she got tangled in Meadow's long line, and turned back towards Meadow, snarling. Luckily, a simultaneous sharp verbal interruption from both Nick and I stopped her in her tracks, and she allowed us to intervene and untangle her.

Once they were apart, Meadow was trembling from fear, and frankly, so was I.

As we began checking them for wounds, Nick explained what he had witnessed. Meadow ran over to Leah to greet her, and Leah squared off her shoulders and gave her a hard stare. Meadow stopped short and started to turn away from the threat. Surprisingly, Leah jabbed Meadow very hard in the rear with her nose. Meadow continued to curl away from Leah in a very a obvious calming signal. Instead of respecting the signal, Leah leapt on top of her and attacked her.

While digesting Nick's startling account, I helped him clean and treat wounds. One cut just shy of Meadow's eye, another inside her ear, and one deep puncture on Leah's muzzle. None that needed stitches, thankfully.

Finally, one of us had seen the start of a fight, and obviously, Leah was the antagonist. Something needed to be done - and fast.

Lesli, Meadow's former foster mom and the owner and head trainer at Red Dog Solutions, phoned me, and she and I spoke in detail, pondering the why? behind Leah's behavior. Age? Health? Neurological? Behavioral? All possibilities which we considered, but at her age, it is so hard to know anything for sure. As Lesli finally pointed out to me, with no clear answer as to what went wrong in sight, it was more important to look at the now, and try to implement a treatment plan. Sadly, if it is a neurological issue, its going to get worse, and then we'll have our answer.

Lesli gave me a great deal of advice, including lowering Leah's stress levels as much as possible by using a DAP spray and keeping her confined in an X-Pen when we can't properly supervise or during times of high arousal - like meal times. She also reminded me to be more proactive, rather than reactive, by asking Leah to "Look" at me and rewarding her when she breaks her focus on either Meadow or the cats, rather than saying "Leave it!" after she bolts after a cat, or shoots a dirty glance at Meadow  - which she has been doing since the fight.

I also contacted Debi Feliziani, a local trainer who is very experienced in aggression, and she will be doing a private consult with us here at the house in a few weeks. In Debi's opinion as well, if it is a neurological issue, we should be seeing more signs...a head tilt, an unstable gait, etc. So I tried to think of anything that might indicate an issue. Granted, Leah is still making "the noise" from time to time, but considering that her drooling and groaning stopped right after she rid herself of the chunk of Nylabone, and since "the noise" has drastically decreased since that day, Nick and I had chalked it up to habit. She only does it rarely, sometimes, less than 1X per week. Wracking my brain, I tried to think if there was anything else - and I remembered that I have noticed this startled twitching thing that Leah has been doing when I first reach out to pet her lately, and she's also grown intolerant of being brushed - an event she used to enjoy.

So, it's back to the vet for one more look-see.

In the meantime, both Lesli and Debi suggested that I take Leah for walks while Nick plays with the other two, both to keep the peace, and to give Leah some one on one time with me - a suggestion I've taken to heart and plan to continue doing until we have our sit down with Debi. I've also removed her from Nose Work classes as a "just in case" - given how she barks and lunges when people are too close to her crate.

Two less stressful situations to worry about, for Leah, and for me.

I had hoped to start the New Year off right, planning to concentrate on eating better, walkng my dogs more often, (which coincidently, I'm doing now), and finishing my novel. Instead, on the very first day, everything fell apart. Let's hope this isn't an omen of what's to come.

Leah wearing a DAP covered bandana inside an X-pen that my friend Bev was nice enough to lend me. The hangdog expression on her face is from me pointing the camera at her, not from being confined. In all actuality, she is doing rather well with the idea of having her own "place." Maybe, as has been suggested to me, giving Leah a spot where the other animals can't pester her will help to alleviate some stress. After all, she's twelve. She's a large breed dog. In human years, she's probably around ninety. She may just be tired, achy, a little grumpy, and growing weary of being surrounded by young, energetic animals.

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My Novel's Progress: Current wordcount: 68,965

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Fellow Bloggers - did you hear about the Blogging Fundraiser to Benefit Animals? Its worth checking out - win money for your favorite charity, and a little cash for yourself too!

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....to vanquish Meadow's fear of wearing clothes

She looks quite at home wrapped in Mommy's flannel

As you can see, I don't normally dress up my dogs - but poor Miss Meadow has no undercoat

On cold days, she usually retreats to the warmer bedroom to snuggle inside one of the dog beds or our other crate while we watch television, but with the help of my flannel and a cozy blanket given to her by her friend Lesli, she snuggled up inside the kitchen crate to hang out with us

Later, there was even more rule breaking going on. Although Meadow won't hop up onto the sofa even if invited, apparently being on a lap does NOT count as actually being on the sofa

Mew's nose is a little out of joint because Daddy's lap is usually HER spot, but I think she'll have to learn to share

After all, she's shared with Toby in the past, a dog who has no problem with the sofa rule being bent...

Leah is flabbergasted that any dog would sink to that level! Snuggling with a cat??? Now that's just gross...

After a weeklong vacation in Vermont, Nick and I were happy to find all of our dogs safe and sound as we retrieved each of them from their temporary homes, and were glad to greet our cats, who remained in our house under the care of Lisa, our local Critter Sitter. As usual, I worried excessively about each of their welfares while we were gone, a habit I just can’t shake ever since we lost two animals unexpectedly during vacations past….our beloved Doberman, Harley, who died in his kennel at the young age of five, without apparent cause, and my sweet, shy cat, Sashi, who appeared to have passed in her sleep, to be discovered upon our return.

In addition to these two tragedies, we returned home from a subsequent trip to learn that Toby had become so distraught while being boarded that he had run in circles until his paws bled…which was the last time we boarded an animal in a traditional kennel.

On top of all that, my cat Cinder freaks out when we leave him, and we had to cancel two trips to Florida in the past because he got cystitis just before we left. We realized, in hindsight, that it was caused by the stress of us packing…so we now must pack behind closed doors.

Actually, considering all we’ve been though, it’s surprising that we muster up the courage to pack at all.

But, we do like to travel, despite the fact that taking a trip has grown into a major event, and it has now become one of the very rare times that I regret having so many animals under my care. Not because of the expense, or the packing, or the planning, or the running around from place to place – but because of my extreme dread. Every phone call makes my heart skip a beat, every unanswered call a reason to hold my breath. Will this one get sick and go unnoticed by the sitter? Will that one not get along with the other animals they are staying with? Will this one eat something and get blocked? Will that one escape?

Will one of them die?

Well, apparently, this time, my worry was for naught. It appears I placed each of my furry friends into the best possible places during my absence and each had more fun on their vacations then I could have ever imagined….so much so…I suspect they all are wishing we would leave again.

Not only did my Mom report that Leah finally stopped burping and making the strange “something is caught in my throat” noise, but she played with my Mom’s young German shepherd Luke with such abandon that one would think she was a pup herself. Along with that, in the middle of greeting me, my Mom lured her away from me with a simple salmon treat. That, I’d expect from Toby – but never from Leah! Grandma’s goodies were so plentiful, in fact, that Leah laid down and turned away from the first meal I offered her the next morning. The look in her eyes said it all, “Grandma would never make me eat that.”

As for Toby, my dear friend Bev reports that he loved having a much bigger home to stay in, zooming through her halls like a maniac, barreling around with so much speed that she worried he’d end up with a torn ACL. When he wasn’t running himself ragged, he spent his time lounging like a king on his pick of dog beds, surrounded by all of the toys he had stolen from the toy box that belongs to her lovely goldens - Meggie, Maureen, and Orlagh. In response, Orlagh stole Toby’s blue dumbbell, squirreling it away up on the sofa, which surprisingly, he refused to jump on. Bev commended Toby on that, and all of his good behavior during his entire visit; how he didn’t touch anything he wasn’t supposed to, and was a gentleman around the girls.

Toby has always enjoyed making a liar out of me.

And what about little Miss Meadow, our fearful flight risk? She had the honor of staying with her previous foster Mom, Lesli, a friend that Meadow brought into my life, and with whom I have so much in common, I am continuously surprised. Under Lesli’s watchful eye, and with the added security of double leashes, Meadow got to go for hikes in the country, (instead of the litter ridden woods adjacent to our home), she had time to explore the very meadow she was named for, had a play date with another Vizsla, was constantly surrounded by five friendly dogs (the more the merrier), and even got to sleep on a human bed! Plus she got to spend time with an old friend, who loves her very much and nearly adopted her, had she not been waiting for her own special heart dog to arrive – another flighty escapee named Tawnie.

So, after gathering up three dogs who had each forgotten my face, I thought, “Maybe the cats missed me?” As it turns out, Cinder did; the poor little guy has been pandering for my attention since the moment he ‘forgave’ me – several hours after we returned home. Mew curled right up on Nick's lap, giving me the cold shoulder as always, and both cats turned their noses up at the dry food I fed them the next morning, pining for the canned food that they only receive as an extra treat while under Lisa's care. Additionally, with the dogs back in town, gone are the furry little toy mice I left for them to play with. It was either that, or suffer the surgical consequences of two (red) dogs believing that plastic enrobed in rabbit fur is a delicacy.

Hmmmm….maybe next time, we should stay away a little longer?

Nick and I attended the Long Island Pet Expo on Sunday, and found ourselves immersed in dog culture. Vendors hawked every leash, bed, or crate you might imagine, while crowds gathered around a ring, mesmerized by agility, flyball, and disc dog demonstrations. One Aussie showed off the breed’s dexterity by leaping an astonishing 50” – from a near standstill.

We also visited the more sobering booths that lined the isles, manned by hard working volunteers. A conservation group collected money in exchange for glimpses of their rare albino alligator, a local wildlife rescue used an injured owl to attract attention to their plight, and a representative spoke to us about her own rescue group, quite possibly the most important group in attendance – a group that rescues people. The members of the Long Island Search and Rescue dedicate a substantial portion of their lives to learning the skills needed to do this demanding work. Besides training their dogs in tasks like scenting and agility, the human team members each need to be CPR certified, and they need to acquire mapping and GPS knowledge before they can search. Finally, their survival skills are put to the test by being dumped off, alone, in the middle of the woods – with nothing but a compass.

Did I mention they are volunteers?

After meeting the noble SAR dogs, including an exuberant Flat Coated Retriever and three lovely, (yet drooly), Bloodhounds, we continued on to a table where representatives from Glen Highland Farm were handing out brochures about their unique group. Not only is their farm a haven for scores of homeless Border Collies, it is also a camp where inner city children spend their summers learning animal care and handling. 

As we walked, we met many curious creatures in need of homes. Among them were ferrets and pot bellied pigs, several beautiful Boxers, and a plethora of unwanted kittens who were attempting to cavort their way into people’s homes – or at least into their pockets for a donation.

Directly behind the frolicking kittens was a fenced off area which drew our attention, mainly due to the odor that emanated from it. As we wandered into the area that housed lines of hermetically sealed crates on table tops, we squinted through the haze of cat urine to observe judges poking and prodding at purebred cats of every variety.

I am probably going to get flamed for this, but – what is the point?

You can debate facial features, coat colors and lengths if you like, but once you get past all that fluff – a cat is a cat is a cat. Why purposely breed more of them, when millions of them are put down every year? Why?

I just don’t get it. Nearly every cat in those cages (except a ridiculously short-legged breed called a Munchkin) resembled a friend or a family member’s common cat in some way, shape, or form.

Although I have no plans of ever purchasing a dog myself because so many of them are in need of homes, I can understand the desire to breed different types of dogs  – if done by a responsible breeder. But I doubt any of the ‘fancy’ felines being shown at the expo were bred to do something as useful as herd sheep, retrieve game, or lead the blind.

Here is a photo of our Mew - the foster who never left (and the reason Nick does not want me to raise a guide dog puppy). Take a good look at her striking markings. And no, she doesn’t have any papers.

My life with animals began with my very first pet, a sweet little silver cat named Sashi. Over time, I grew to enjoy having both cats and dogs in my life, but as time passed, I slowly evolved into a dog person.

Why?

Several reasons come to mind, the most significant of which is that I feel bad for them. Mine reside indoors only, thanks in part to the proximity of the Long Island Expressway, and also thanks to the feral, disease ridden cat colony that my neighbor is harboring. While her felines are free to hunt and play, mine are prisoners, with little to do besides stare out the window at a world they never get to interact with, living lives as unfulfilling as a goldfish in a bowl.

While my cats watch on, my dogs are ushered out to play with us in the yard. We take them for walks and to obedience school. They have gone on hikes, and have felt the sand between their paws, the sun upon their backs. When I consider their lives, I believe that Nick and I have enriched theirs as much as they’ve enriched ours. I can’t say the same for the cats, for all the purrs and amusement they provide us with, they get nothing in return.

I don’t want pets anymore, I want companions.

Lately, I have felt so strongly about this, I freely admit that although I love and will always care for the cats I have now, I don’t plan on adding any more to my life. Maybe if I had a farm, where my cats could follow their true natures, roaming through fields, breathing fresh air, and enjoying a good skewered rodent from time to time, then I’d consider a cat. But as of right now, Cinder and Mew will be our last.

So in light of all my speeches about becoming a dog person, I think one of my cats has begun to worry (unnecessarily) about his fate, and has determined that he better join the pack, or he might be sent packing. The cat of which I speak is Cinder, a special little cat, who most likely was spawned from the same feral cat colony that now keeps him contained. Some of you already know the story of how he entered our lives, but here is a brief recount for those who don’t:

Unbeknownst to us, in the throes of a severe winter, a feral kitten wandered into our outside entrance basement when the door was ajar, and remained locked inside for several days, with no food, no water, and no heat. He wailed for help, his pitiful voice drawing me outside several times a day, but each time I searched my yard for a cat in peril, I returned to the house empty handed. During our annual New Year’s Eve gathering, a friend pointed out that the meowing that continued to leave me stumped, might be originating from our basement.

Sure enough, upon inspection I found signs of a cat next to my washer, and later that night when food did not draw him out, Nick and I flushed him from his hiding spot and began chasing him around the basement, attempting to trap him under an empty laundry basket. In response to our failing efforts, the terrified animal climbed straight up the wall and dove headfirst into the cinderblocks. He got stuck several feet down – wedged behind our oil tank. Familiar with the amazing animal rescue accounts you often see on television, we called several groups for help, begging for assistance. Perhaps they had all partied too hard the night before to become involved, because all of them turned us down.

More shockingly, a certain ‘humane’ organization advised Nick to stick a hose down the wall and drown the cat, adding that he should then cover the body with lime – to prevent any odors from wafting up into the house.

Determined, Nick spent most of the night inside the frigid basement with a hammer and chisel, at one point giving over to tears because the cat had stopped crying and he presumed it had died. Having been the one to chase the cat into the corner where it made its unwise decision, Nick blamed himself for its death. Unwilling to leave its tiny remains in our wall, he continued with his quest, finally tearing the skin from his hands while shoving them through the icy, jagged hole and extracting a limp, frighteningly cold, little form.

But the little guy was still alive.

Exhausted, we rushed the lifeless creature to the emergency vet, where we signed him over as a stray, leaving his fate in their hands – unable to afford another animal at that time. The next morning we relented, paid his tab with credit, and adopted the dehydrated, but presumably healthy, terrified little cat.

Feral kittens are not the fun, sweet, playful imps that most kittens are. They hide inside boxes and stare out at you in sheer terror. They dash away at the slightest movement, and warily snatch mouthfuls of the food you set out to entice them closer, while you sit with them for weeks, whispering to them, and slowly accustoming them to your presence. They come filled with parasites, unable to digest food properly, and nearly die from respiratory infections before you can even teach them what the word ‘love’ truly means.

The result of all that hard work is that you end up with a cat that is bonded to you like no other.

Regardless of the literal blood, sweat, and tears that Nick shed while trying to save this little fellow from death, Cinder decided to attach himself to me. So much so, that sometimes it amazes me. Recently, I took notice that no matter where he is or what he is doing, if I utter his name, he comes running.

I find this amazing, because as much as I love the little guy, he is after all, a cat. A creature who does not go to obedience school, whose behavior is not shaped by treats and toys, and who I often chase away, thanks to his annoying insistence on climbing into my lap the moment it becomes available. With no attempts at behavior modification on my part, his recall is far better than many dogs.

To test his reliability, a few weeks ago Cinder was in the midst of an all out brawl with his ‘sister’ Mew, claws unsheathed and spittle flying. Just as he was about to swat her across the face, I called his name, one time, and he lowered his weapons, turned from his nemesis, and sprang onto my lap.

I’m unsure if his ‘doginess’ is due to the hours I spent reading to him while he cowered in the back of the dog crate that we initially confined him in, or if it is his ploy to fit in with the rest of pack, but Cinder has made it quite clear that despite his species, he will not be ignored. When the dogs gather at the fridge for me to dole out treats, Cinder is always there. As the three dogs plop their buts firmly onto the tiles to earn their rewards, Cinder sidles in beside them, meowing, and insisting that he too deserves a tidbit.

From time to time, he even offers a sit.

At feeding time, he’d rather eat dog food than cat food, leaving his own food unguarded to nuzzle at me and beg for a morsel while I’m measuring it out into the dogs’ bowls. No matter how unhealthy for him, he always convinces me to toss him a kibble or two.

He has even perfected his retrieves - if I throw him a toy mouse, he will race after it, snatch it up, and deposit it at my feet, hoping for another toss. When I take the dogs out to the yard to play with their own toys, he often sits just inside the door, pining to join us, calling to me in a surprisingly loud voice for such a tiny cat, sounding as if he is trying to speak. Nick and I have both heard a convincing “Mom” and every so often he utters a curious “Hello.” As of today, he has yet to say “Woof,” but when that day comes, for some reason, I don’t think I will be all that surprised.

I decided today, to forego the dogs, and write about a cat. Currently we have two: Cinder, our feral rescue, and Mew, a foster that never left.

Not too long ago, we had three.

We lost Whiskers in early October, at the age of eleven. Always a temperamental animal, over the past few years, she grew increasingly nasty, until one day she decided she despised Mew. When they began sparring at every opportunity, I separated them. I locked one of them in our tiny office for a week, and then swapped them.

As time went on, each time I let Whiskers out, she hissed and swat at all of the other animals, including us humans. Soon, she remained incarcerated, while Mew enjoyed her freedom. I promised Whiskers that we would get a bigger house – one day. Or, that we would finish our basement, put our office downstairs, and give her the run of it – one day.

That day never came…

It started with hair loss, in a quarter sized spot at the base of her tail. Since she had lost hair in the same area due to allergies in the past, I did not think much of it. After checking our household for fleas and finding none, I decided to wait and see.

A day or so later, Whiskers stopped wanting to hang out in the office – fleeing the room at every opportunity. Nick and I theorized that perhaps a spider had bitten her. We have some rather large ones hanging around our house…

Practically overnight, reddened sores and crusty scabs erupted around Whiskers face and neck. Concerned that she might have mange, I brought her to the vet over the weekend. After drawing blood and performing several skin scrapings on Saturday, the doctor prescribed an antibiotic – which is what vets do when they don’t know what’s wrong.

By Monday, Whiskers stopped eating, a bad sign for our eighteen pound feline. The vet’s office informed me that her blood panel had come back normal and advised me to stop giving her the antibiotic in case it had disrupted her stomach. But when I returned home from work on Wednesday, it became clear that it was more than an upset tummy – Whiskers still had not eaten and was lying in her litter box, lethargic. Back at the vet’s first thing on Thursday, an x-ray came back ominous. Whisker’s abdomen appeared murky.

Perhaps, something had burst. Or worse…

My vet sent her for an emergency ultrasound. I rushed her in, and Nick met me there while they were running the test. Soon after, the vet called us in to review the results. Cancer covered Whiskers' organ linings and had spread throughout her abdomen. It was too late. Her system was in shock. We did the humane thing. We let Whiskers go.

I tried to stay in the room with her, but I failed. Nick remained, while I retreated to the waiting room to cry. I had let her down. Whiskers had spent her last year in a tiny room, segregated from the rest of the family. Alone.

Perhaps, the cancer had festered inside her for years. Perhaps, it was why she was perpetually grumpy. I’ll never know. What I do know is, don’t wait for ‘One Day’ to arrive. Often, it never does…