Why Pet Sitters Drink Decaf

Pet sitting is not for the faint of heart. Animals are unpredictable; there are some days it takes every trick in my bag just to survive. If you are considering pet sitting as a career read this first. You should know what you’re asking for.

Mondays are the busiest day of the week for me. I reserve my office time to do payroll, balance the checkbook and take care of my assorted paperwork. I had quite a stack waiting for me on my desk as last week was spring break and the locals fled town to make way for the golf fans that descend on our city once a year. It certainly isn’t our busiest time of year but I spent considerable extra time out in the “field” facing down everything from pony-sized dogs to itty-bitty caged rodents. Throw in out of town relatives at the in-laws to visit and I was out more than I was in.

I still had one sit that carried over into this week so I went to take care of the three large dogs before I locked myself in the office for the day. I like the three dogs but I’ve had many simpler pet sits. This one in particular is very time consuming, as the dogs need a lot of exercise and it isn’t exactly next door. I walk one each day that I go and the sit generally takes longer than the 30 minutes we typically alot. It was the Rotty’s turn to go for a walk. He likes to chase after cats and squirrels so we have been practicing not chasing them, especially while on the leash. As we rounded a corner for home, I spied a cat just inside the overhang of a storm drain. I saw the cat before the dog did and decided not to let him get up to the curb and prepared myself to correct him if he lunged. Seconds later he spied the cat and lunged despite my mental preparations. Startled the cat jumped and fell back into the storm drain. I could hear her claws scraping like nails on a chalkboard as she frantically tried to save herself from the fall. Typically cool in critical circumstances I freaked!

“Oh, my God!” I yelled at the dog. “What are we going to do?” I looked under the drain. No cat. Panicked I rushed the dog home and tried to decide my next move. Over my dead body was I leaving the cat in the bottom of a storm drain. I put the dog away and hurried back to the corner calling Animal Control on my cell phone as I went. They had to come. If they didn’t come I’d call the Sanitation Department but so help me someone was coming to rescue that poor cat who I’d sentenced to a slow, torturous death in a dank dark hole.

I could picture the cat huddled at the bottom of a long shaft, partially submerged in water possibly suffering with a broken leg. I fought back tears. The poor cat with the broken leg. I decided to volunteer to be lowered by ropes down into the pit. I’m scared of heights but it was my fault after all. I should be the one to get wet and dirty and cold, it was unbelievably cold for April. If no owner was apparent I would insist on taking the cat with me, Animal Control rules be damned. I’d take her to the vet to have her leg fixed. If an owner appeared after she was well, I wouldn’t take their money. I’d nearly killed their cat, paying for her injuries was the least that I could do. If no owner ever appeared, she could live with my husband and me. I would hear no arguments from him. We have three cats already, what’s one more?

I sat by the storm drain waiting for the promised Animal Control person. My mind raced. What if Animal Control wouldn’t get the cat out of the hole? If they wouldn’t help, I’d call every media outlet in town and scream about how they’d left this poor little cat to die. I imagined the public outcry. That could be anyone’s cat down there. I knew the locals would be furious that no one came to the cat’s aid and imagined the frantic scramble at the offices trying to deflect the inevitable criticism and media nightmare. I’d probably be interviewed on TV. I’d need to touch up my make up.

I was planning on how I would put the soggy cat with a broken leg in our office for a few days to recover before I integrated her to our household when the man from Animal Control arrived. He looked like Superman to me as he climbed out of the white county truck and pulled on a pair of leather gloves.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, “I feel just awful.” I pressed my hand to my chest, trying hard not to cry again. He smiled patiently and asked me what color the cat was and if it was indeed a cat or possibly a kitten. “Grey, cat, long hair.” This is what I do for a living after all. I know an adult cat when I see one, even if all I saw were the cat’s front legs.

He pulled out a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. He lifted the edge of the manhole cover with the screwdriver and shoved the pliers under to make room for his hands. Mightily, he heaved the cover back and rolled it onto the curb. Fearing the sight of a small broken body ten feet below I steeled myself and looked into the hole. There, about four feet below the street surface I saw a couple of broken liquor bottles on a soft sandy bottom. No cats, broken or otherwise. A tunnel led under the street to another storm drain. I confess, I was surprised at the shallowness of the hole but insisted the man climb into the hole and look down the tunnel all the same. Complaining of spiders, he took a large flashlight and went in. No cats in the tunnel either.

Needing my sleep, I begged him to crawl into the manhole across the street. It was equally shallow. Still no cats. Three tunnels led from this storm drain to two more storm drains, a man hold cover in the center of the street and one master storm drain that lead to wherever storm water goes to die. Careful of spiders, the man patiently looked down each of the three tunnels. It was beginning to dawn on me that not only would we not find the cat but also that the cat should have no trouble jumping out of the shallow hole if and when she was good and ready. Though I would have been happiest to see the cat and offer my apologies, I had abandoned my pleas to God to let the cat live. It seemed perfectly likely that the cat was alive and had probably crawled out of the hole shortly after I walked the dog home. I was feeling much better; my visions of martyrdom dying as quickly as the storm drains were shallow.

The man in the hole looked up at me, “You know, cats live in storm drains. We go to property to pick up feral cats and they dart right down them.” He eyed the other two storm drains hoping I would relent. Secretly, I rooted for the feral cats and their storm drains but the man was only doing his job and he had been very kind and patient with me with regards to my not-broken legged, un-soggy cat who I hadn’t killed. In the spirit of benevolence, I consented that crawling in the other holes wasn’t necessary and in all likelihood wouldn’t produce the cat anyway, slippery little things that they are.

So, I returned to the office an hour and a half later than I would have had I not suffered through the saga of the falling cat but I didn’t care. Thought I can’t be 100% certain the cat suffered no injuries I felt much better about the situation and I didn’t suffer nightmares of the sweet little cat who I’d decided to call Saffron shivering at the bottom of a wet, sunless shaft dying of starvation and exposure. Besides, if there’s one thing about paperwork it’s that it will still be there waiting for you when you return. I finally finished it with the help of a cup of coffee. After my morning ordeal, I made it a decaf!

Still considering a career as a pet sitter? If so, you’ll probably be wildly successful. Just remember to stick to the decaf and stay away from storm drains!
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Why are Cats Aloof?

Cats, unlike lesser animals such as dogs, often seem to be independent and act as though they don’t need humans. This is due to the fact that they are independent and don’t need humans. This is not to say, however, that they do not choose to interact with us or even, in extreme cases, decide they like us. Many people expect cats to respond to them the same ways dogs respond to them. This is a mistake. The way in which cats interact with humans should in no way be compared to the way dogs interact with humans. They are two distinct species each with their own “hard wiring” that causes them to respond to us in very different ways.

Take dogs for example. Dogs are inferior to cats. Not only do they have nasty drooling problems but also they are incapable of cleaning themselves, climbing trees or acquiring food without the assistance of several other drooling dogs. It is this latter example that points to a dog’s willingness to live alongside humans.

Dogs are pack animals. To eat, they need the help of the other members of their pack. Working in tandem they hunt and take down prey much larger than any one dog. Their numbers mean they can kill something big like a moose and feeding so many mouths means they need to kill large prey. Thus, dogs understand what it is to need other animals and to work together in a pack.

Cats, on the other paw, are typically solitary hunters. (Lions hunt more like dogs so are excluded here and the status of their “supposed cat-hood” should be called sharply into question. I suspect they drool. But I digress.) Cats generally hunt alone and as dogs hunt large prey, they tend to hunt small prey. Mice, the McDonald’s #1 combo in the world of the cat, are quick, small and great at hiding. This means cats must be quick and stealthy if they want to eat. Two cats make twice the noise which could alert a mouse about to peep out of his hole so one cat is better by himself. Besides, if he invites another cat they can never agree on the same restaurant and then feelings get hurt and the night ends much too soon…

Because cats hunt alone, they are masters of self-reliance. Sure it’s nice that we fill their bowls but the little predators don’t need the assistance of anyone else, feline, canine or otherwise in order to grab a quick meal. This means that as humans we have to earn the friendship of cats in different ways than the ways in which we earn the friendship of dogs. Give a dog food, and he’s yours. Give a cat food and he’s listening but he’s not signing anything. A cat chooses his friends based on personal tastes.

To be a good cat friend do offer food (tuna is a favorite) but be someone who’s easy to get along with too. Do not force yourself on a cat. If you wish to pet him, hold your hand out near him but let him come up to you. Never pet until he has finished sniffing and if he moves away from you stop and move back from him. Once he knows you’re “cool” he’ll be a snuggly companion who’ll sit in your lap and never leave drool on your pants.

No dogs were harmed in the writing of this entry.
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Catch Him if You Can't Help It

One of my cat Friday’s favorite games is to be chased through the house. I’m often the proverbial playground “It” and he pleads with me to try to catch him. His eyes bug out and he chirps, a noise between a meow and a purr, as he coaxes me to run. I start toward him and off he goes running full tilt down the hallway. He puts his whole body into it; his legs pump at Mach speed. He holds his fluffy tail cocked to the right, unknowingly creating drag. When he runs on the linoleum or the hardwood floors his paws slide frantically. Sometimes he crashes into the walls or furniture, whichever happens to be on the far end of a slide. He’ll beg anyone to chase him: myself, my husband, the dog. So long as someone is on his “heels,” he’s happy.

He’s happy because he knows he’s faster than we are. He’s delightfully fast! He’s the fastest cat in the world. Except he’s not. He’s really slow. Unaccountably slow, in fact. My husband and I laugh that we can walk behind him and keep up when he is “fast running”. Don’t mention that to him though! Should you “catch” him while he is running by reaching out and touching him, he gets mad. We’re not supposed to catch him. We can’t catch him because he’s so much faster than we are, or so he thinks.

Sometimes he wants me to chase him but I’m working. He’ll meow and get ready to run but I don’t look up from my work. So, he tries standing on my desk, blocking my view of my monitor. I shoo him away. Finally, he’s forced to take drastic action. He scratches the carpet. If I rise to scold him he runs, and I am forced into his game. If I ignore him, scratching the carpet goes uncorrected. What is a cat mom to do (as if anything could be done)?

Luckily, Hemmy is always willing to chase Friday. If Friday’s favorite game is being chased then Hemmy’s favorite game is chasing him. Hemmy hunts Friday through the house, stalking like a small lion. Friday, with gazelle-like alertness, chirps and runs. Down the hall they rush, a thunder of paws closely followed by a thump then hissing and growling. Hemmy doesn’t follow Friday’s rules and he catches him and tackles him. Friday isn’t a fan of rough housing. Though he is the bigger cat, he whines and fusses at Hemmy, which only entertains Hemmy more; his eyes take on a mischievous twinkle that grows in intensity with every growl and hiss Friday emits. Friday squirms away and runs from Hemmy and thus round two is born.

And so it goes: chirping, running, thumping, growling, back to chirping. The circle of life in my house is the circle pattern formed from room to room as cats rush through the house in a never-ending game of tag. Yeah, it’s a bit noisy but far more melodious than that horrible song! Besides, it beats my babies being involved in the for real Circle of Life. And so Brian and I will continue walking behind Friday and Hemmy will continue rolling him end over end and maybe, just maybe, Friday will take a turn at being “It.”catcatscat humorcat comedycircle of life

Easter's Gone to the Cats

Easter is one of my favorite times of the year. It heralds the arrival of spring and fills you up with picnic lunches but what I like about Easter most are egg hunts. When I was a kid I loved to try to find the most eggs. I usually didn’t but it was fun anyway. As I’ve grown older I’ve found that I enjoy hiding the eggs more than hunting them but I still have just as much fun as I did when I was a kid.

Perhaps you are like me and the only “kids” you have possess twice the typical number of legs. Since I enjoy Easter so much, I decided to celebrate it with my children: Hemmy, Friday and Kit. We had our own kitty cat Easter egg hunt. Of course, we didn’t actually use eggs and we kept it indoors but we had just as much fun as any “real” egg hunt I’ve ever been on.

In place of the eggs, we used cat treats. I selected the most aromatic from our cache and “hid” them inside of various cat toys. I put a couple in a cardboard box with Smacking Holes see Cat Toys and Your Bank Account. I put some in the track of a scratching post that has a little ball that runs around it; and I put some inside a plastic laundry basket. They had no trouble finding the treats but they did have a few challenges when it came to getting the treats.

Hemmy was the funniest. He knew there were treats in the laundry basket but he couldn’t fit his paw through the slits on the sides. He pushed it all over the room with his paws and his teeth. He was so desperate to get the treats that it never occurred to him to get inside of the basket. Friday had no trouble overcoming the obstacle. He hopped in the basket and beat Hemmy to the prize. Kit was lady-like when she scooped a treat from the scratching post and ate it delicately from her paw. She can afford to be gentile. The boys know she’ll smack them in the head if they bother her food!

All the cats are sound asleep. They wore themselves out in the hunting. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow!catcat humorcat easter