pkvcyfzwfmyk/llk

Please ignore the previous line. I will get back to it in a few paragraphs. Thank you, in advance, for your patience.

I am not a cat person — I am a dog guy. To be clear, I do not like all dogs. I have a strong dislike for little yipping quasi-canines, pretending to be ferocious beasts (while hurling high-pitched squeaks from beneath sofas). I enjoy the company of over-grown, slobbering, tail whipping, ball chasing, loyal to a fault, big-baby, “puppies.”

I have shared my life with two Great Danes, large enough to team up with some Clydesdales, in order to help haul a Budweiser beer wagon up the Main Street hill. At one point, my home was graced by the presence of a German shepherd named Somethin’ — so named because, as a puppy, I was asked what I was going to call him. Unsure of a proper moniker, I nonchalantly (lazily) replied, “I’ll name him somethin’.” After about six months, it stuck (that’s pretty lazy). However, my favorite canine companion was a bouncing black lab reputed to be equal parts black bear and Black Angus.

As previously stated — and stated again for clarity—I am not a cat person. Getting back to the first line of this piece — “pkvcyfzwfmyk/llk” (again, thank you for your patience) — it was written by my cat (yes, MY CAT). Following my usual writing protocol, I sat down in my favorite recliner, flipped open my laptop, and stared at the keyboard while trying to think of something meaningful to write. Obviously, I pondered the situation just a second and a half too long, because that was when my cat decided to leap from 20 feet away and stick an Olympic qualifying four-point landing in the middle of my keyboard. “pkvcyfzwfmyk/llk” is the result of four paws trampling all over Mr. Hewlett and Mr. Packard’s handy work.

Adding insult to injury, once she had completed her tome, she looked at me with a derisive smirk, dismissed me with a tandem swift turn and a quick tail flick, and exited with a prominent display (in my face) of her least appealing side. There should be a law against such disgusting behavior. Of course, if such a law did exist, all cats (everywhere — without exception) would simply refuse to comply. They make the rules and the rest of us must acquiesce (kinda’ like Congress).

Yes, I am a dog guy — and I have a cat. It happens. The infernal thing showed up one day, announced that she was interviewing humans for menial staff positions, and never left. She arrived on my doorstep as a kitten, perhaps only eight weeks old and my grandson asked, “Grandpa can we keep it?” The irony was that he used his best big, sad, PUPPY eyes when he asked. I looked at the scrawny, orphaned, ball of fluff and said in my loudest, commanding, and most authoritative voice, “Nope! Ain’t no way! No cats! Not gonna’ happen! No way — no how! Forget it! Don’t even ask!” That was about three years ago — obviously, the cat is still here (and my grandson lives on the other side of town).

Now, the story has grown — I have two cats. My mother passed away a few months back and my loving siblings took a vote on who should get Mom’s kitten — I lost. To be fair, I was the one that took it upon himself to find my mother the furry little companion and, therefore, the one obligated to care for the critter after my mother’s passing. I knew this going in…but still…no good deed goes unpunished.

Adding to my challenge, these two felines are not the best of friends — not even close. I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s like two women living under the same roof — neither willing to cede control, both insist on all of the attention (but only on demand), and there is a bunch of shrill hissing! I am now subservient to two cats that refuse to play well in the same litter box.

In order to chase away the potential reputation of becoming the crazy cat lady (or, in this case, crazy cat guy), I’m thinking about getting a big, slobbering puppy with bad breath, flatulence, and a penchant for kitty chasing.