Quote Therapy: Colette

"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet" Colette

I always thought I was a cat person.

Our family always had a dog when I was growing up, but it was the kittens I toted everywhere. Cleopatra was my favorite cat. I also loved the bum lambs and calves that had to be bottle fed, and I was bereft, absolutely bereft, when Nature took its natural course, and they died. My favorite rescue, Linus, was herded on to the slaughter truck by mistake, instead of in the sheering pen. It was a moment from Wagner's Gotterdamerung -the crazy fury section -when I realized the fate of my pet lamb.

Did I mention I grew up on a farm?

I have a weakness for strays, for underdogs. Sheena of Fanfur, Grand Champion,1986, was a rescue. She was a full bred Persian, which means she looked like she'd ran straight in to a wall and flattened her face, and she always sounded like she was snoring. Her story is a queen to peasant story, due to her contracting the fatal and contagious disease, feline leukemia, thereby endangering the cattery, (who knew there were such things, or that there were show cats?). It was either find a home for her or put her down. I got her through a friend that worked at a local vet. I had to have an interview her owner before I was allowed take her. I passed and she outlived my first marriage, but died suddenly. She had a taste for whiskey, and my daughter was certain it was alcohol that had killed her rather than a relapse. Sheena's original owner was colorful. He made his fortune in wheat, and claimed to have been a drummer for Elvis. I never checked it out, I suppose I could Google it, but I prefer to keep the story as is. unverified.

My daughter and I found Ellie, our blue healer/border collie mix at the pound. I hedged until my four-year-old prostrated herself against the cage, wailing, after the keeper revealed that the dog was literally at death's door. A very hard sell, so we had no choice. We brought Ellie home, but I considered taking her back that first night when she chewed a corner off my dining room hutch. She has dug up more flowers and lawn than I'd like to admit. She ran a track in the lawn around the house. She would accommodate my daughter and her friends and play "horse" and clear five foot posts. That is all in the past now, although she is still doing well despite, one serious encounter with a car,a subsequent hip surgery, and her sixteen years. She still comes with me on my shorter walks.

Of all of our cats: Sheena, Isabella, Rosie, and Queen Victoria, Rouger is the only feline still in residence. I named each of my cats after queens. Isabella after Isabella of Toledo, because her coat reminded me of Spain's queen, Queen Vicoria after England's queen, because the cat was stout. She weighed 39 pounds when I brought her home. My daughter named Rosie and Rouger. As I said Rouger is still among the living. My daughter found her, squalling and near death. When we brought her home, you could compare her heft and weight to that of a small candle. She is now an angular, feral cat. Her desperate first few weeks shaped her behavior, and she stalks her food dish, and will not tolerate the dogs good will. Ellie has begun stealth attacks in retaliation.

I'm certain my penchant for strays and rescues is psychological evidence about the deep nature of my psyche, or that I am a identify on some level, but whatever. I said that we found all of our pets at the animal shelter. That was true until my husband, who up until he brought this tiny puppy home from California, hadn't shown much evidence of being an animal lover. Harley was four pounds when he arrived, and he's up to fifteen as of yesterday's vet visit for an embedded barley beard in his front paw. He's lost two pounds walking this summer. Ellie has lost six.

Harley was so small I carried him around in the pocket of my sweatshirt. For the first month we had him, I held him until he protested. He's terribly behaved, and a great contrast to Ellie in temperament.

I'm firmly a dog person now. I still love cats, but it's different relationship. I really never got it when dog people would go on and on about their canines. Now I get it. Dogs love you. They really love you. And they put up will all the petting and scratching and teasing. No matter what, every time you walk through the door,regardless of how many times a day, your dog is happy to see you.

It's a three dog life. And to this point I've had my three. One in childhood. Two in adulthood.