Speaking Siamese

A lot of people think the only action that occurs in this world is what they personally see, hear or smell.

Especially smell. For example, you are walking down a sidewalk and a garbage truck pulls up beside you. The tendency is to want a second opinion. We’ll say, “Is that what I think it is?” And we’ll smell the vile odor again. “Yep! Sure is.”

And then we’ll grab the fire extinguisher and put out our smoking nose hairs.

But a lot happens when we’re away from home. That’s especially true with regards to pets. Yes, the dogs actually do bark when we’re not personally there to hear the joyful noise.

And cats. Well, that’s a whole other story.

Take the case of my main cat, Mattie, and my auxiliary cat, Sophie. I left the calico, Mattie, alone with the part Siamese, Sophie, too long. Mattie, being an intuitive empath, took the opportunity to start speaking Siamese.

Now Sophie is back outside playing with the badgers. And Mattie is following me around the house, bleating.

Cats are all the pets I have left. For the first time in a quarter century I am out of the dog business, entirely.

The Better Half was a compulsive dog collector. When she died in September 2007 as we neared our 25th wedding anniversary, we had shipped the classiest of her dogs to trainers in Minnesota and Arizona.

That left me with four dogs. It was a big task for a person who does not by nature find joy in dogs barking, howling or ki-yi-ing. Three of the four dogs were very old. They could not be placed in other homes.

The fourth was a rescue dog that was young enough to be put back into the rescue system.

Cade, the Houdini escape artist dog, has gone to a home in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, and apparently took a step up in class, as he was a featured attraction in a wine and cheese festival. I can picture him racing through the proceedings. I see him smiling with glee at the prospect of becoming the first cheesehead dog.

I hope his new owner has a tall fence, possibly topped with concertina wire.

The Better Half encouraged me, in one of her last notes, to give the other three dogs a happy ending, but to know when to say when.

Taz the old collie was the last to go. The Better Half had rescued him about four years earlier in very rough shape 50 pounds overweight. At the end, suffering from kidney disease, he was 20 pounds underweight and apparently in a lot of pain.

The Better Half in her mercy gave him four bonus years. I feel good that this abused dog at least knew some years of peace.

In the year and a half since the Better Half died, I’ve learned a lot about pets. I learned that I like dogs better than cats (I like to be worshipped, not bossed around).

But cats better fit my lifestyle. And to find her I won’t have to put a bell on Mattie’s collar. All I’ve got to do is listen for the bleating.

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