THE CATS OF OUR LIVES

For some reason, cats didn’t necessarily resonate with the Karlberg family as well or as much as our dogs have. That’s not to say we don’t remember them, that they didn’t have their own Christmas stocking for Santa to fill (okay, I did finally take to just changing the name), or get treats and special care just like our dogs. But, they didn’t follow us around, act cute or capture the attention of other family and friends.  

John had Tiger when we first met. Tiger went with us to our first apartment and then to our home. He was a clever cat and always wondered why John’s mother yelled at him when she got home. Of course he hadn’t been sleeping on the antique rocking chair. It must have been a breeze that made it rock, not Tiger jumping off. Tiger always slept with us because he had always slept with John…who was I to kick him off the bed. 

Dingy was a spur-of-the-moment purchase. We were walking by a pet store on Aurora and this gray striped kitten was making all the other kittens miserable by flying around the cage and pouncing and jumping. We paid an entire $1.98 plus tax for the kitten that became Dingy…because he was Dingy. He settled down after a while and was probably the only cat we’ve had that really liked to sit on our laps. 

Choo Choo was a rescue cat. He was black and white and his fur was long. We had wonderful times holding him down and cutting off the big matted fur blobs every spring. Brushing didn’t help with that at all. My favorite story about Choo Choo was his first and only bird catch. John watched through the window. The cat was old and slow and big. There was a flock of little birds pecking in the flowerbed. Choo Choo got down in the grass (as though they couldn’t see him) and carefully and slowly stalked those birds. Finally, he was close enough and made this huge jump high into the air. All the little birds flew away while Choo Choo was in the air except for one which flew straight up into his paws. John said Choo Choo seemed amazed to have actually caught a bird. He did it justice, leaving only the feet and the beak. 

Fred or Fuad as John referred to him was brought over from the farm in Idaho. I don’t remember him as a particularly friendly cat. John remembers driving over Fuad in the driveway. The cat was sleeping under his front tire and John didn’t see him. Apparently all it did was smoosh him a bit because he was fine and lived another few years. 

Alley was a gold kitten and resembled Tiger a lot. Some friends gave him to us and he was fine until I took him in to be neutered. This apparently pissed him off no end because the nice kitty I took in came home as the cat from hell.  No way would he let you pet him and if you even tried, you needed bandages. Alley just sort of hung around and let us feed him, came inside when he wanted and stayed away when he wanted. Alley was my least favorite cat. 

Someone I worked with brought a few kittens in to work. I liked the little white one and said I’d take her home for Thor. Somehow, between the time she made the office visit and came back to go home with me, her personality changed and she wasn’t as friendly. Thor loved her and named her Kit-Kat. One day she didn’t come home and Thor, unfortunately, found what happened to her. When he took his usual route through the greenbelt behind the fence, he found her…most likely a coyote victim. 

So there we were 17.5 years ago, a home without a cat. John’s birthday arrived and so did his present from AJ and Angie…a feral kitten which he named Sven. This cat took forever to settle in, but never became the lap sitter, human lover we wanted him to be. In fact, all I had to do was enter the room and he ran off as though I’ve got a big broom with which to chase him. Sven also didn’t like strangers either and when company arrived, he disappeared under one of the beds and stayed there until the house was silent again.  

It’s only been in the last six months or so that Sven has turned into a pretty nice cat. That may be because he finally gave up looking for Mia. You see, he got all his pets and rubs from her. Back and forth under her chin. Holding still and purring as Mia nibbled the top of his head. Anyway, Sven began climbing up and sitting on John’s lap in the evening, but continued to ignore me and dashing from the room if I entered.  

That all changed shortly after Christmas when I offered him some catnip in his bed. Now Sven is a catnip addict and I am his connection. I get up in the morning and he greets me with big meows and some of them even sound as though he’s saying, “now.” He wants his fix and won’t leave me alone until I open the bottle and sprinkle a pinch in his bed. 

It’s the same thing in the afternoon, but I refuse to give it to him then. I make him wait until after dinner. And, Sven’s also taken Mia’s place at table. Whatever we’re having for dinner, Sven wants some. If it’s meat or fish, he’s a happy guy, even if he just finished his cat food. If it’s something like pizza or casserole, imagine his disgust as he turns up his nose and struts away. 

Sven’s become quite thin except for his tummy. John speculates this may be his last winter, but who knows. Catnip seems to have rejuvenated him, so perhaps I’ll give in and let him have it three times a day. 

That brings us to Zooee, a small black kitten that was destined to become a black spot on Phinney Avenue North. She was rescued by a zoo co-worker who wanted to find her a home. I took her and held her and she immediately began to purr…so, I brought her home to be my kitty and named her Zooee because of where she was found. 

I wanted her to be an indoor cat, but while I was at work, John began to let her outside. He also began to feed her dinner before I could get home…well, she was so hungry (like she was going to die of hunger in 30 more minutes). So, you guessed it, Zooee is John’s cat. 

Zooee was around for Mia’s last few years and John thinks she believes she is a dog. Every morning when John goes to feed the chickens, Zooee goes out with him and then comes back in just as Mia did. If John goes down the driveway to get the mail or paper, Zooee accompanies him just like Mia used to do. Zooee also sleeps on John’s bed and keeps the back of his knees warm. She only comes to my bed to jump on it and wake me up to let her out if she can’t get John to respond.  

I can pet her as much as I want provided she is on the bed or the couch and it has to be on her terms. She won’t sit on my lap or close to me, but she purrs very loudly as I rub her back and tummy. I can also pick her up provided I have my hand in such a way that her front legs are beneath my hand and my arm is pressing her  body to my side. Even then and even though she’s purring away, she manages to growl and let me know when enough is enough. 

Eventually Sven and then much much later Zooee will join our other family members under the apple tree. And while we may not get any additional pets to join everyone there, John has expressed his wish to have his ashes sprinkled under the apple tree when his time comes. I think that sounds like a fine idea and wouldn’t mind being there as well. If we aren’t still living here then, perhaps one of the boys could sneak over the fence late one night and spread us around. The idea of joining the dogs and cats of our lives for one never-ending hugs playdate sounds perfect.

DOGS OF OUR LIVES – MIA P.I.A. (Pain In Ass)

Midnite was to have been our last dog but it wasn’t a week later when John came home and said he couldn’t stand it. We had to get another dog. He had to have someone to greet him at the door when he got home. Our marriage contract didn’t call for me to greet him on all fours wagging my behind so, I got busy right away looking for the perfect dog on the internet. It had to be black lab or black lab and something else.

A litter of huge proportions was available for view and choosing in Bellingham. We made the trip and the first dog that came over and sat on John’s shoe was the one he chose. Again, bureaucracy didn’t allow us to take her home that day and someone actually made a trip to view our house and yard, plus she had to be spayed and chipped.

A couple weeks later, we retraced our steps to Bellingham and picked up the little black dog…supposedly half Rottweiler and half black lab. The way she looked when she grew up supported this theory. All the way home, she sat on my lap beneath a towel because the sun was hot and beating directly down into the car.

John named her Mia after the soccer player and I added the P.I.A., mainly because she refused to learn to stay out of my garden beds for the longest time. At the place Mia and her family were fostered, the entire back of the yard was bushes, so she thought she had to have brush tickle her bottom in order to go. It took some time to convince her she didn’t need to get into my flowerbeds in order to go potty. Of course, whenever she thought she could get away with it, she still liked those bushes on her bottom.

Mia turned out to be the smartest dog we ever had. When new people moved in behind us, they had a dog named Lucy. They would call to ask if Mia could have a play date. After a few times, when the phone rang at a particular time in the afternoon, Mia would race to the kitchen and sit looking expectantly at the phone. When the answering machine picked up, if it was Lucy’s owner on the phone, Mia was out the door and at the back gate before the message was finished. If it was a hang-up or someone else, you could see her dejection as her ears flopped, her head drooped and she more or less slunk back to wherever she’d been before the phone rang.

John couldn’t resist buying Mia toys whether it was at a garage sale or the pet store. Over the years, she ended up with a HUGE basket of toys. But, she knew the names of her toys. To quote from an email AJ sent the day after Mia’s demise, “Another one [what he would miss] was asking her to retrieve one of her toys. Be it Buffy the Bison or Cow’ee the Cow or whatever you or Dad named them. The names always seemed too end with a Y or an E. Off she would go & findy whatever’ee you said’ee & bring it to you.  Mia was pretty smart.”

When people came to the door, Mia sounded like the most vicious dog in the world. If it was a stranger, I’d stand with my legs together and the door open only a bit while she barked and growled. Little did those strangers know that if I opened the door all the way, she’d have been wagging her tail and licking their hands by the time she made it on to the porch. The UPS driver took to having a cookie for her if she was out front and if not, the cookie was left on the package. The mailman also took to having a cookie for her. It made him laugh to give her the mail and have her run up the driveway with it (she got another cookie once it was in the house). There wasn’t anyone who went through the neighborhood that Mia didn’t make into a friend.

Mia was really John’s dog even though I had high hopes on the ride home that she’d like me best. She went everywhere with him and eventually I refused to ride in his car because the blue seats were actually black and the windshield and door window were covered with Mia nose prints. What a forlorn doggie she was when John left and didn’t take her along. I took her on walks, though and she really liked those as well although I swear she couldn’t possibly have needed to poop for days after a walk.

When it came to Christmas or birthdays (John chose July 4^th for Mia’s), she was another dog that loved to open those packages. Family and friends began to bring her wrapped gifts because they enjoyed her enthusiasm so much. To quote AJ again, “Having her open a gift was fun to watch.  She was delicate at first with the initial tear but half way through she was ripping & tearing that dang box open.  Be it her gift or one of ours.”

She also thought that breakfast, dinner or snack time was also her time to eat, and it didn’t mean eating dog food in a bowl.  No matter what John ate, Mia always got at least one bite…he even took to bringing Mia her own McDonald’s cheeseburgers and ice cream. Of course, she might have lived longer on a decent diet, but John’s still going strong, so who knows.

It took a couple of years for Mia’s health to decline. The vet worked with us and we ordered special medications to help with her arthritis and bladder problem. When she became incontinent, we found there are doggie diapers you can buy. So, we began to diaper her, mostly at night (if we paid attention during the day, she always let us know when she needed out), and she didn’t seem to mind. It was difficult to keep the diaper on her because she was a large dog, so I manufactured a link from the diaper to her collar that helped her keep it up. And, instead of buying spendy doggie liners, we found women’s menstrual pads worked just as well, if not better.

Neither John nor I wanted to face the fact Mia’s time was growing short, but eventually the vet said he and the surgeon he’d had look at the x-ray believed one of her vertebrae was compromised with cancer. We made the sad choice a couple of weeks later when getting up became painful for Mia to put her under the apple tree.

Our vet said he would come to our house to put her down after his Saturday clinic. All morning, Mia laid on a thick towel , drank as much water as she wanted and ate all the treats offered her by her big brothers AJ and Thor (who came to dig her resting place); and of course by John and I.  Mia was loved and petted and hugged all morning by one of her family. When the vet arrived Mia greeted him like an old friend; and surrounded by love, familiar hands on her body, a full tummy and bladder, Mia left us.

AJ’s email still makes me tear up 15 months later:  “Mia was in good spirits on Saturday I believe. She made it out to the dining room & just hung out. You could tell by her bright eyes, tail wagging, head bobbing & a lick of your hand or face that she was interested in what we were all doing. She still wanted to please everyone as was her job, which she took very seriously. I was grateful to see that as was everyone else I hope.

“ As with all Karlberg pets Mia had her own character & quirks that provided all of us with joy, happiness & laughter.  Her rightful place under the apple tree with the others is a great ending for a great doggy doodle as Dad would say.”

DOGS OF OUR LIVES – MIDNITE THE HEROINE

Midnite was half black lab and half collie according to the people at PAWS. She was Thor’s reward for having a good school year; and, besides, every kid needs to have a dog of their own at some point. The fact John and I missed having a dog had nothing to do with the decision.

Thor and I went to PAWS and he stood around and then began to play with some of the puppies up for adoption. After he settled on one, we had our first experience with the bureaucracy that accompanies getting a dog or cat. We could not take the dog home right then. She had to be spayd first and we had to be checked out.

How long would she be alone each day? Who would be her main caregiver? Would we be crate training (recommended) her? We filled out all the forms, answered all the questions and left empty handed but with the knowledge we’d return in a day or so and bring her home.

When we returned, she was ready to go. Thor decided he’d ride in the backseat with his dog and think about names. On the way, due to excitement, fear or whatever, the puppy took a dump. I was not especially enamored at this point, but she was Thor’s and by the time we got home, he had decided on a name, Midnite…so original.

That car poop wouldn’t be the last and was just a preview of what was to come. Whenever Midnite was nervous (or wanted to get even maybe), she pooped. One of her favorite things was to stand right behind you and poop so if you weren’t careful, and stepped back, you had to clean your shoe(s). John took her to PetCo to have her photo taken…she dropped turds all the way down the aisle to the photographer.

Midnite was an affectionate, smart and wonderful dog. She was the perfect companion for Thor and followed him around the neighborhood and beyond. Even though she never went to class, Midnite was great on a leash and accompanied me from home to the grocery store where she patiently waited for me to get my shopping done. John would then come and pick us and the groceries up (she never pooped in the car on these trips).

Something else Midnite was known for was opening presents. She thought every single birthday or Christmas present was wrapped just for her. One year, we even had a doggie birthday party for her and invited two of the neighbor’s dogs. They were placed on chairs at the table. A dog food cake, iced with dry cat food was placed on the table with a candle. The birthday song was sung, the candle blown out and the cake served on plates. Of the three dogs at table, Midnite was the only one who ate her cake at the table…the other dogs had to have their plates placed on the floor. Then, her favorite part…opening her presents.

In 1998 or 1999, Midnite became the family heroine, and for her bravery in saving Thor’s life, she was allowed to sneak onto the furniture to sleep without a cross word and provided with many treats.  John had left the day before for Florida, so it was just me, Thor, Midnite and the cats at home. In the middle of the night, something woke me up, but I couldn’t figure out what. I decided to get up and go to the bathroom. I opened the bedroom door to the hall, smelled smoke, and reached for the light switch just as Thor threw open his door and he and Midnite rushed into the hall.

          “Do you smell smoke?” I asked.

          “Yes, my bedroom’s on fire.” He responded

What he actually meant was that his bedroom had been on fire. What woke me up was Midnite jumping on Thor’s bedroom door and when no one came to open it, she threw her 90 pound self on top of sleeping Thor and woke him up.

What he saw when he opened his eyes was his desk on fire. Though he had never done this before, that night he took a candle to his room, placed it on top of his desk sans candleholder, lit it and began to play video games, positive he’d not fall asleep. Boy was he wrong.

We have no idea how long the fire smoldered…it melted several CD holders, the desktop, his phone and had finally broken into flames when Midnite woke him. Meanwhile, the smoke from the smoldering was black and thick and when it hit the ceiling, it rained back down so everything, including Thor and Midnite, was covered with soot. Thor used his pillows to douse the flames, pulled down the blinds and threw open his window. The next day, you could see where smoke leaving his room made marks on the white paint of the house.

When Thor moved out on his own, he couldn’t take Midnite. This was fine with John and I because that meant we still had someone who was delighted to see us every time we came home. Someone who went from sleeping in Thor’s room to sleeping in our room. Someone who gave love and kisses and attention. Someone who depended on us to be there for her.

When the time came for Midnite to make her last trip to the vet, Thor came home and dug a hole under the apple tree even though he said he was going to leave her at the vet’s to be cremated. Dinner was almost ready when he and his dad came back from the vet with Midnite…Thor had changed his mind about cremation.

So, she joined her predecessors under the apple tree. Unfortunately, we never were able to harvest Midnite apples from the tree. Apple maggots had invaded so any apples that grew to maturity were bad, plus the tree’s ability to grow fruit had diminished to almost nothing. Still, she rests there in peace.