28 Paws

It all really started with my cat Smokey. She was not a stray or a rescue. My neighbor’s cat had kittens and I took the gray one. I named her Smokey. She was a good cat: affectionate but not pushy, used her litter box, didn’t go outside, loved catnip but hated riding in a car anywhere (Not just the vet). Smokey and I lived together happily for many years.

Then one day when I came home from work and noticed that Smokey was laying in the exact same spot that she had been in when I left, like she hadn’t moved all day. I found it interesting but not alarming. I did find it alarming when she proceeded to do it day after day plus, she looked like she was getting a bit pudgy. I decided she needed something to do to stay active. I decided to get her a kitten to look after and play with.

A friend of mine had told me that a stray cat had had kittens under his deck and that he had been feeding them for the last week because the mom had been hit by a car out in front of his house. Poor things! I decided to get one to help Smokey become more active.

I picked out a grey tabby to bring home. I knew she needed a strong name because Smokey was old and wise and if you didn’t play your cards right, she could be a force. I named her Zmaj (Slovenian for Dragon).

It was clear from the beginning that Smokey had no interest in this little kitten. She didn’t try to hurt her. She just ignored her. Zmaj would run around the house like a crazy kitty and Smokey would just lay around and ignore her. I actually felt bad for Zmaj. Poor little kitty in a strange house with no mom and no one to play with. That just didn’t seem fair, so I called my friend again. I went back by there and picked up Zmaj’s sister.

It was easy to name this cute little girl. Her face looked like someone had taken crayons and just doodled all over it. She became Missy Doodle. Zmaj was so happy to see her. They ran around the house like crazy kitties, tumbling, jumping and rolling everywhere. They were two kittens in a happiness pod. Smokey on the other hand kept giving me dirty looks and just totally ignored the two new additions to our family.

All of us were quite happy for a while. Zmaj and Missy Doodle running around like crazy at their young age and Smokey ever ignoring them in her old age. Finally though, Smokey became too old and too sick. After nineteen years, it was time for her to leave us and go on to a better place.

The three of us kicked around for a while. Yes, we missed Smokey but we were okay. Then one day I was going to the pet store to look for some cat toys. I pulled up and there they were out front: a dog rescue group. There were people and dogs everywhere. The dogs were friendly and sweet and the people were more than happy to tell you about them and how you could help. I decided to adopt a dog.

I filled out the forms. I was sure to say that I needed a dog that was cat and small child tolerant. After all, I did have cats and grand-kids. While I was waiting, I thought about names but decided to wait until I met my new canine before picking a name. I was nervous the day I went to pick her up. Would she like me? Would I like her? What would she be like?

I walked in and saw her immediately. Shaking and scared, huddled up against another dog for comfort, all legs and nose. She was beautiful. I tried to get her to come to me but she wanted to stay with the other dog. Someone from the rescue group explained to me that my dog and this other dog had grown close while they were waiting to be adopted. They were jokingly called the “Couple” and if you can give human traits to a dog, they were thought to be “in love”.

I took my girl dog while someone else took the boy dog. She jumped up in my Jeep like she owned it but I soon found out that she was prone to car sickness. She threw up all over the back of my jeep! (I thought maybe it was the stress of the day and being separated from her mate but as the years went by, she always threw up on car rides).

When I walked through the front door Zmaj ran for shelter but not Missy Doodle. She stuck around to face the thing coming through the door. She had long ago established herself as the alpha kitty and felt it her responsibility to lay down the law. She was the ruler of this home and no 70 pound thing was going to change that! She meowed. The dog huffed. She meowed again, louder and the dog went to lay down on a dog bed in front of the fireplace. That was it. I kid you not. No drama. No chasing. No nothing. 70 pound dog on the dog bed in front of the fireplace and a 10 pound cat laying in the middle of the living room floor totaling acting all chill. Zmaj eventually came out from behind the sofa to cautiously investigate but I think she took her cue from Missy Doodle. If Missy Doodle was good then she should be too. There we all were in the living room like nothing important had happened that day that would change the rest of our lives.

The dog still needed a name. The rescue group had said that her name was ZoZo but I didn’t like that. I didn’t want her to have any reminders of her prior life so I needed to change her name. She was 18 months old so I wasn’t sure if she would do it, but I need not have worried. She turned out to be a very smart, funny, loving dog and I named her Tessa. (Short for Contessa Aryanna Freya. What can I say? I’m a Merlin fan) She literally learned a new behavior every day. In less than a week she was adapted to the routine of our home. She also learned not to eat cat food or stick her nose in the litter box.

One day, about a month after I got Tessa, the rescue group called and asked if I would foster an older dog named Stevie until he could find a permanent home. I was unsure if he would get along with Tessa, so we decided on a meeting. I took her to an event the rescue group was having to introduce her to Stevie. I took them both for a walk and to be honest, Tessa could not have cared less about this other dog. She ignored him the whole entire time we were walking. She never sniffed his butt or anything. It was like he was invisible. Then a funny thing happened. We were coming back to the group after the walk and suddenly Tessa broke free from me. She was hauling doggy butt to the pop-up stand where the group was. She wove her way through the crowd and laid down on a blanket next to another dog. It was the dog she didn’t want to leave the day I picked her up. I watched them for a bit and realized that they were so happy to see each other. Tails were wagging, noses were nuzzling and I swear they were smiling. You could actually feel the happiness.

I asked about him because it was my understanding that he had been adopted. The rescue group said yes but he had been returned because he was too big and clumsy for the space the adoptive family had. Did I want to adopt him? What? I had only had Tessa for a month. What was I going to do with another dog that was bigger than her? But then again, I had been watching them the whole time I was talking and what I saw was 150 pounds of dog rolling all over the blanket and playing with each other, just being happy dogs. I was done for.

They brought the other dog over the following Friday to spend the weekend. (just to see if it would work out). Zmaj ran but Missy Doodle held her ground again. To be honest, I think the dog was a little afraid of Missy Doodle. He gave her a wide berth in the beginning but I knew before I went to bed that night that he was staying. The next morning I went out and bought beds and bones and everything else he would need to stay. I also called the rescue group and said he could stay. Yes, he was big and clumsy, but I just knew I could not break up a couple in love. He belonged with us. I changed his name from Manny to Conner (short for Evan Elvis Conner) and so the couple of Tessa and Conner came to live with me.

Conner, as it turned out, was excellent babysitter. The first time I brought my 2-year-old grandson to my house after Tessa and Conner came, I was worried that he would be scared. When we got to my front door I could hear 150 pounds of dog on the other side waiting to greet me. I thought I had made a mistake by not putting them downstairs so my grandson wouldn’t be overwhelmed when I opened the door. Again,I need not have worried. I opened the front door and my grandson took one look at those dogs and just started squealing. He was so excited and had no fear at all. When he started squealing Tessa ran to the bedroom but Conner stood there eye to eye with him and just started licking him. Jaxen (my grandson) was hugging Conner and Conner was licking him. They were buds. From then on, every time Jaxen came over they would play together. Jaxen would start in the bedroom, run down the hall through the living room and dining room then into the kitchen where he would reverse course and run back to the bedroom. The whole time Conner was either right next to him or behind him just running and playing. They even took naps together. Best buds for life.

Again, we were fine for a while. No fighting between the cats and dogs. As a matter of fact, Missy Doodle took quite a liking to Conner. It was nothing for him to be walking through the house with Missy Doodle walking underneath him with her tail whipping back and forth on his stomach. Then one day I took Tessa to the vet for a checkup. In the lobby there was a large cage with a blonde and white bobtail cat. The vet attendant told me that the cat in the lobby and another cat had been abandoned at the vet with a note that said the owners could no longer take care of them, please find them good homes. The other cat was too sick to be adopted but Lucy, the cat in the lobby, was about 3 years old and good to go. I told myself “No, don’t do it. You have enough. Someone else will get her.” I thought about her all evening: In a strange place, scared, without her cat parents or her cat sister for that matter, not understanding what was happening to her. The next day after work I stopped by the vet and adopted Lucy.

Bringing Lucy home did not go as smoothly as I had hoped for. The dogs didn’t care. Zmaj acted like she didn’t care. (I did discover later that wasn’t true.) Anyway, it was Missy Doodle that was the problem. She took one look at Lucy and decided she wasn’t having it. She took the Halloween cat stance and started growling and hissing. I thought about intervening but decided that Missy Doodle was the alpha kitty and they needed to work out their own hierarchy. Truthfully, there was a lot of hissing, growling and paw smacking but no fighting.

For 2 days after Lucy came, everything was fine but then Zmaj made her feelings known. Zmaj asked to go outside one day so I let her out. She never came back. I looked for her everywhere. I called her. I put her litter box outside, everything. There was no sign of her. 2 weeks later, I was outside looking for her when I saw her come out of one of my neighbor’s house. My neighbor is an older gentleman that had lost his wife a few years back and more recently had lost his border collie. Zmaj was walking next to him. He was talking to her and she looked like she was paying attention. She had apparently decided that Lucy was one adoptee too many and she needed to go. I let Zmaj stay with my neighbor. I see her outside every couple of weeks. She comes to me when I call her. She stays a few minutes and lets me pet her but then she goes back to someone that needs her more than I do. She’s a good cat.

The two dogs, two cats and I were doing just fine. We had a routine. Everybody got along. Everybody knew what they could and shouldn’t do. We had no worries. Then it happened. The dog rescue called and asked if I could foster an older dog. His human had passed away and he needed a home. He was 9 years old. His name was Rogue and he had spent his life with a military man. (don’t worry, after 9 years I wasn’t going to try and change his name, although I did later tend to call him Rogueamundo). I said sure.

Now any good dog parent will tell you that you must be careful about adding a new dog to the pack. It’s a process. I picked him up on Saturday morning and we all spent the weekend getting to know each other. Everything seemed fine. On Monday when I went to work I separated the pack. Tessa and Conner had the downstairs and Rogue had the hall and the back of the house. I gave everybody a bone and left. I had to run an errand after work so I called my next-door neighbor and asked if she could let them out. She agreed.

After work as I was driving down the highway, my neighbor called and said I had to come home right away, that something bad had happened. I asked her what but she said she wasn’t sure yet, just to come home. I went straight home and walked into what I thought was a crime scene. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, on the couch, on the table and dripping from one room to the next and not one dog came to greet me. I tracked the blood down the hallway and found Tessa on my bed, laying down, bleeding from her mouth. I checked her out very quickly and found her to be all right except for the cut on her mouth. I went searching again and found Conner in the walk-in closet. He was shaking and scared but unharmed.

I went searching yet again, this time for Rogue. I found him in the family room literally beaten to a pulp. He was covered in blood with wounds on his head, neck, stomach and haunches. I cried, oh how I cried. My neighbor and I took him to the emergency vet where he was shaved, sedated, stapled and stitched. We got home around 2am.

Once we were home I settled Rogue in and went searching for Tessa. I found her and cleaned her up. Rogue looked like he was almost at death’s door and all she had was a cut at the end of mouth that I treated with Neosporin and a small scratch behind her left ear that really needed no treatment at all.

It was obvious that my sweet, beautiful, loving girl dog had kicked Rogue’s ass. What I didn’t know was how and why. She had never shown one ounce of bad temper or violence toward anything. Yet the gates I used to separate them had been knocked down and Rogue had stitches in multiple places plus bites, cuts and abrasions. I didn’t know what had happened and no other living creature in my house could tell me.

I got a hint about 2 weeks later. Rogue was better and off his meds, part of which had been sedatives to keep him calm during the healing process. We were all in the living room when all of a sudden he jumped up off his bed and started growling and barking very viciously at nothing, just the air. Tessa jumped up and started lunging at him to attack him. I got her back and let Rogue continue. It lasted about 45 seconds and afterwards he seemed exhausted and went to sleep in the bedroom. Tessa stayed on high alert for quite some time. I knew something important had happened but I wasn’t sure what.

The whole scene repeated itself the next evening but once I stopped Tessa I recorded it with my phone. The next morning I sent the video to the vet. As it turns out, Rogue had a secret and since his prior human had passed, there was no one around to tell it. Rogue had epilepsy. He was having seizures. Tessa apparently mistook his seizures for aggression that day and acted to protect herself and Conner from what she perceived as danger. That’s what a pack leader does.

Once Rogue started seizure meds and we got them tweaked correctly, he went from 2-3 seizures a day down to 1 every 6 months or so. We all lived in harmony for a long time. Nobody tried to eat anybody. We all got along. Everything was great. We were all content for quite a while.

Unfortunately, as we all know, dogs and cats don’t live as long as humans do. I had always thought that because of their ages it would go like Rogue, Missy Doodle, Tessa, Conner and then Lucy. I wasn’t even close. Conner, when he was nine, developed cancer. He went first. We were all devastated but Tessa and Missy Doodle took it worse than anyone else.

Tessa, when she was eleven had a stroke. I was beside myself until the vet said she would be all right. We dodged that bullet. Then when Rogue was thirteen he passed of natural causes. Thirteen isn’t necessarily that old but the epilepsy aged him a little faster. He was a good dog and I’m sure his prior human was glad to be reunited with him.

It was down to all the girls – Tessa, Missy Doodle, Lucy and me. When Tessa was almost thirteen she woke up one day and couldn’t walk. The vet tried but nothing worked. She would show improvement for a day or two and then go right back to not being able to walk. It was time to let her go. Months later I still mourn her loss.

So now it’s just me and the kitties. Missy Doodle is fifteen and Lucy is ten or eleven. They are both fine and sitting on the cat perch behind me. Of course Missy Doodle is at the top and Lucy is in the middle.

I called the dog rescue last week and said that if they ran across another older dog that needed shelter to let me know. I would help. The question is: Why do I want to adopt all these stray and rescue pets? I don’t know. Maybe I feel sorry for them and realize whatever is happening to them is not their fault or maybe because I am a rescue child, adopted long ago and I’m just trying to pay it forward the best way I can. Either way…it works for us.