Thanks, y’all, for your kind words about Spot. When I got home from the pet store, we talked for a few minutes and then Fred took Spot’s body out of the carrier and laid it (on a towel) on the rug in the kitchen. He’d read in several places that it was a good idea to do so, so that the other cats in the house could sniff him, understand that he was dead, and deal with it in a way they couldn’t if he just disappeared. Fred seemed married to the idea, so I didn’t fight him on it.
Those cats could not have cared less. Some of them sniffed at him, sniffed at the carrier, and went about their business. Most of them just looked at him like “Yeah, Spot’s dead. Is there food?”
We went out and talked about where to bury him – I had mentioned that I wanted to bury him in a place where we could plant a tree to mark his grave, but we ultimately decided to bury him near the kitchen window, by the butterfly and rose of sharon bushes Fred planted last fall. I’ve ordered a simple rock marker to mark his grave, and maybe in the future I’ll put a small garden (maybe a bulb garden) there. When the other cats die – which will not be for a LONG LONG TIME, do you hear me, kitties?! – they’ll join him in the Anderson pet cemetery.
The cats don’t miss Spot at all. Not a one of them spent any time walking around looking puzzled and sad. It’s business as usual – though perhaps they’re more relieved about the dog being out of the house after a weekend spent freaking out about said dog. They do seem to be sleeping a bit more than usual. Maybe it’ll take a few days for them to realize something going on.
Stinkerbelle figured out, while the dog was here, that she could get on top of the bookcase. She’s been hanging out there a lot (when she’s not following Tommy around giving him the Love Eyes). She likes to sit there and watch us walk through the kitchen. I suspect she’s considering dropping down on top of our heads when we walk by, so I’ve been giving the bookcase a wide berth.
A vet tech at the vet’s office is a big-time dog lover, and when she found out about Buddy, she hesitated for a moment, said “My husband is going to kill me” to the other vet tech, and promptly offered to take the dog. She said she’d nurse him back to health and either keep him or find another home for him. She and Fred made plans for us to bring the dog to the vet clinic and turn him over to her at 1:30 that afternoon.
When we walked through the door with him that afternoon, she looked at the dog and, like I told Fred later, she looked at him like we look at cats. She immediately picked him up and he sat there in her arms looking pretty damn happy.
Yesterday Fred called to check on the dog and she told him that he has mild kidney issues and some heart worms, but she thinks it’s completely treatable and he has a good chance of making a full recovery. She estimated his age at being between 10 and 12 years old. She’s named him Romeo, and apparently he has a favorite spot in her house already:
He was a cute dog and all, but I’ve gotta say – every encounter I have with a dog just drives home the fact that I – we, really – are absolutely not dog people in any way, shape or form (no offense, dog people – I completely understand when people say they don’t like cats. Well, no I don’t, I just pretend to). All the having to let them outside to go to the bathroom, the slobbered dog food, the walks (although the walks weren’t bad. Probably because I didn’t do any of them. HA HA!), the following me around JUDGING ME (okay, it was pretty freakin’ cute that he kept laying down beside me and sleeping, all devoted-like). I’d absolutely do the same thing again, and I fully expect to have to deal with stray dogs finding our house again (since that’s one of the downsides of living in the country, people dump their animals off and believe they’ll live full and happy lives “in the wild”, grrrr) and I will make sure they’re fed and do my best to find them homes, but I’d rather have six more cats in this house than one dog any day. Visiting dogs = okay. Permanent dogs = not gonna happen. Y’all who thought we were going to keep the dog despite my protestations, well, SOMETIMES I MEAN WHAT I SAY! So there!
And by the way, when Fred was telling the vet tech about how we’re totally cat people, he said “In fact, we have 10 cats in our house right now!” I opened my mouth to correct him, to remind him that we had 11 cats, DUH, when I remembered that we didn’t, and got all teary-eyed.
McLovin (in the front) got up on the fence because he likes to do that and crow proudly, and so Frick decided to join him. This disturbed McLovin a LOT, and finally he hopped down off the fence and chased a yellow chicken around.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.