Cat & Canine, Part 2

Again, a preface to this post. So I'm trying to settle into this new blog setup. Overall, I'm a fan of the updated tools and features, but my comments are still not working. If you don't see a link, drop me an IM at JBondino to leave a few words. I love hearing what people have to say about my most recent post, but lately I've been deprived of it due to some problem in the code. Web design isn't too difficult after you know what you're looking for, and I know my share of it, but when you start talking about moving stuff around and deleting items, forget it. My luck I would go to my Blogger Dashboard to create a brand new post only to be greeted by a blank history. But no worries. Even if they're erased by some fluke accident, my grandmother has started a binder with the paper printouts of my writings. There's not too many people better than someone who admires your work AND is still a step ahead of you. Thanks, Grannie.

When we last met, we had begun to dive into the genuine problem that I have with cats. I have been thinking about you, dear reader, every time that I have come across one this week, but particularly of course last night. Every Sunday night, my friends and I go over to Nick's house to watch The Sopranos and then Deadwood on HBO, two of my very favorite shows. As it is with anything that you hold dear, you often have to make sacrifices. Mine is that I choose for those two hours to share an apartment, and often a spot on the couch, with Zoe the cat. For the majority of the season, she was the only animal in the house and the absolute queen of her domain. What's worse is that she knew it. People sometimes judge that many animals are not intelligent just because we cannot communicate with them. But I would venture to say that that divider only focuses the actions of that creature more on their goal. For Zoe, it's showing that she can do whatever she wants and I can't do a thing about it.

But on one of the happiest days of my life, Nick pulled up the website of an animal shelter in south Dallas. It seemed that one of his friends that works on a construction site had been frequently visited by a boxer puppy. The crew had grown quite attached to the animal, but none of them had any place to take it. Just after they had turned it over to the shelter, Nick came to the rescue. For several years now, Nick has been obsessed with the idea of getting a dog and naming it after his idol and personal hero, Edward Norton. Although we love the actor, we've often questioned his unhealthy addiction. Even moreso we question why he has had his heart set on one type of dog...a mastiff! Do a quick Google search and see that this dog is one link on the evolution chain away from a buffalo. From what I understand, boxers turn into big dogs too, but at least he won't have to rent out another apartment just to hold the mammoth of a creature that he wanted.

Her name was Brooklyn, named of course for a character that Edward Norton is tied to in one of his upcoming movies. When I met her, it was just as I imagined it would be. Her short, stocky body was bouncing around in excitement at our every move. The white from her paws to just above her knees gave her legs four small socks. The rest of her was a light tan with a face that showed complete dedication and loyalty. It was obvious that everyone in the room was overjoyed to have Brooklyn as a part of the group. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, am I forgetting someone? That's right, Zoe! Well, she sat off in the corner, eyeing the new arrival. I wasn't there at their first meeting, but I can only imagine what went through her devious little mind. Do I feel bad for her? Sure, sure, I mean as much as I despise that cat she does have her appealing side. I was just excited about this dog because I knew it would put her in her place. Throughout the upcoming week, Brooklyn definitely made her presence known. Instead of claiming spots around the house like Zoe would do, Brooklyn just tore them up. I don't think there was a room in the apartment that week that wasn't touched. Carpets, blinds, plants, shoes, you name it and the little puppy was there to tear it up. Zoe had the dog scared for a while, until just recently Brooklyn figured out that she's a lot bigger than the cat. I have to say that I smile a little when that dog goes for the cat and then looks at us to see if we're proud of her. Of course we are, puppy.

But just as the cat was put in her place, I was quickly humbled into mine. I guess it's inevitable when I continue to ridicule Zoe for wanting some attention and recognition, just needing someone to appreciate her for what she is. I went over to Nick's house just the other day to go get some dinner with him. Zoe has a routine of scratching on the door to be let out and then meowing outside when she's ready to be let back in. I climbed the stairs to Nick's apartment and found Zoe waiting there for someone to come to the door. "Oh, cat you're so weak and helpless," I thought. With a certain arrogant pride, I loudly knocked several times against the door. After a second with no answer I tried again. No answer. I looked down at the cat. There were those slanted eyes again, and I swear I saw a grin crease her face. Now just plain frustrated, I pulled out my cell phone and called both Nick's mobile and home phone. Getting the answering machine, I tried to talk loud, hoping the speaker would broadcast my desparate cry for help to wherever he was in the apartment. How was my knocking and pleading over the machine any different from Zoe's scratching and meowing, you might ask? It wasn't, and I suffered a personal defeat that day.

Cats are alright, but it's just that dogs are so much better. Sure, I'll love cats for the fact that they're independent and definitely not as needy as dogs. I'll give you that. But I think Zoe knows how I was reduced to her level that day. Somehow I know that she'll find a way to never let me live that down.