Cats and Dogs

One of my friends I grew up with had a Springer Spaniel dog named Liz and a cat named Cat. Liz was a pretty excitable dog, really friendly but easily bored and always wanting to play. I think they named her after a relative. They named the cat ‘Cat’ because their dad said why should they name an animal when it wouldn’t come when it was called anyway.

Cat put up with the dog as cats will, ignoring her completely or tormenting her by kicking all the dog food out of the bowl. Liz probably just thought that dinner was a smorgasbord every night – more fun hunting kibble when it was spread all over the house.

Let’s set you a scene. Liz is on top of the staircase, lying in the sun shining on the upper landing. Cat is sleeping at the bottom of the stairs, also in a patch of sunlight. Mrs. Z is sitting in the living room reading a book. The living room furniture is classic French design, with nice curved wood trim leaving about ten inches to the floor. The living room and dining room are connected in an L shape, with access to the kitchen from either side. Typical 1970’s two storey home.

Liz is bored. Liz sees the cat at the bottom of the steps. Liz thinks it’s time to play. She fires down the stairs and as she hits the bottom tread, lets go a huge BARK. Cat reacts as a cat will do out of a sound sleep – she went straight up, literally about three feet off the floor.

Liz slides to a stop, looking around for the cat that had suddenly disappeared. Cat reaches the apex of her leap, turns over in midair and starts down, claws fully extended, still not knowing what the heck just happened. Just a foot and a half of descent and the cat lands on the dog’s back, all four feet grabbing on with gusto and letting out a cat screech.

The dog, scared out of her wits and wondering just what’s grabbed her, yelps a great yelp and takes off into the living room, cat hanging on that much harder. Springer Spaniels are fast.

Through the living room, into the dining room, a hard right into the kitchen, another hard right into the hallway and back to the living room, dog yelping, cat screeching and Mrs. Z wondering how long these two animals have been practicing this stunt.

Twice more around the circuit; living room, dining room, kitchen, living room. On the final lap, Liz jigs a hard turn in the middle of the living room and heads for the couch (not me, the chesterfield!). She has just enough clearance to scoot under.

Cat does not have that luxury. With a cat screech suddenly stopped in mid-screech, the cat hits the brocade and wood trim like a double-decker bus under a bridge too short. Like taking off the excess flour in a one cup measure with the flat of a knife. Or like trying to get into the garage with the canoe still strapped to the roof of the van. Wait, that’s a story from my family.

The cat groggily got to her feet and staggered over to the other side of the living room and tried to catch its breath. The dog was trying desperately to make itself part of the wallpaper under the chesterfield.

It must have taken the Mrs. Z about twenty minutes to stop laughing. I think she only stopped because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and just about passed out. It took two days for the story to get around the neighbourhood because Mrs. Z couldn’t get through the whole story without breaking down laughing. If only they had a video camera ready to go.

This was the place I grew up in. This is the neighbourhood that shaped me. Now you know why I am what I am.