I’m a dog man.
Love them. Always have. When I was a kid it was our beagles, Duke and Sparky, and then a lab named Baron. He was a black beauty.
So gorgeous he was once kidnapped near our cottage outside of Dorset. As we searched frantically for him at the boat launch on our last day of vacation, all of my family members felt ensuing panic. He never strayed. Finally we spotted him in a boat speeding across the lake, clearly not in a voluntary manner.
As we shouted loudly for him to escape the villains and jump out of the boat (which he eventually did), my then little brother cried to my parents: ” Why couldn’t it have been Mark?!” (No wonder we don’t speak today!)
My first dog as an adult was another beagle. Buddy.
Buddy was legendary. He came to pitches. He helped me launch Trojan in 1994. He ran away all the time. He made me late for weddings and almost late for the birth of my first son.
Bud passed a few years ago. Cancer. He pooped on me while the vet’s needle sucked out his last few breaths. I didn’t even notice the feces until I was walking to my car, blinded by salty tears. It didn’t matter.
Buddy was overlapped for a while with Lucy, my dearly departed father-in-laws mini Schnauzer. Lucy almost made me become a dog hater. But nothing could. Earlier this year she passed and then we went in a pet holiday. Or so we thought.
The idea behind the pet holiday was to be pet free for a year and then get a new puppy.
Until one day a wee tabby showed up on our doorstep. This stray was skinny, noisy, but cute. She just kept coming round. And around. And around.
We didn’t let her in. We didn’t feed her. But we gave her some attention and that seemed to be more than enough.
Then one day I caved. I gave her milk.
Well, the milk was a mistake but we soon started leaving some of Lucy’s old dog kibble. She liked it.
Then we let her in. Then we got her cat food. Then we took her to vet. We thought she was just a kitten. Turns out she was pregnant!
We thought she was healthy. Turns out she had a severe heart murmur.
We thought she had a home. Turns out Craiglist proved her homeless.
So, suckers we are. We adopted her. We named her Murmur. The kids liked that. We thought it was cute. And I fell in love.
Who knew a cat could be so affectionate? Who knew she would sleep on my neck? Who knew that seeing her on my stoop every night when I got home from work would warm my heart?
All of sudden I’m a cat person. For a joyous few weeks….
Then she had a kitten! Just one. But how cool. Right in my closet under my sports coats. The kids went nuts. The neighbors paraded in. And we all said, “Ahhhhhhhh”.
And Murmur went from the night prowler we had first met to a dotting mommy. Sure, she went out twice a day for air. But she came right back and got to the feeding, cleaning and loving.
Until two weeks ago Monday.
We let her out at 9:00 to pee and she didn’t come back. I checked for her five times before I went to bed.
The next day, still no Murmur. But lots of panic as we had one hungry kitty. Emergency run to the vet and some formula secured and suddenly my wife is feeding a newborn again!
Another night. No Murmur.
Cue the search party. Every garage, every pool shed, every backyard for three blocks was scoured. Until the inevitable news.
Giving birth created one life, but ended another. Murmur was found in a neighbour’s yard. Her little heart ran out of gas. And suddenly I realized that my five weeks as a cat lover were over.
I couldn’t believe how sad I was. “Man up,” I said! It was just a few weeks. It was just a cat.
Alas, Murmur left us a lovely gift. The kitty probably only weighs half a pound but she is crazy gorgeous. The kids named her Whisper. Cute. (And I’m pretty excited about their creative skills… so I may assign them to our next new business pitch).
I still want a dog. But he is going to have to like cats. Just like his Master.