Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Truce or Consequences


Without invitation or the slightest advance warning, twenty pounds of black, longhaired, and unhappy cat landed on my chest. He was immediately followed by twenty pounds of black, barking, and jealous dog and the competition was on.

Nicodemus is remarkably light on his feet and agile for his size. He speaks with delicate and gentlemanly meows that sound almost kittenish and though he doesn't like the black dog, he is not afraid of her and will give no ground no matter how hard she pushes. On this occasion, before I could separate them, she had grabbed a mouthful of his fan like tail and given a mighty tug. He turned calmly and with one oversized paw, swatted her soundly across the muzzle. She growled and unimpressed, he defiantly smacked her a second time, forcefully and with a glare of fierce, feline indignity common to all cats. Feeling like a referee at wrestling match and fearing an all out brawl, I got one arm around her chest and pulled her off while restraining him with my other hand and telling them both in no uncertain terms, Enough! The small brown dog, alarmed by the commotion, burrowed under the covers while the other cats watched - from a safe distance - with wide eyed interest. It's a draw, I told them all firmly, And it's all over so everybody back off. The black dog slunk a foot or so away and laid down on her belly, keeping a baleful eye on me and muttering low in her throat while Nick yawned and then stretched out bedside me, washing his paws with studied indifference. After a few moments of fragile quiet, the small brown dog eased her head out from beneath the blanket and then nestled up to my neck. A truce was in effect - tenuous at best, short lived to be certain, but holding for the moment and even possibly for as long as I didn't turn my back.

There are no bad dogs, I keep telling myself as well as my veterinarian ( who finds this theory charmingly amusing and completely wrong ) and will often use the black dog to demonstrate her point. We have known each other for a very long time and while she would never presume to tell me I'm unbalanced or impaired in keeping this animal, I can see it in her eyes. I like to think it's a kind of resigned admiration but it's far more likely relief that it's me and not her. We have reached an agreement that if anything serious should happen to this recalcitrant, impossible animal, that she will not be treated. She wearies me half out of my mind but it's as far as I can go. And then there's this - she jumps on the couch and nudges all others out of the way to lay with her head in my lap and her brown eyes filled with love until she falls asleep and I forget that ten minutes before I could've cheerfully strangled her. We all have our dark sides.
















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