My mother never liked cats. I thought I didn’t like cats either. Flashback eight years and we are the happy owner of an only dog who was 11 years old at the time. My daughter had moved out on her own and found that she couldn’t take her kitten with her without paying an additional fee.
On her way to take said cat to the humane society, she happened to stop by with the cat literally in hand. Remember, I don’t like cats. She set the cat down and instantly the dog found a new friend. Soon they were curled up together on the dog’s bed. I wondered what one did with a cat who was often at eye level, wrapped himself around your leg when you didn’t want him to and tiptoed away.
Later as she scooped up the cat to head out the door, I yelled, “Wait!” I knew the cat would be history if it went to the humane society in the spring. “I will try it for two weeks. If it doesn’t work, YOU have to take it to its fate.”
As the saying goes, the rest is history. Hemmingway easily bonded with the dog and us. The dog trained him to greet us at the door (like all good dogs do) and to stand by the treat cupboard and look cute. The dog did most of the talking for him, he meowed very infrequently.
Hemmingway has now been an only pet for a few years. He still greets us at the door and has found his voice as he demands treats (while still looking cute). He cuddles on your lap, purrs you into a smile and in general is quite perfect. I can’t even imagine him not being a member of our family.