She’s a sucker for the doe eye look.
6. She feeds me.
7. She lets me sleep on the bed.
8. She lets me sit in the passenger seat.
9. She has the patience of a saint.
10. She feeds me.
T-Bone = Love
The downside was that I was now alone during the day. Sure my mother would try to break free at lunch to feed me and let me do my duty outside, but it just wasn’t the same as before.
Life became boring, especially during the long stretches of “me” time I now had. Let’s face it, there’s only so much furniture and shoes one can chew on before it gets dull. Yeah, you can throw in a precious collectible to spice things up a bit, but the real action doesn’t start until the family comes home. That’s why I was pleased to hear my parents discussing the possibility of adding another player to the game of life, Bo’s Life.
In an effort to explain away some of my recent bad behavior to my father, my mother told him, “He’s lonely. That’s why he keeps chewing the leg on the couch.”
“I don’t know. I think he’s doing it out of spite,” he said. “I mean look at what he did to that Barbara Woodhouse training book I got. No bad dogs, my ass.”
“Remember, he just started the chewing thing since I went to work. I think if we got him a companion, he’d settle down and become less stubborn.”
“I don’t think we’re ready for another dog. We can’t even handle this one.”
Giving it some thought my mother offered, “How about a cat? They’re low maintenance and Bo can play with it during the day.”
“A cat? I’m not really that keen on cats.”
“What do you have against cats?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s that they don’t do much. They lay around sleeping all day, only getting up long enough to eat.”
Huh. Not unlike my father on a weekend.
Over the years, my father had developed a tainted view of felines that began with his boyhood cat, Ooshie. At the age of eleven he mistook the awful sounds of Ooshie having “sexy time” late one night for fighting. He rushed into his parents’ room and woke his father, begging him to save Ooshie. By the time they got to the scene, Ooshie lay on her back smoking a cigarette, clearly satisfied with her encounter, thus giving my young, innocent father his first lesson of the Birds and the Bees.
Stranger still was my mother’s willingness to get a cat. You see, she was actually afraid of cats. What caused this fear was anyone’s guess, but rest assured, in the deep, dark recesses of her mind, a boogeyman cat lounged about. I’m not talking about a big mountain lion or leopard or even lynx-size cat, but a regular, run of the mill house cat. That’s why I have to give her credit for showing such bravery, and all just for little ole fuzzy me.
But it wasn’t a done deal yet. The conversation continued over the course of several days, and it became clear that I needed to do something to expedite the decision. A box of chewed baseball cards strewn about the guest bedroom did the trick quite nicely.
My mother turned to her sister, Marcy, for support in moving forward with the decision. Marcy owned so many cats that, had she not been married, she would have been referred to as the cat lady of her neighborhood. Fortunately, marriage to her husband, Jon, saved her from that fate. Today, neighbors simply call them the cat couple. Marcy had plenty of feline experience and my mother was determined to tap into it for my benefit.
It began with a long telephone conversation between my mother and Marcy outlining the pros of owning a cat. My mother did most of the listening. By the time she hung up, she was excited to find me a partner.
“Bo, we’re getting you a cat!”
That enthusiasm didn’t last long, for on the day of the adoption, I could smell the fear emanating from my mother’s pores. It was cat-induced fear, and once you smell that, you never forget it. Fortunately she was still committed to following through on her promise.
She left early that morning and I sat patiently, waiting for her return.
Hours later, the grind of the garage door’s gears signaled the action was about to begin. I sprang from the floor, ran to the door, and barked with anticipation at meeting my new housemate.
The door opened slowly and in walked my mother, clutching a gray-striped tiger cat. That cat didn’t know it yet, but she was about to inherit the bottom spot of the Hoefinger household pecking order. No doubt, a position my mother was happy to relinquish.
I jumped up to get a good whiff of the cat’s behind, only to receive a quick right cross from her tiny kitty paw. Interesting. This cat was a fighter and a female one at that.
“Bo. No! Down! Down!” my mother shrieked.
Not deterred, I jumped up once more only to receive another swat across the face.
“No jump! Down! Leave it!”
My mother was trying every command in the book. Hadn’t she realized I’d chosen not to learn any of them yet?
All this commotion was too much for the feline. She extended her claws, scratched my mother’s arm, and jumped to freedom.
My mother screamed, the cat hit the ground running, and not to be outdone, I gave chase.
After a frenzied tour of the house, my new sister chose the living room couch to hide under. Trying not to provoke the situation anymore, I took a disciplined approach to getting close. I put my nose to the floor (a sign of friendship) and inched up to the sofa, my nose getting closer with each scoot, until my head was finally under it. There she sat, staring back at me.
I gave her the “I’m here in peace and mean you no harm” look, followed by an almost imperceptible whine. It sounded pathetic, just as it was intended.
Before Moose could respond in kind, I was yanked backward and escorted to the upstairs bedroom by my mother. In the end, I gave in, but I didn’t make it easy on her.
With my ear to the bedroom floor, I heard my mother coax the cat out from under the couch. Moments later, I was released.
I ran out of the bedroom, scoured the upstairs, searched the main floor, and looked in every nook and cranny in between. It wasn’t until I heard a distant “Meow” that I realized the cat was in the basement, and out of my reach.
My mother wasn’t taking any chances. The cat had already “attacked her” once, she probably thought the next assault would turn deadly. I’m sure her concern for me never entered the picture.
I had to wait until my father came home to get up close and personal with my sister.
In the meantime, my mother sat me down and told me of my new
