September 22, 2009

I took my own advice last week. We adopted a Pet Pal!

Marianne and I were driving home from running some errands Wednesday morning and I said "Let's stop by the Dumb Friends League and look at cats!" Marianne caught my eye in the rear view mirror. "We are thinking about another kitty but I hadn't planned on doing anything this week."

"I know," I said, "But I just have a feeling. Let's go look today."

She shrugged and said, "OK, we're not far from the League and we have time. Why not?"

A few minutes later we pulled into the parking lot. Marianne snapped on my leash and I hopped out of the car. "Now Ross, I am not sure that you are allowed to go with me to look at the kitties," she cautioned. "I may have to take you home and come back by myself."

I was annoyed. "But how will I help you choose?"

Marianne sighed. "Let's see what happens before you get too agitated, shall we?"

We walked in the front door and walked past a big glass box. I pulled on the leash. "Look, kittens! They're so cute!" I exclaimed. Marianne pulled me back. "No Ross, kittens are not for us. Let's look at the older cats."

But WHY?" I whined. "Look at that little gray one! And the orange one! They are so playful! I want one!"

Marianne pulled me into a lounge area and sat down. "Ross, sit. There are several reasons why a kitten isn't what we are looking for," she said. "First of all, we have a very large dog who doesn't know how big she is. Meryl would not intentionally hurt a kitten but she might accidentally step on it or play too roughly with it." This is true; Meryl has accidentally stepped on my paws and galloped over me in the yard and she is always surprised when I yelp.

"Second," Marianne continued, "Kittens always get adopted. For some reason people don't want to adopt the older cats, which is silly. Even if a cat is 7 or 8 years old, it still has many years to be a wonderful companion."

I looked longingly at the kittens and sighed. "All right, I see your point. Let's look at the older kitties."

We stopped at a kiosk and Marianne started typing on a keyboard. "Why are you doing that?" I asked.

"This is the way the League collects information on our family and what kind of pet we're interested in adopting," she replied. "For instance, we're looking for an older male cat who gets along with other cats and dogs. There, that's done. Now we can go look."

We walked up to the desk and three nice League employees all said hello and made a fuss over me. Marianne explained that she wanted to look at the cats. "Sure, go right through those doors," said one lady. "But Ross can't go in with you. Can he stay out here with us?" Marianne looked relieved. "That would be great, thank you!" she said. "Let me know who you pick!" I barked as she walked away.

The League ladies petted me and made me demonstrate my commands. They gave me a few Scooby snacks for being a good boy and rubbed my tummy. Someone walked up pulling a cart with several carriers on it. "Ohh, Ziggy's back from foster care!" exclaimed one of the ladies. "Say, he'd be a good fit for your family Ross. He was fostered in a home with dogs and cats so we know he gets along with everyone." She pulled the largest carrier off the cart and her knees buckled slightly. I looked in but all I saw was a huge mound of fur. She half carried, half dragged the carrier to a nearby room and shut the door while one of the other employees went to find Marianne.

"Can I meet Ziggy?" I asked the remaining employee. "No, not yet," she replied. "Let's see what Marianne thinks of him first."

Just then I saw Marianne and the other employee go into the room where Ziggy was and shut the door. I heard laughter. Lots of laughter. After a bit Marianne came out. "Well?" I demanded. "What's he like? Is he our kitty?" She smiled. "Yes, I think so. I am going to talk to John this evening and if he agrees I'll come back to adopt Ziggy tomorrow." I told the nice League employees goodbye and we left. Marianne refused to tell me anything more about Ziggy, only that he was very friendly and would be a good match for our family. Huh.

The next day I went to work with John. When we got home Marianne wasn't there. Soon I heard the car pull up and she came in the house. "Did you get the cat?" asked John. "Yes, he's in the car. Can you bring him in?" asked Marianne. John came back in a few minutes lugging a medium-size dog crate which he took into the guest room, shutting the door in my face.

"HEY!" I protested.

"Ross, back off," Marianne said. "Let them get acquainted first." Dewey joined me at the door and meowed loudly. "Yeah, I know what you mean," I grumbled. Meryl and Mina galloped in from the back yard, skidding to a stop in front of the guest room. I filled them in on the situation as we sat in front of the door, hoping for a glimpse of Ziggy. Marianne took in some food and a litter box. After awhile John came out, smiling. "Good choice," he told us.

Marianne came out and put a baby gate in front of the door. "You can look at each other for now," she said. "We'll work up to face-to-face introductions gradually." We peered in the room looking for Ziggy.

"Where's Ziggy?" I asked. "All I see is a fur blanket on the bed."

"That is Ziggy," Marianne laughed.

I blinked. "No way, that's not a cat. He's HUGE. He's bigger than Mina." Mina whimpered and took a step back. Meryl cocked her head and wagged her tail happily.

"Yeah, that's why he was in foster care," Marianne said. "He was 32 pounds when he arrived at the League in July but he's lost 8 pounds. We'll help him lose a few more." Ziggy lashed his tail and growled at Meryl, who was moaning at him. "Meryl, I keep telling you the cats don't think that's funny," Marianne scolded her. Meryl grinned and moaned louder. Dewey glared at her and jumped over the gate. He cautiously approached Ziggy. They stared at each other for a minute, then Dewey jumped on the bed and curled up near Ziggy. Both cats purred loudly.

"Are you going to call him Ziggy?" I asked. "I thought you liked names beginning with D for the cats."

Marianne replied, "Your Auntie Diane suggested Dozer, short for bulldozer. John says that Ziggy Marley's real name was David. I think we're going to call him Dozer Dave. He's such a big kitty, he needs two names." She moved the baby gate and shut the door. "Let's let him relax for a bit, OK?"

"OK," I said, "But I still don't believe anything that big is a house cat. Mountain lion, maybe."

Chow for now!

Ross

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