Pre-dog I was always more of a cat person. Cats don’t need walking and copious amounts of exercise; they don’t jump on you with muddy paws when you are wearing a white skirt and literally walking out the door on the way to somewhere important that you absolutely cannot be late for; and most importantly, cats provide that special something–the attention only an animal can provide–without over-demanding. Frankly, cats are awesome. I’ve owned a lot of them, but unfortunately most of them were hit by cars and one of them wandered off, never to return. So I stopped adopting them because it was clear the whole cat owning thing wasn’t really working out for me.
So I adopted a dog. A 65-pound black Retriever/Collie Mix named Sara. She was 7, which was about 5 years older than my cut-off point, but she was sweet tempered at the shelter and reminded me of my childhood dog, Maya. So we brought her home, only to return her to the shelter 6 months later. That was about 5 1/2 months too long. Once Sara settled into the house she showed her true colors–a vicious bloody red. She attempted to kill two dogs in the time we had her, tore open a friend’s leg who had the bad luck to get in between the fight, and began to growl at my husband. Let me just say that I had no idea what I was doing–I do now, but at the time, she was beyond my help. I am hopeful she found a home with people who could handle her aggression. It was without a doubt, a major dog-fail.
But not to be deterred, I then talked my husband into letting me adopt Ingrid as a ten-pound, eight-week-old pup. She’s four now, so we must be doing something right. And because I’m obsessed with animals, and we own this house now (just waiting to be filled up with more animals), we adopted a cat. I wanted another dog, but sometimes you have to take baby steps when it comes to convincing the human you live with that lots of animals are indeed what he signed up for when he said “I do.”
And besides, cats are awesome.
And we can always get a dog next year.