Fur Therapy

Letting Mac pick out the "Sweetheart Deals" we have the other day reminded me of how important our fur therapy is to what we do. I think everyone has read how beneficial fur therapy is to our well-being (hey, I'm a Social Worker, don't hit me). It lowers our blood pressure, reduces stress, helps us live longer-heck, it's better than any medicine or "lifestyle" strategy. We love our fur therapy, but there are days when I wonder if we've taken it too far. I really don't want to live to be 200!

We had a dog named Sam, a true Heinz 57 in every sense of the word. Even the vets couldn't agree on what breeds there were so many. Sam was REALLY tall and skinny. Becky decided she wanted a cat and she and Charlie headed off to find one. They got into an argument with a woman over a gray striped tabby and the default cat was a quiet skinny little tortoiseshell. She came home. She was dubbed Xenophon. We decided she should meet Sam since everything had gone okay so far. Becky held Sam, and Charlie brought Xen in. Xen hissed and with one swipe hit Sam's and Becky's nose. Becky yowled, Sam barked, Xen ran, and she was officially a member of the household. I don't know if it was Sam's presence, Xen's disposition, or whatever, but she never became a lap cat and at best, has always only tolerated all of us. According to her, we are her butlers, and if we'd just do that quietly and at her discretion, life would be good.

I'm not sure why, but we hadn't quite learned our lesson yet. I don't think of us as slow learners, but man...we must be. Becky wanted to bring home a gray and white barn cat from Equistar. She begged and pleaded for the plight of this poor cat. So he came home. Gained the name Haephestas, or Heffy. Heffy couldn't climb. He'd get 2 feet up a tree and spend minutes trying to figure out whether to go up or down. He couldn't climb a fence. He regularly ran smack dab into the bottom of the couch, causing us to roar every time. He was a riot. He watched Xen, a graceful, easily moving feline. She got up on the garage the first week she was with us, so she was a good teacher. I got a ladder and got up on the garage to try to talk her down-or better yet, grab her and take her down, but no luck. After 15 minutes of listening to her cry and getting myself into positions I had no business being in, I gave up. Charlie has this thing about explaining to people how his (at that time 40-something) wife managed to-pick one-fall off a ladder, fall off the roof-or whatever it may have been I did to break my neck. After we went back in the house, she came down on her own.

We settled into a routine for several years. When Charlie's 50th birthday was coming up, I decided to try to find his dream. It was something about a boy and his dog, and the dog was a black lab. I think he'd had one in his younger days and he dearly wanted to do it again. What better way to bring in 50? I had talked for a long time about wanting a big yellow dog. I found a breeder, she had puppies, and I visited so she could see if I was a fit parent. I loved the kennel, and the dogs! Black, chocolate, and yellow were everywhere! I fell in love with Jody, a chocolate, then Mamie, a black, and then Ben stole my heart completely. Big yellow dog. Oh my. But the clincher was coming. The litter was all yellow. So a boy and his dog would have to be somewhat amended. I don't think it mattered. Charlie picked out a dog. He became Captain McLeod, or Mac. His picture is in the last blog entry.

Sam died along the way, but we still have the three, Xen, Heffy, and Mac. Mac is a Leo, along with Charlie and me. Becky says it gets very crowded when the 3 Leos are all trying to grab the spotlight. Mac is sure the world revolves around him. Some nights, we end up with Mac and Heffy in bed with us. Now imagine 2 adults, not small ones mind you, a 100 pound dog, and a cat with claws. It wouldn't matter if we had a custom-made Super King bed, it isn't big enough. During happy hour, Mac will bring his Kong or a toy to play. Heffy settles in on Charlie's lap. Xen hisses at them all from the next room. They make us laugh, they warm our hearts, they drive us crazy. Sometimes Becky's cat, Gus (Gustav Mahler-Miller-Mueller-Holst) comes to visit and then the circus really comes alive. He chases Hef, Mac tries to steal center stage from the visitor, and Xen does everything she can to hide. I tell myself that when they start to leave us, which will happen some day, I will NEVER get another cat. We'd have to move into an apartment so we can't have a dog because that would be the only way to keep from getting another one. We would have to find a lower maintenance pet. Lower maintenance though, doesn't come with fur. It might not make us laugh. I have to think on it. Not sure my stress levels and blood pressure could take the absence of the richness these goofballs bring us. Even if I didn't have to get up at 2 AM to let one of them out. Well, maybe...