Reigning cats and dogs

Rick Melén

I've often said that getting old is a young man's game.

I'm too advanced in years to put up with all the baggage that goes along with aging. But if you really want to make yourself feel old, get yourself a puppy. And if you want to make yourself feel like you've undergone petrification and were dug up during an archaeological excavation, get a puppy AND a kitten at the same time.

I know what you're going to say: Rick, don't be such a lightweight (and I'm working on this through chocolate): Kelsey Grammer, Robert De Niro and Mick Jagger all had ACTUAL human children in their 70s. And to this I say, yes, but they also have enough money to hire fulltime domestic help so that they need to only actually see the children in person during future custody hearings.

Daphne the kitten arrived first; she was a rescue cat, appropriately, if you count all the times I almost called 911 to be rescued from it. This particular cat has a special gift for diabolical. Just to give you an idea of how her brain works, I caught her with something in her mouth, and when I went to retrieve it, it was one of those tags that said DO NOT REMOVE UNDER PENALTY OF LAW (not making this up). I immediately closed all the doors and drew all the shades. I'm not sure how closely the authorities track this kind of thing, but let's just say that it is not my first offense. If I can plead down to, say, manslaughter, I can probably avoid jail time. I'm certain this cat would not visit me in the slammer, but seems likely to be sentenced there herself.

The dog, Trixie, arrived soon after from Canada, just before the tariffs kicked in. She is what is sometimes incorrectly referred to as a "little bundle of energy." A little bundle of energy is say, a package of extension cords. This thing is a category 5 disaster area that leads with its little barracuda teeth and scoots around the room so fast the speed of light has to step on it to keep up with her.

Trixie finally slows down at about 1 a.m. for a nap. The cat waits until the dog is upside down, twitching with dreams of being tall enough to stick its nose fully into the garbage can, and decides it's grooming time. Remember when Leon Trotsky's aide came into the room and said, "Let's do your hair now!" And Trotsky said, "With an ice pick?" "Of course! Have you ever seen an unkempt ice cube?" And Daphne the cat starts brushing the dog's fur with her tongue, a technique most human salons are far behind in, but soon she's using her teeth, trying to chew off the dog's ear. I can imagine how the dog training is going to go with one less ear, so I go to intervene, and by this time Daphne has the dog in a full Nelson. I'm wondering if I should try to break it up or throw a red card or a penalty flag or ANYTHING, but now the dog is in a one-and-a-half Nelson, because both hands and a foot are involved, and the free foot is kicking the dog repeatedly in the one good ear.

It's like a WWE fight, and in fact the cat has some moves that I haven't seen since the days of the Iron Sheik, like the one where the cat launches itself off the top of the couch, making a loud sound with his elbow on the mat to simulate the sound of a cat landing on a dog's face.

The cat assaults the dog in such a way that at the very least my Mom would have said, "Don't you EVER, EVER do that to your sister again! Unless absolutely necessary." And at most could lead to a personal injury lawsuit resulting in a sizable settlement including punitive damages. And yet the dog seems to take it all in stride and sometimes sleeps through it.

At times Daphne rears up on her hind legs with her paws in the air, her fur up and her eyes widened. An "expert" who is unfamiliar with this particular cat might theorize that it's trying to make itself appear larger to ward off predators. But actually the move more resembles "jazz hands," and I realize the cat is simply trying to annoy us with show tunes, like Dick Van Dyke on an old episode of, well, everything.

I tried to take Trixie for a walk and the cat darted out of the house. Daphne is an indoor cat so I said, "Dude, get back in the house. You've been raised in captivity, and you have ZERO life skills. You wouldn't survive FIVE minutes out there without access to cat food, a can opener and at least an associate's degree in computer coding." The skills she does have, like knocking all the pens off a table, are not translatable to the wild. She ran away from me and chased down a bug, which she ate and then made a face like, "OK, that was gross."

At this moment there is what we call a "cessation of hostilities," and dog and cat have struck a peace deal, but as in real life, peace is a fleeting illusion. My biggest fear is that eventually they will team up and rise against us, we who have done nothing but try to foster good will. And believe me, if you have a puppy and a kitten at the same time, you'll need to draw up a good will. As Trixie and I finished our walk she started running the leash around and around my ankles, and I realized I was being tied up like "cowboys and Indians." I half-expected the cat to appear with a book of matches to burn me at the stake, until I remembered that she doesn't have opposable thumbs. At least for now I'm one up from her on the evolutionary scale.

Join Rick and No Options for an outdoor summer dance party at AJ's Grill in Yorktown, Saturday, Aug. 29, at 7:30 p.m. Say hello at rlife8@hotmail.com.