UkaLithian Mama: Dewey and Dallas

Last week our kitties turned 15 years old - which means in cat years they are 105 years old. Crusty old things.

If you don't like cats and don't want to read about them, stop right here. I will be descending into the land of feline fanaticism for one brief blog post. This post will be loaded with kitty anecdotes and cute photos of our fluffy feline friends (oh, how I love alliteration!) Don't say I didn't warn you.

Dewey and Dallas entered our lives in the spring of 1997 when John and I decided it was time for us to become pet owners. Since we lived in a high-rise apartment building that did not allow dogs, I managed to convince John, a staunch life-long dog lover, to welcome two little furballs into our home. He reluctantly agreed, having had no experience with cat ownership but trusting that his cat loving future wife knew what she was talking about.

Our first attempt to adopt cats was unsuccessful. I'd fallen in love with a brother-sister pair of lovely Angora cats who were curled up together in a cold metal cage at PetsMart, just waiting for the right people to come along and give them a new home. I convinced John that these were the cats for us despite the fact that they would require daily brushing. We filled out the necessary paperwork and I anxiously awaited for the response from the pet adoption agency as I pictured myself curled up on the couch with my new fluffy pets. Then John called me at work to break the news that the lady from the adoption agency had deemed us unfit as potential cat parents since we were not married. I think her exact words were "Your lifestyle is not conducive to providing a stable home for these cats."

Um, hello! They're CATS, not children. I remember being pretty upset and muttering some choice words as I hung up the phone, but in hindsight I think our marriage would have gotten off to a rocky start if we'd had to brush two Angora cats every day.

A few weeks later I saw a description of another set of brother-sister kittens in the local paper and after a phone call, a visit to the foster cat home, an obligatory home visit from the shelter to make sure we weren't homeless or conducting cat experiments and lots of paperwork we were finally able to call ourselves cat owners.

We ended up with these little cuties - I still can't believe how tiny they were when we got them!

My husband immediately wanted to name the girl cat Dallas, due to her gray and white fur and his lifelong love of the Dallas Cowboys. I agreed as long as I was given the task of naming the boy cat. I chose Dewey, since his sand-colored fur reminded me of the beach. (never mind that Dewey Beach is known for its alcohol infused debauchery) Dewey and Dallas have been members of our family ever since.

Our first year with the cats was a kitty love fest - since we were newly married and childless we poured all our affections into the cats. We bought them various beds, toys, scratching posts, whatever they needed. About once a month John donned heavy gardening gloves and went about the perilous task of clipping their tiny little claws. We were so enamored by them that we submitted a photo to a contest in which the winners were featured in a desk calendar. Of course they won . . .

Our first two years with Dewey and Dallas were fairly uneventful. They were happy, we were happy, all was right with the world. We relocated after the first year to a rented townhouse and the cats settled in happily along with us. We purchased a brand-new L-shaped couch with large fluffy pillows and spent many cozy evening cuddling with our furry friends.

Then the honeymoon ended. We embarked on a two week trip to Ireland only to return to find that Dallas had become spooked by something in the basement (where the kitty litter happened to be located) and had used our nice new sofa as a toilet for two weeks. Oh, yes.

We managed to get the cushions replaced but something changed after that incident. My husband decided that he now knew why he liked dogs so much. A DOG would never do something like that.

Did I mention that the cats had also used the corner of the couch as a scratching post? Not to mention the frequent puking. Good times.

Despite the peeing, the scratching and the puking, we still loved our cats. Dallas faithfully cuddled up against me every night and Dewey acted like a little dog, greeting us at the door and trying to run outside whenever he got the chance. Dallas has always been the reticent one, nervous around strangers but overly affectionate with us. Dewey has always been the outgoing one, meowing loudly, swishing his long orange tail, climbing all over us when we watch tv.

We bought a townhouse after two years and moved again. During the next five years we gained two more family members, our children Jack and Ella. We were nervous about how the cats would react - would they try to climb into the crib? Smother the babies while they slept? Scratch their soft little faces and force us to give them up? The cats were surprisingly indifferent to the new little humans. They kept their distance during the day and cuddled with us at night. Nothing had really changed - or so we thought.

Unfortunately something did not sit well with the cats and we began finding evidence of cat pee in different corners of the house. We screamed, cursed, tore our hair out. This began happening several years after we'd had our babies, so we knew that couldn't be it. John was so mad that I actually listed the cats on craigslist to try to find them a new home. After receiving several creepy replies I abandoned that idea. I'm glad I did - I'm still plagued with guilt over trying to get rid of them. Who knows where they might have ended up?

We moved again and our cats finally seemed happy in their new home. We only had one pee incident in our current house when we accidentally locked Dallas in our bedroom when we went on vacation and she ended up peeing on our bed in desperation. (WHY the bed?? Why not the floor?) We had to soak our mattress with special chemicals and couldn't sleep on it for an entire month while it aired out. I'm surprised John didn't pack the cats up in their crates and leave them by the side of the road. He's a very patient man.

When we introduced yet another furry pet to the mix, our energetic lab mix named Penny, we were sure that they would retaliate by urinating on another choice piece of furniture. Instead they abandoned the main level of our home and relegated themselves to two places, our bedroom and the downstairs where their food and litter were located. They only recently began hanging out on the main level with Penny for some odd reason. We've decided that maybe they've become senile in their old age and have forgotten to be afraid of the dog.

It's been fifteen years of madness - the puking, the peeing, the scratching, the nasty kitty litter - but it's also been fifteen years of cuddles, affectionate head bumps, soft bodies pressed up against us on cold nights. As much as we complain about them, we can't help but love them.

If you thought I was done, you would be wrong. I would be remiss if I did not talk about each cat individually. If you've read this far, you might as well keep reading. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Dewey
Dewey has always been the outgoing one, the little boy, the cat who thinks he is a dog. He'll eat chicken right out of your hand. When we eat dinner he stands next the dog and begs for food. When he was younger he was constantly trying to run out the front door, just like a dog. We had to enter the house cautiously, slowly cracking the door open and shoving him in so we could get into the house. When we would go on trips we had to lock him in the bathroom so that he wouldn't escape while we were packing the car. Once we were going on vacation and had forgotten to let him back out as we drove away. About seven hours later we realized our mistake and frantically called the neighbors to let him out. Aside from pulling down the hand towels to make himself a little bed, he was fine. Unlike his sister, the neurotic one, who probably would have gouged the walls with her claws and peed all over the room.

One year we had our families over for Easter Sunday dinner. It was pouring rain outside and we quickly ushered everyone in through the front door as quickly as possible. About three hours later I suddenly looked around and said "Where's Dewey?" We opened the door to find him soaking wet, meowing pitifully as he stared up at us. We thought perhaps that would have cured him of his habit of escaping through the front door. We were wrong.

In his old age Dewey no longer tries to push his way outside. Our once robust cat with the shiny fur is now an emaciated bag of bones, thanks to a malfunctioning liver. He eats non-stop and meows loudly for his food. We know his days are numbered. He still cuddles with us on the couch when we watch tv and he still begs for food with the dog. Despite his drastic weight loss he still sounds like a herd of elephants when he jumps off the bed. We watch him carefully, knowing that at the first sign of suffering it will be his time to go. I think John would have let him go months ago, but I don't think it's time yet. We'll know when it is. It breaks my heart to think about it.

My crusty little old man :) This is where he spends about 16 hours a day.

Dallas
Dallas, on the other hand, will probably live to be 20. We affectionately refer to her as "fatty" since she's always been the plumper of the two. We also call her "bitch-cat", only because she rules the house. Our dog is afraid of her and will go to great lengths to avoid coming face to face with the queen. Dallas has been known to draw blood from small children who venture too closely, hoping to "pet the kitty". Poor misguided things.

Dallas may be the queen of the house, but she's also needy and neurotic with a constant deer-in-the-headlights look about her. The tiniest change in her surroundings completely freak her out. Whenever we take her out of the house (i.e. - trip to the vet) and then bring her back it's like she's seeing our house and the other animals for the first time. Oh, we also call her "pea-brain" due to her lack of intelligence. She's beautiful but not too bright.

You might think I'm being mean, but I love my Dallas. We also call her "Shally" due to the fact that when Jack was little he called he "Sha-la" for some reason. Dallas used to favor John and would choose him over me to cuddle with, mostly because she liked to make a nest for herself right on top of his head. But now the kids say that Dallas is my cat since she follows me all over the house and given the choice she will usually sit with me. In her old age she's become extra clingy to me - one day I happened to glance down when I was in the shower and almost had a heart attack when I realized that Dallas was in there with me! Crazy cat - I think she was confused. She waits for me to come to bed at night and lately I've been having to pick her up and put her on my bed because she can't generate enough power in her legs to jump that high anymore. Once she's on the bed she climbs right up on me and sits on my chest, staring me right in the face. It's quite comical. At night when I get up to go to the bathroom she follows me in there and waits until I'm ready to go back to bed, where once again I have to hoist her up with me.