• Brian Gallagher

Two pets or not two pets?


That is not necessarily the question the famous bard asked but it has been an ongoing one in this household for almost seven years now. For this is the first time in my life or my wonderful spouse’s life that we have owned two cats. Now we have both had cats or dogs throughout our adult lives, but only one at a time. I did have a dog (a sheltie) and an outdoor barn cat at one time but that doesn’t quite count although, oh my goodness, did that one-eared cat adore that dog. Like a baby.

Back to my point. Our two cats are brothers that we rescued back in 2012. They were left by the side of the road in a cardboard box in the rain. Small, young and oh so cute. Yup, that’s when they were babies. Adorable. Irresistible. But we had always only had one cat at a time so I voiced my concern. Overruled. “Let’s get two,” she said. “It will be fun,” she said. “They can keep each other company,” she said.

Back to my point. For several years the comradery was pleasant. They slept together, hung out with us together, ate together and watched their TV together (a patio door overlooking the back yard was a never-ending big-screen of entertainment). They barely meowed or hissed, simply happy to be living in a nice home with nice human servants to tend to their every need.

But as another famous bard quipped, “The times they are a’ changing.” Now approaching his middle years, Calvin has decided that patience is no longer a virtue and has found his voice. His incessant high-pitched chattering voice that begins from the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning and can only be silenced by filling his bowl with smelly goopy slop that for some reason unbeknownst to me – he adores. Where did this need to constantly yell at me come from? Did he see it work for another cat on TV? Did he read about it in a magazine? For whatever reason it just… will… not… stop.

As for his brother ‘Hobbes’ he has now become a neurotic mess of fear running from me for 23 hours a day except for the two times a day that I feed him. I’m thinking of changing his name to ‘Sybill’ (not that he would notice). That along with the fact that he turns into the Tasmanian Devil every time he sees a cat outside in the yard, hissing and attacking his brother until we have to lock him away in a ‘time out’ until he calms down.

So this is now my home life, beautiful people – one fat happy child constantly crabbing at me to be fed and the other skinny nervous wreck constantly running helter-skelter around the house and hissing at the patio door.

“Let’s get two,” she said. “It will be fun,” she said. “They can keep each other company,” she said. Sigh…

It’s a quiet week out there for new events but tons of stuff still going on – check out the ‘Things to see and do’ section of The Journal every Thursday or online anytime to discover happenings in and around our area.

Sociable!

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