There are Dog People and There are Cat People

I once read a wonderful explanation of the difference between cats and dogs. A dog says of his owners: "They feed me and give me a warm place to sleep. They must be gods." And the cat says of his owners: "They feed me and give me a warm place to sleep. I must be a god."

That, in a nutshell, is why there are dog people and why there are cat people.

I'm a dog person. So is my dog.

My wife, however, a long-time Humane Society supporter and volunteer, somehow misguidedly feels that cats have a place in the world as well, and recently undertook a new and, thankfully, temporary role as a Foster Mother for an abandoned cat and her three newborns. Her mission - to care for mom and raise the three little ones until they were old enough to be returned to the Humane Society for adoption.

So Katie, our enthusiastic golden retriever, and I stood well back in fear and trepidation as Foster Mom came home with a small carrier loaded up with a cat, a collection of mysterious food cans and formulas and bottles - and three otherwise unidentifiable lumps of day-old inanimate fur.

They were set up in her office - "where they won't bother anyone" - and Katie and I were told to go on with life as usual.

"So," I casually inquired, "you're a Foster Mom. That's very nice of you. How, uh, long will you be doing this - a day or two? Maybe three, tops?"

"Six to eight weeks."

Katie, who can be very laid back when the mood strikes her, simply said "whatever", and returned to her pillow in the living room. I was a little less casual about the four newcomers, but when they remained quiet and unobtrusive I began to relax a little. Quiet, that is, until nature took its inevitable course and the kittens learned to walk.

Now the foster bedroom became a little too confining. "They need some exercise," I was told, and out they came. Mama Cat came first, a little tentatively, but within seconds she adopted that haughtily superior feline attitude and simply took over the house as her birthright.

Katie came over to sniff Mama Intruder, and was met with a "Just who do you think you are" hiss. Katie and I quickly retreated up the stairs, and camped out at the top in an effort to protect at least the upper ramparts of our shrinking castle against the fuzzy invaders.

Safety didn't last long. Within seconds, first one and then another of the kittens set out to scale the heights. Katie looked at me in complete panic, and retreated into the bedroom. She came out a moment later with a tennis ball, which she told me was supposed to be a peace offering. I knew better, since Katie and I had watched a special on the Travel Channel about old castles and how they were defended, and I knew that if those kittens got too far up that her intention was to send a couple of strategically aimed balls careening down the stairs to take out that attacking army of clumsy fur.

This tactic proved unnecessary, since they were too small to get up the stairs anyway. I did notice later that Katie was stockpiling tennis balls at the top of the stairs, and asked where to get a large kettle and the makings for a fire, mumbling something about boiling oil. (No more Travel Channel for her - it's back to Animal Planet).

The days went by, and, as Katie called them, the Gang of Four continued to grow and take things over. It was a learning experience for all of us. I found it was difficult to sit an eight-year-old golden retriever down to explain the facts of life, but when they gaze up at you with innocent eyes and ask "Dad, what's a hairball?", you simply have to be honest with them.

"It's actually one of nature's mysteries," I explained, "and clearly one of the many reasons that dogs are superior to cats."

She seemed to accept that, and left to drink water out of a puddle on the back patio.

PS: This story has a happy ending. The cats all left.

Wait, I mean, Mama and kittens were all adopted to wonderful new homes, and I tip my hat to my wife and all the other wonderful Humane Society Foster Moms and Dads.