I have always considered myself to be a Cat Person. There was always a new batch of kittens on my grandparents farm when I would go to visit them in the summer. I loved to try to catch the kitties on the farm and dress them up ins doll nightgown and take them around in a doll carriage. Then I would eventually have the sublime experience of watching a fully-dressed cat leap out of the carriage and race into the woods. (I never saw the nightdress again.)
We had a cat named Fluffy when I was growing up. (Creative, huh?) She loved my mother best of all, liked just a little bit of raw hamburger occasionally and, once in a while, did a little walk across the piano keys. We called it "the kitty waltz." I got "Kiki" (on the left) when I was ready to be on my own. She kept me company for many years, and in many situations. When I lived alone in south Minneapolis in an efficiency apartment, Kiki waited for me to come home, sometimes unrolling a roll toilet paper in my absence. (Once she also unrolled a typewriter ribbon -- back in typewriter ribbon days.) She used to jump on my bed early on Saturday morning with a little ball in her mouth. When I threw the ball to get her off the bed, she went and got it for me. Yes, she fetched. But she would never take a walk with me. I tried.
I always knew I was a Cat person. I love those bags that say "Cats. Books. Life is Good". I love the sensual pleasure of a cat curled up in my lap. I love to watch cats get into a paper bag, or how they sit right on top of the Sunday newspaper that you have spread out, and are reading. Cats are good companions for non-athletic, sedentary, deep thinkers like me. I love to try to read their minds (which I can't). Besides, dogs were too much work, I knew.
So how did I end up with this amazing creature, Scout the wonder dog? It all started with a regular visit to Redeemer Residence on 31st and Lyndale. After riding the elevator up to the 3rd floor, I practically tripped over a box of 2-week old golden retriever puppies. At least that's what they looked like. Their mother was a golden retriever. She was running around the third floor, where apparently they had all taken up temporary residence. I spent the entire visit with a puppy in my lap. So did the woman I was visiting. It was very therapeutic.
I was tempted. I have a high level of frustrated maternal instinct. I want to take care of something. And I can't get another cat. My husband and one of his sons is allergic. But the puppies were all taken. This was probably a good thing. After all, dogs are a lot of work. Too much work. And I am a cat person.
Then someone called and said, One of Them Might Be Available. What did we think? We really thought hard about the responsibility. We thought we were up for it. The boys were for it, and promised they would help out. So when Scout was 6 1/2 weeks old, we brought her home.
To be continued.....