shoop and hard-earned love

This one's about cats. Specifically, our cat, Dostoyevsky. He wasn't ours to begin with; our friends had to move from Erie, PA to Waco, TX, and they were afraid their senior-age (then 13) cat couldn't stand the trip. Plus the cat wasn't getting along with their new daughter, so one of them had to go.

Understandably, Dostoy (or Dos, or as my sisters-in-law like to call him, Dos-Equis) didn't take to us immediately. He would claw and nip at us, and turn away, annoyed. Gradually, he was able to train us. And he's come to love us, on his own terms--cats and Charles Foster Kane have that quality in common.

Now, I like dogs, too. And we all know the differences between dogs and cats. There's a reason Old Yeller, Beethoven, and Marley (or Beethoven the 8th, or as I like to call him, That Darn Dog) aren't cats. But if a cat deigns to put up with you, and even show occasional affection, you know you've earned it. After all, Dostoy swats at my nephew and hisses at my niece, and generally treats visitors very shoddily. And sometimes, when we fall short of his desires, he'll still swat at us, too. But every now and then, he'll touch his head to my hand. That's it. No rubbing against me, no licking, and only very restrained purring. It's a little like when Dustin Hoffman touched Tom Cruise's head in Rainman--a huge gesture, and hard-earned. Dogs can be unconditional in their love, faithful, and everything Owen Wilson emotionlessly intones over the Marley and Me soundtrack, and that's just fine. But love from a cat? You have to earn it.

Next time--shoop and something lighter for twelfth night