“In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.”

My kitchen floor is covered in muddy dog prints. It has been raining since late last night. The forecast is for rain today and the next three days. My floor will disappear under the mud.

My house was cold again this morning, down to 64˚. Coupled with that, I didn’t sleep well last night. Nala took so much of my side of the bed my feet kept falling off the mattress and waking me up. I moved her, not an easy task, but she moved back. My feet fell off again. I got out of bed and moved her to the other side of the mattress. She fell asleep and so did I.

Henry has a couple of new tricks. He scratches the den rug then stares at me. I asked if Timmy was in the well, and he scratched the rug again then went to the hall and looked back at me. I followed him. The dog door wasn’t on the magnet. It was a bit scrunched so Henry wouldn’t go through to go outside. I was going to straighten it, but Nala went through and the door was straightened so Henry went out. The second trick is when he wants into the bedroom. He scratches the barricade twice. That paw of his is getting to be annoying.

When I was a kid, our dog Duke, a boxer, and his son Sam, my aunt’s dog, used to travel together. Sam lived about three blocks away. Sam smiled. I’m not kidding. He had a broad grin. He was a silly, lovable dog. Duke was his protector. I remember my father getting a phone call from a neighbor. Both dogs were in her front yard and wouldn’t move. She was afraid to leave the house, but the dogs weren’t interested in her but her female dog in heat. My father had to go get them. Sam was a big boxer but not so good in a fight. Duke would watch then step in to save Sam. Both dogs were notorious.

We got our first cat when I was a junior in high school. My father hated cats and wanted it gone before he got home for the weekend. At that time he had been transferred to Maine and only came home on the weekends. We were waiting for the end of the school year to move. We kept the kitten. My father wasn’t happy, but that kitten knew what to do. He snuggled on my father’s neck to get warm. He fell asleep. My father was smitten. After that my parents always had cats.

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