If our pets could talk Off the Record Barbara Stinson Lee

There lives in our house a hearty group of beasties we like to call the warm fur society. The society is loosely woven; they argue frequently, and one or two of its members has been known to drink out of the toilet. Still, they are ours, and is doesn’t take long living with dogs and cats that you get a good feeling about why God created them, and then why he made certain this particular combination of them crossed your path.

My family had dogs and cats when I was growing up. In the interest of full disclosure, I will amend that to say my parents were very fond of the dogs. The cats we had to sneak into the house and hide under the bed for a week or two until Mom’s ability to sniff out a cat box in a closet forced a confession, but never a rejection of said kitty.

Our current warm fur society of two dogs and three cats is so named because they can almost always find something to bicker about until a bright shaft of sun comes in through the picture window in the living room. As the light enters, the beasties huddle into it, getting close enough to create the mystery of where one dog or cat ends and another begins.

While I’m not often home all day, I’m sure the society moves across the surface of the living room floor at about the same speed as that shaft of light. They roll over to get warmer, until at any given time a human being walking through is apt to see five furry bellies going ceiling-ward.

Over the years, we’ve grown fond of each member of the society and accepted new members as some have come and gone. I never worry about dogs and cats getting along. I stress a little over dogs and dogs and cats and cats, but dogs and cats together? There’s just enough fur to keep everyone busy and not so many that it would disturb the relative calm of the house, which is usually just one degree lower than hysterical.

If the society could talk, though, beyond the normal tattling of a young dog who considers everyone’s business her business, and one old cat whose fur is so full of static electricity she would be prompted all day and every day to sit up and shout out every minute weather change her fur detected, I believe their exchanges would be wise.

Today, they would be all worried. The boxer is in the hospital with an unknown stomach ailment, and while his absence leaves a considerable amount of room to be enjoyed in the light shaft, each member of the society is rising to the occasion, searching the house for the missing boxer, then returning to the group with a “she’s not home yet” look on their faces.

When Jack and I are home from work, the society meets us at the door, telling us in body language what they’ve been doing all day. Everyone tattles on the old akida if she’s had an accident; the cats particularly keen to point it out.

Last week the hysteria level was unusually high when I came home to find that I’d inadvertently locked one of the cats in a closet upstairs. I’m relieved she couldn’t talk that day. Her tail told me everything I needed to know.

Jack and I are fond of the society. We recognize they’ve been given to us for companionship, for entertainment, and so we don’t get too complacent and leave home for too long.

God has entrusted to us these little beings to care for, who if they could talk, might never stop. By rubbing against my leg when I’m on the phone, one cat reminds me to relax. And the contemplative tabby, round and funny, who curls up to sleep on my briefcase tells me that work is not nearly as important as that book over there.

And the boxer, who when she is healthy, is a lapdog reminds me that sitting alone at a desk is fine, but sitting in an easy chair with a friend is better.

It isn’t true that people who don’t have children have pets they treat like children. Our pets wouldn’t stand for that. They don’t want baby-talk from us. They want intelligent conversation, into which they might add a “woof” or two. They want to be treated kindly, generously, affectionately.

And when the sun goes down and the house darkens, they take their places around us, guarding, and listening to us pray.