[20] My cat smells like my dog
The changes in my household are irrevocable. And they continue to persist in changing some more each day.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My our puppy has grown taller and stronger and now has a penchant for walkies outside. And so we go, morning, noon, and evenings, every day. For his enjoyment and ours, we run with him, play with him, and, more recently, even chill with him. That last one doesn’t last too long though; he starts biting toes when he’s bored.
It’s a simple routine for an uncomplicated but still self-centred life. But I’ve learned something from this experience that gives me the ick. Having a dog, especially at the beginning, is all about the unobstructed self-assurance that you are the alpha and o’mega boss of your dominion. Your house, your rules, and all exceptions are trained out of the animal with an unflinching justification that this is all for the animal’s and society’s benefit.
It’s not wrong, but it also doesn’t feel right, you feel?
Maybe I’m thinking too much about it — looking past one too many turtles. But. The dog must accept of whatever definition of “good owner” is shown, be deconditioned to keep handling places, interactions, and noises that breed anxiety, and encourage a human’s entitlement over its triumphs and good behaviours. It’s giving Benevolent Dictator and there’s no way out of it if you want to own a dog.
The philosophy of dog ownership feels like it’s built on narcissism and fuels the status quo of “man first, all next.”
The philosophy of cat ownership, however, is that you agree to be equals. The Cat Distribution System makes the call. You get what you get, and you don’t get to alter their behaviour, and remain eternally grateful for the gift of their presence. You can’t make a cat do something it doesn’t want to.
Unless, that cat decides to be friends with the dog.
They run around the garden and up and down the lounge “playing”. I don’t know how their communication works, but all I know is my cat doesn’t mind my dog padding after her and squishing her and then slobbering on her, because she keeps inviting him to do this. She’s been watching us train him and behaves as a kind of unregulated distraction. She sniffs around his crate every now and again to say hello. And then, when he’s free to roam, she’ll dart past him and scramble up the wall as he comes closer. If he catches her, he pins her down and restyles her fur with the latest in slobber-gel technology. And she doesn’t seem to mind much.
When I pick her up, even and hour or two later, she no longer smells like our clean, almost vanilla-scented cat.
She’s now smells like my dog.
And, once again, having thought down one too many turtles, I think that’s showing me something more.
Training my dog is about building a line of communication with him so I can help him navigate the world around him. It’s about letting the experience of ownership make me more present, accountable, and encouraging towards another life. Setting the dog up for success is hard work, but it’s good work. And if my dog is as happy to see me as he is to see the cat, despite all the things I ask him to do, then I think we’re doing okay.