(With Apologies to Charles Dickens, and a Smooch to “bf” – or the Other Way Around.)

It was the best of calls, it was the worst of calls, it was the call made from wisdom, it was the call of folly, it was the call of clarity, it was the call of disbelief, it was the time of days getting longer, it was the time of darkness descending so much later, it was the season of the coming blossoms, it was the season of still-chilly evenings, the phone was in our hand, the number could not be found for our shaking, we knew we were doing the Heavenly thing, we knew there’d be hell to pay –in short, it was the call that could mean mortal injury, but once it was made and received,  for good or for bad, the noisiest in the background would need to be listened to, in the degree to which the next victim would utter such comparative noises in the coming moments.

Yes, it was THAT call.  The annual call to the veterinarian that after 3 “late for” notices, it was time to bring the cats in for shots, worming and a thorough flea and tick check.  The veterinarian had given up on calling us YEARS ago.  They knew that one day, when Peaches and Cream were least expecting it, WE would call THEM and say “OK, we got the first one, and we’re on our way over – NOW.”  Why not bring both cats at once?  Hang on, while I keel over laughing – you must NOT be a cat owner.  If you were, you would know that the instant one was trapped, the second would take off like a bat out of hell.  It took at least 2 of us to get even one cat in the box.  Were we supposed to hire a military brigade to capture the second?  No – I have too much respect for military brigades.

It should be noted that this is the ONLY thing that these cats agree on.  Peaches is the type of cat that people who say “I hate cats” are referring to.  She’s aloof, sneaky, nasty and the Queen on the domo-Nile.  When she enters a room, our other cat Cream, our dog BIG BOY (the name he chose when I asked him if he wanted me to change his identity) and even the barely-visible mites that lie under the surface of cleanliness run.  If anyone’s toes (or feet) are visible, they are quickly tucked under our tushes.  Peaches will ONLY drink out of one toilet – our master bathroom toilet (the very one I just wrote about) - as the water is coolest there from the porcelain.  If she is drinking, it’s simple – you wait until she’s done, or you use another bathroom.  She will not use another bathroom or, heaven forbid, her water bowl!  If Cream or Big Boy is eating, they take-off immediately as they see Peaches come toward her food bowl.  Big Boy would easily wait for filet mignon if Peaches wanted to eat.  You can almost hear him saying “hey, Peaches, no prob, girl…you just take your time, that’s it, no problem, JUST PLEASE DON’T KILL ME.”

Of course, Peaches has her sweet side.  She loves to bring me gifts – half-dead birds, live mice, which she will toy with until the game is no longer fun – or the mouse just expires from a heart attack.  I won’t begin to tell you what she will do with the new-born bunnies or moles that she brings as “presents.”  And if we go away for a few days, no matter whom we hire to take care of the cats, she will disappear – for the duration.  We have gotten more frantic calls on vacation from “cat-sitters” who are CERTAIN that Peaches is gone forever, as she won’t come home – even if we’re gone for 2 weeks.  But, home she comes.  As soon as we drive up, she stands there, waiting for the door to be open, goes inside, and either stretches out on the couch – or uses the master bathroom toilet.

Cream, however, is not just a different cat; one might think she is a different species.  One day, years ago, I was getting out of a taxi in my own driveway, and this orange piece of fluff followed me in.  I didn’t even notice her.  But Peaches did.  Oh boy – or girl – did she EVER.  It took weeks for Peaches and Cream to meet face-to-face.  Cream lived on a blanket in our master bathroom (I think hubby and I are the only ones who DON’T use that room).  I would have to carefully sneak-in with baby bottles and Gerber’s baby food.   After a while, I wasn’t sure if Peaches was sticking her claws under the bathroom door to try to share Cream’s food, or make a diet out of Cream herself.  So, finally, the day came – introduction day.  Wearing long sleeves, I cuddled Cream in my arms, came out of the bathroom, and sat down with her on my lap.  Peaches came over.  Sniffed.  Looked.  And walked away.  She had absolutely no interest at all, and still doesn’t to this day.

Cream, however, is a real sweetheart.  She purrs like a NASCAR racing machine.  She is delicate and lady-like, and loves to walk right-between your feet, rubbing all the way, to show how much she loves you – especially when you are on the steps, or carrying something heavy.  If we call her, she comes.   And weirdest of all is her shared identity-crisis with Big Boy.  Every night, the 2 of them come up on the master bead, and wash each other - like a mother cat will wash her baby, stem to stern, my dog and my cat will take turns doing the same.  Each will hold the other’s head gently down with a paw, as the ears are done, finishing up a love-and-bath session.  I believe that I have the singular hair-only dog who coughs up fur balls daily.

But, that one day a year…that one day we get our resolve up…that one day that we get darn lucky, we get the cats to the vet’s, one at a time.  And we need to worry a bit less about ticks – as my husband has already suffered the delirium of Lyme Disease once before.  And though we peroxide our arms (and sometimes faces), and use anti-bacterial cream on all of the scratches until they heal, we know that it is a far, far better thing that we have done…that for about 364 or so days, we will have a far, far better rest than we have ever known.                                                                                                                           

By Rita - Editor in Chief