Dog People Vs. Cat People: My Family's Story

For years my sister hid a secret from her family until she just could not hold it in anymore. Finally she admitted the truth; she was a cat person. It came as a bit of a shock to the family, and it took my mother a while to accept the fact. Sure, mom was an animal lover, but it was also a well-known fact that she was a dog person.

Cats were stray creatures mom fed and watered to keep from starving, took to the vet to spay, neuter or receive shots, and watched with amusement as they frolicked in our trees. They weren't something that you brought indoors, allowed on your bed or woke up to, in the middle of the night with them sitting on your head. No, mom and the rest our family were dog people.

As time went on, we accepted the fact that while my sister still loved dogs, in her heart she was a cat person. It was always a little difficult to go to her house for extended stays with our two children, who were not physically adaptable to a cat person's lifestyle. In one word; allergies. Both were allergic to cats.

I never imagined that I too might become a cat person. For eighteen years my husband and I shared our lives with an intelligent shaggy dog named Pepper, and thirteen years with a loyal Australian Shepard. My husband, like our children, is allergic to cats.

But then, about three years ago, our home was dogless. Both of our beloved canines had passed, and we decided to remain petless. Our children were grown, out on their own, and we were experiencing life without a dependent pet or child in our home.

We were in the midst of building a swimming pool, in the middle of the scorching Arizona summer. There was only a few inches of water in the bottom of the pool, as it was still under construction. One afternoon we looked outside and saw something slither down the steps of the pool, a long black tail trailing behind, disappearing beneath the rim of the pool.

It was a black cat. A thin, thirsty black cat.

Over the course of the next few weeks he refused to abandon our property. If we had company over for an outdoor barbeque, he would hang out, napping on a nearby bench. It would be months before my Mother (the dog person who lives with us) admitted she'd been sneaking the animal cans of tuna.

Although we were admitted dog people, we are also animal lovers. It didn't take us long to be charmed by this friendly and affection feline, who refused to leave our property. By late August my husband and I went on a houseboat trip, and we decided if the cat was still in our yard when we returned from vacation, we would take him to the vet and get him neutered, and become responsible pet owners.

When we returned home, my mother-in-law, who'd been watching our house, told us she never saw the cat. But within a day after our return, the cat showed up. After much discussion we finally named him Spooky, and kept the promise to take him to the vet.

Our vet had a surprise for us. Apparently Spooky, who'd obviously been abandoned or lost, had already been neutered. He also had an ear infection, and needed to be kept inside while he finished his medication. I asked the vet when I could let the cat outside again. The vet, a man who I've always trusted and respected, looked at me in earnest and told my husband and I, "you can't leave him outside. He is a really nice cat, and he simply won't survive." We have a fair number of coyotes in our neighborhood, so I know he wasn't kidding.

We brought Spooky inside so he could finish his medication. Would we keep him inside? We didn't plan to, after all, my husband is allergic.

That was three years ago. Spooky, is an indoor cat. He sits by my husband's chair, reminding me of the loyal hound sitting by his master. In the middle of the night he wakes me up with loud purrs, insisting he nuzzle as close as physically possible, yet never does this to my husband. (It's as if he knows Don's allergy couldn't handle it.) When I'm eating a snack he likes to jump up on the arm of the couch, to check out what's on my plate. When we are outside by the pool, he furiously pounds his paws on the sliding door, not to be let outside, but to tell us to come in. He likes to lay on his back, in the middle of the living room, his tummy exposed and his paws outstretched. If we happen to walk by, he loves to wrap his paws around our ankles and instigate play.

When our daughter first visited us after Spooky moved in, she looked at us in shock and gasped, "I can't believe it....you're cat people!"