When I had dogs I was in great shape.
Without thinking it through, I moved into a second story apartment with no elevator. My dogs were 10 and 12 years old at the time.
You might think that meant they needed to go out less, but you would be wrong. They developed the bladders many of us old(er) folks develop. I was taking them out 4 or 5 times a day, and on one or two long walks daily.
When they moved on to the great dog park in the sky, I got kitties. One came before the dogs left, and immediately began running things.
Quila acquired me when I went to PetSmart for dog food after a margarita happy hour,. Petsmart was featuring cat adoptions. She reached through her cage and snagged me, pulling me closer, and purring. Lucky for the dogs I had just enough time to “buy” her and the dog food before the store closed.
Her name is short for Tequila.
Quila is an escape artist. While I was leashing the dogs to go out, she would by the door or on the cabinet in the entry. The minute the door opened and the dogs bolted out, so did she.
Most of my stretching exercise in those days was holding her back with one foot, keeping the door mostly closed, and then squeezing out after the dogs, who were pulling me in the opposite direction from my leg that was barricading the cat.
One time I grabbed her, dragged her back inside and slammed the door with me and her inside, and the dogs outside. Forunately, the leashes caught in the door. Good times.
Now the most exercise I get at home is when she gets out and actually makes it down the two flights of stairs with me in pursuit. Have you ever chased a cat? It doesn’t end well.
Eventually I simply left the door propped open and waited for her to come slinking back. Or I stood in the breezeway shaking her cat treats, and playing the Cat Meow app on my phone.
Until — I got Trixie Minx. She wasn’t an entirely intentional adoption either. Except Quila did seem lonely. My son sent pics of kittens his friend was fostering. One looked like a black and white cat I’d lost. Another was an orange tabby, always one of my favorites. One was siamese and that was a definite no. Have you heard their voices?
The fourth one was a tortie, and mostly gray. Not my first choice.
When we arrived, the black and white kitten had an eye infection and wasn’t ready to be adopted. The orange tabby was a “talker.” That left the gray tortie.
We watched her sashay around the room with a ball in her mouth, like a dog. She had a quiet meow. When the foster mom told us she had come into bed and under the covers with her the night before, I said,
“Sold.”
Within an hour of bringing her home, she and Quila wrestled and played and I found them with the new baby’s head covered by the much larger Quila, and Trixie kicking her back feet wildly. She survived.
Two years later, Trixie is still my wild child. She taught me to play fetch and brings me a toy while I’m working, staring at me until I throw it. I’ve warned my video clients that if they see me toss a ball over my shoulder over and over while talking to them, it’s Trixie playing fetch.
For me, it’s back to the gym, Salsa dancing, and maybe Aikido again.
At home, it’s COL — cats on lap. And then bed with one cat cuddled against my back and the other curled into my tummy.
No movement for me — even in my sleep.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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