Dog and Cat Difference

Difference between my dogs and Smoki, my cat is:

The dogs stare at my food with a pitiful look that says,

“Please, share your food.”

The cat stares into my eyes with an outraged look saying,

“That’s my food; why are you keeping it from me?!”

P.S. For scientific types, the take away is the dogs stare at the food, the cat stares in my eye.

Anthropomorphizing is just too much fun.

What Can I Do?

Heads of scrawny dogs pop up in the weeds along the road. They recognize the sound of my engine. Low held tails wag furiously, while waiting for the food bin lid to pop. Dogs with disease, cuts and injuries I can’t attend to, wolf down kibble while I pour the water. Few will chase the car. It breaks my heart to see them in the rear view mirror wanting more kindness than I can give.

The hardest days are those I see old friends coming to the car, when I have no more food. The look of disappointment when I drive on by haunts me until I go back with more, only to find them not there. Wondering their fate until I see them again burdens me more than you can imagine.

Darla, the puppy abandoned along the road in a bucket, plays happily in my driveway with black coat shimmering in the sun. Lucky and Robert Redford, now almost yearlings patrol the perimeter of their property with assurance they’ll defend this house from all comers. Healthy and well fed; their world would be doggie bliss if they just got more petting.

Blondie and Chi-Ping were adopted by me because neighbors wanted them gone, but now these same folk put out food and show me with pride where they put rugs for my dog’s comfort; go figure. I say, “Please don’t feed the dogs in the road; it pulls them away from my house and it’s dangerous.” They feed and even sometimes water just off the road. The dogs sometimes check there before eating their kibble. This place confounds me to say the least.

Darla had to be kept in the house, at six and seven weeks of age to keep her out of the street until she could process things like danger. Puppy road kill, a common cause of death happens to a fair percentage of young. She now looks both ways before stepping into the street.

Chi-Ping sleeps in my bed with Smoki, the cat. Blondie spends her time at the neighbor’s who said she wanted her gone. Love can be blind in more than one species.

Today I’m leaving; my rescues will stay at my friend’s shelter, even the cat. My heart is broken, my life shattered. In a week I’ll be home with my aunt, where I can be loved and cared for; it’s time for me. It has to be.

Katrina Cats

Cats! They’re everywhere herds of them, hiding in yards, laying beneath parked cars. You can see the “scared” in their eyes. They trust no one like Scully and Mulder.



The black cat is the keeper of the X-files, urban kitty lore of a time before the storm, when they were treated kindly on porches, or invited inside to ferret out tasty little rodents, that made women scream. Black cat said that “Our Kind was worshiped and adored before the storm,” something about a black plague.


Black cats are the eternal keepers of kitty knowledge. This explains the religious hating and fear through the ages.


Cats of other colors do what they must to make it through the day, avoiding dogs or moving car parts. The search for a meal takes so much energy. Fresh meat, a thing of the past in this neighborhood; when was the last time you saw a mouse?


Black cat said living was easy for a time after the storm. Rats and mice and tasty rodents he couldn’t name ran all over the city. The living was easy.


There isn’t a living cat on the street from that time of plenty. Progress took care of that. Descendants hear the tale in the cool of evening from the black cat, while they wait for the meals that don’t come.

Yes, I know this isn't about dogs. Hope you like it anyway. Tricia