In the early parenting years, our kids were like most — pet crazy. We owned, at various times, a snake, rabbit, hundreds of fish, a lizard, and a couple baby birds that were rescued from the ‘wild.’ We were also the home to ant farms, earth worm collections, sea monkeys, and those rocks that grow in large unattractive plastic aquariums. Shockingly, the hospitality extended by the Keenan kids did not extend the normal life expectancy of our guests. Blame it on a regiment that alternated between overfeeding, no feeding, and then shaking the cage and yelling “wake up!”
So today the last living remnants of pets in our house are a cat — Sunshine, and dog, Bernie. Bernie’s popularity is well known; she has a press agent (me), makes weekly visits to the dog spa (Red Bridge Kennel) and like Will Rogers, has never met anyone she didn’t like. Except one. Sunshine.
Bernie doesn’t dig Sunshine; and the converse is certainly true. The reasons are many. Bernie is a full-fledged soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, and we found her at the exclusive Land of Paws in Prairie Village. Sunshine is a rescue cat from the Waldo area, age, gender unknown, disposition known — grumpy. Think lady meets tramp. Bernie waits all day for someone — anyone — to walk in the door. Sunshine sleeps all day and hopes no one ever finds her. Sunshine does not consider cordiality to be a virtue.
Dogs are the stuff of Old Yeller, Marley and Me, and Where the Red Fern Grows — novels that exhaust tear glands and represent mandatory reading at all grade schools. Dogs save babies from burning buildings, help the blind see, and generate goodwill the world over. Think Rin Tin, Tin, Lassie, Spuds McKenzie. Dogs are on Discovery Channel. Cats? Cartoon Network. Let’s just say I’m not a cat person. And Sunshine isn’t working hard to win me over.
My wife and daughter defend Sunshine. They explain that cats need time to nurture a relationship. It demands an investment of effort; a fostering of love that comes with soft strokes and brushes. “Men don’t quite understand that you can’t snap your fingers and get affection,” my wife proclaimed. “I thought this was about Sunshine?” I said.
So when the time arrived for the two remaining Keenan pets to build their own Facebook pages, the contrasts could not be greater.
words: Matt Keenan