P-Rated

You may wonder what it is we’re doing when we’re not blogging, which, let’s face it, is most of the time. Regular bloggers we are not.

Yvonne spends a lot of her free time watching cooking shows, something she describes as “food porn.”

I’m useless in the kitchen, but I have my own addiction: pet porn.

It’s been a problem for close to a year now, since my beloved cat, Molly, died at age 15. After a respectful period of mourning, I made my way over to www.petfinder.com to check out my options. With Molly gone, I had the opportunity to get the dog I’ve always wanted.

Now, the dog I’ve always wanted is perfect. It doesn’t yap, growl, eat garbage, have “accidents,” roll in disgusting things, smell “doggie,” or require a huge amount of exercise.

Yvonne, owner of Dexter, a prince among mini-schnauzers, scoffed at my list. “You probably want it to purr,” she said.

Which would certainly be a plus. But I haven’t found a dog that does on petfinder, or any of the other rescue sites I visit regularly.

In the past few months, I’ve considered Akitas to Whippets and every mix in between. I’ve sent some appealing ads to Yvonne, including one for a Jack Russell terrier that was both housebroken and trained to use a litter box. It had a vast repertoire of tricks. “Too high maintenance,” Yvonne said. And in view of my inexperience with dogs, that Jack would have been running my life in no time.

Then along came the perfect little red-headed mutt. I filled out the out adoption form and sent it to the dog rescue organization. No one answered my calls. It was as if they could sense my unrealistic expectations.

Sucked ever deeper into the world of pet porn, checking “my sites” was the first thing I did when I logged on every day. Some dogs were too big, others too small. Some were too active, others had separation anxiety.

Finally I realized I’d fallen into a great time-sapping sinkhole. What I was really doing was procrastinating. There is no such thing as the perfect dog.

So I gave it all up, cold turkey.

And turned my attention to finding the perfect cat.

To my mind, all cats are perfect, but some are more perfect than others. My smoky gray Molly was perfectly devoted to me; unfortunately she loathed everyone else, including the cat-sitter. If I went away, Molly would pull out her fur and refuse to eat.
When she died, I agreed to adopt a mellow orange male tabby from a neighbor. Roberto had a big build and a bigger purr and in less than a week, my parents had stolen him. But that is the subject of another blog.

Afterwards, I casually surveyed vets, friends and colleagues and many agreed that orange male tabbies have the best temperaments.

As it turns out, I am not the only one in on the orange tabby secret. It took time to find one, but persistence and pet porn paid off. I met my orange male tabby last week. I’m happy to report that at six weeks, he’s adorable. Mellow, however, he is not. A blur of constant motion, he was more interested in beating up on his sisters than in meeting Yvonne and me. Still, I’ve decided to take a chance on him.

That said, I’m still in the market for the perfect dog. It doesn’t have to purr, but it must look good with orange.