The Team Expands

Yvonne and I have a lot in common. We both love long walks, cashmere, Starbucks, and slightly burned cookies. But, as I mentioned previously, we differ in one fundamental way: Yvonne is a dog person and I am a cat person.

Yes, I love dogs—and rabbits and tropical fish and gerbils. I wouldn’t mind giving a ferret or parrot a try.

But for me, these would have to come in addition to a cat.

Yvonne, on the other hand, will probably never own a cat. If pressed, she might say this is my fault.

When we met, she was quite fond of Patches, the cat next door. But once we became roommates, there was a constant string of strays in our rundown neighborhood and I couldn’t say no. Most of them were sickly and needed vet visits and pills or eye ointment. All of them needed new homes.

Then there was Hugo, the one I kept.

Yvonne and I had found a new place in a better neighborhood and I moved in first. When she moved in, she called me at work.

“Your cat is attacking me,” she said. There was a scream and then a click.

He had her cornered in the kitchen when I got home, and was making little leaps at her. It was like a welcoming ritual, only with claws.

They became pals eventually, but Yvonne never fully appreciated Hugo, even after he caught a mouse in her bedroom.

“Your cat, your problem,” she said, stepping over the maimed rodent and locking herself outside.

So when it came time to re-cat last fall, it was kind of Yvonne to play chauffeur. We drove out to the suburbs, where I had located my new orange tabby. I had also agreed to collect his little sister for a colleague who wanted a kitten.

Here we are right outside their first home.

Notice how Yvonne is keeping me between her and the cats. It’s almost like she knew they were about to lose noxious fluids from every orifice.

We were barely in the Mini when Yvonne said, “Do you smell that?”

It was hard to miss, and it got worse fast. There was barfing and yowling and panting and jangling of the crate door. It was hard to believe two tiny creatures could make such a fuss. Although it was a cold night, we hit the highway with the windows down.

By the time we reached my place, there was silence. The kittens were in the back corner, motionless.

“Want me to come in and see if they’re okay?” Yvonne asked, revving the Mini for take-off.

I said I’d take a cab to the emergency vet if I had to. She’d already gone above and beyond.

I opened the door of the crate expecting the worst, but Stella hopped right out. She explored a little, cleaned herself up, and started to purr. It didn’t take long for me to decide that two cats are better than one.






But we’re definitely going to need a bigger place when the dog arrives.

And we may need a different chauffeur if the household expands to include ferret or parrot.

There’s only so much any coauthor should have to take.