By mouth{JT}

They say that pets become like their owners. In our case, that would explain a lot. I have a cat and a dog, that, if truth be told, probably both need a bit of mental help!

Let’s start with the cat. I was always a “cat person”, and when my children were younger, they had their own cat to be responsible for. Now, anyone that knows children and pets knows that isn’t the case, but you believe the lie – or, at least, resign yourself to the cries and promises of “I’ll look after it, I promise!“, coming from a small child’s mouth to be believable for – oh, two days, three at the max. And so it was in our house. The cats became my responsibility but remained “theirs”. I fed them (the cats, that is), saw to their well being, and paid the vet bills, but if you asked the children, it was “their” cat. And they have come and gone with regularity – until this last one.

She is now 17, and I don’t think I have met a more anti-social pet in my life. I mean, I know cats can be difficult, but she takes the biscuit. You are good for food – that is all. Oh, and turning on the electric blanket so she can spend all day buried there. She was always standoffish, but now? Cat? What cat? You never see her, unless it’s tea time. And another thing! How can cats tell time? All day long, she is asleep in the bed, buried under a mound of blankets. Sometimes you can hear her disappear out the cat flap to go to the toilet, only to come to the front door to be let in by a human, but that’s it. But come six o’clock, and there she is, waiting in front of the fridge. And if you happen to be a nanosecond late with the food, you get a constant meow, meow, meow! until you do feed her – then, it’s back to bed without so much as a, “Thanks, Mum!” Nothing – until tomorrow.

It reminds me of those TV programmes where in a hushed voice, the commentator says, “And now,” followed by a dramatic pause, “if we stay very still and just observe, we might just catch a glimpse of the lesser spotted doo dah bird, known to come out only between the hours of twelve and twelve-oh-one on a full moon in the month of June.”

People actually don’t know I have a cat, and if I didn’t have to buy cat food every week, I wouldn’t know either.

And so, on to the dog. To be fair, I adore this animal. He is my baby, and it shows. I got him as a teeny tiny puppy, and he made himself mine. He loves his mama and will willingly come with me anywhere. Unfortunately, there are times when I have to work long hours. I try to take him as much as I can, but sometimes I just can’t and he has to stay home. That’s a problem. He is so keen to see me that he waits at the gate. Never mind that there are a garage with an open door, a dog house, and a choice of two sheds for him to be in (all with blankets inside, I might add). No, he has to sit by the gate in all kinds of weather and wait for me to come home.

Once I do, it’s circles, cartwheels, the full nine yards, and then it’s time to go inside the house – only there’s a slight snag. It has been raining and he is wet right through, and so we have a ritual. He sits down and just looks at me. I then go, “Oh, no, you are all wet! You need a towel down,” and I go fetch one of his towels. (I know they’re his because he got all the blue ones.) He then lets me rub him down while I’m doing the gentle scolding thing: “Oh, you are so silly; look at you! You are all wet. Oh, no, you’ll get dog flu!” Blah, blah, blah as I rub him dry. He then holds up a paw so I can take care of them one by one and wrap the towel over his head, a bit like ET. With only his nose poking out, he lays his head on my shoulder, and I rub his back for a bit. He just loves the fuss.

They say that animals take on the characteristics of their owners. Combine the two of mine, and I’ve got an anti-social drama queen.

It fits.