This is no surprise to the other members of my household, because I mention the idea from time to time. So far, I’ve been outvoted two-to-one, one voter being Bob the Cat. I admit there’s nothing practical about welcoming a dog into our family. A dog requires attention far in excess of a cat, including daily walks (and poop scooping), obedience training (for the other members of the family), and baths (the kind no self-respecting cat would stand for.)

But when did practicality ever finally determine my desires or decisions on other matters? In fact, my heart usually leads. I’ve been lucky in love and other significant experiences on my life’s journey. Wouldn’t a dog add another layer of love to the whole picture? Well, with props to The Pet Project, the Humane Society, and all the dedicated professionals and volunteers who provide life-giving aid to animals, I have to limit my contribution for now to cash. (That helps, right?)

One reason a dog doesn’t fit in right now is travel. In previous years, Bob the Cat has been complacent during the two-day drive to the camp in Canada. Perhaps somewhere in her little cat brain is the memory of those few weeks when she gets to be an outdoor cat, sleeping under the stars (or at least under the porch) and chasing after little things that crawl and scamper (outside the house.) At the cottage, Bob gets along with the occasional visiting dog—except that one time. You were pretty high up in that tree, weren’t you, Bob? We were worried. But our hero risked his life bringing you down. We still think you deserve your space of peace and quiet on the island as much as we do. No more dogs.

This year, we are being happy with summer in Kansas City, while missing our Canada retreat because of border restrictions on account of covid-19. We’re watching the flowers flourish, anticipating a small crop of tomatoes, savoring fresh garden herbs in our food. The front porch affords the entertainment of people passing by (lots of them with dogs!)

As I write this, rebounding from the dire headlines of the day, I remind myself that, in other years, during these same calendar weeks at the island, I’d be oblivious to it all, and all of it would go on entirely beyond my worries. In the scope of the universe, I am rather less than a housecat. Even so, I can concentrate on bringing a little comfort and good humor to my immediate neighbors, just like you, Bob.

Here’s a remembrance of a feline role model from my past, on the art of growing old and letting go.

VERONICA

She sat in her favorite spots where the sun was warm.
She liked her refreshments punctual and routine.
She carried an air of dignity and decorum
and kept herself impeccably groomed and clean.
Her voice was often querulous with impatience,
but she could win my attention with a soulful look,
her dark-wide pupils riveting and intense
across a table or over the top of a book.
She could be playful sometimes, and make me smile,
yet soon became bored with teasing or too much noise.
A graceful somnolence settled her aging style,
and she held the indefinite days in equipoise
clear to the quiet close. Requiescat.
I’d like to let go as indifferently as that.