Jolene and Rocko Pistachio

I love to say that cats are for spiritual protection and dogs are for physical protection. Of course, they both grace us with their companionship as well.

I never used to trust cats or cat people. My cousin’s cat used to attack me when I would stay the night. She’d corner me in rooms or at the top of a staircase. I also had frequent and unpleasant encounters with a cat that would hang upside down from door frames and hiss at anyone who dared to try passing through. Honestly, I didn’t understand how to give them the space they needed.

On the other hand, I’ve always loved dogs for their empathy and straight forward personalities. I even worked as a dog walker for extra money during my mid twenties.

However, three years ago I was living in a crumbling two-hundred plus year old building on Loyola Park Beach in Chicago with a major mouse (and Chicago centipede) infestation that resulted in the untimely end of my prized Vitamix (don’t ask). The management company tried to resolve the problem by spraying foam into the gaping holes between the walls, floors, and ceilings. It made my airy, vintage, lakeside apartment look very ugly, but did nothing to help the critter problem.

I decided it was time to adopt a cat. My boyfriend promised to get me one from an alley, but I took him to a local shelter that Saturday instead so that we could have our pick of the alley cats. We ended up with Jolene. If I recall correctly, adult cats were on sale for $35 that day.

We walked up and down looking at all the cats behind their glass doors. I had no idea how to pick one to meet. We peered into one small room that was full of cats. I noticed one small cat lying down among the others. She looked like an angry little chicken with ruffled feathers. Definitely not that one.

I eventually picked a cute black cat in a room with another cat for us to meet. After a lot of to-do, we found someone to let us into her room. But first, we had to be taken aside to read and sign a statement from a previous visitor who was clawed in the back by said cat. They assured us that it was the visitor’s fault and got us into the room before we could change our minds. The cat stayed put in her little house. We sat against the opposite wall until an appropriate amount of time (three minutes) passed and we slowly backed out of the room.

At that point, the shelter was about to stop processing adoptions for the day. We asked to be let into the room with six or seven cats. I figured it gave us better chances of bonding with one, and none of those cats required liability waivers to meet. They all ignored us except for the little chicken cat. She started purring and rubbing up on our legs.

It turned out that she had stitches half way down her left side. Her tabby pattern ends abruptly where the stitches started, and the way they reconstructed her makes her look a bit off balance. We called her Jolene and took her home with us.

We held her on the couch with us when we got home. After a few minutes of meowing, she rolled onto her back with her paws in the air, totally relaxed and happy. It took a few months for her to start jumping and playing, but she slowly turned into such a silly cat. She plays ferocious soccer with wine corks, is a spider and centipede ninja assassin, swats treats out of our hands, and is the nosiest neighbor in her little window perch.

She kept us awake with her late night yowling for months, but somehow she turned me into a cat person.

After Jolene came Rocko Pistachio. I was working down the street from an animal shelter when we decided to adopt a dog. I walked past everyday, and would go inside to pet the dogs on my lunch breaks. One Friday, I saw the same breed of dog that my family had when I was a kid (a flat coated retriever) through their window as I was leaving work. The shelter had just closed, so I decided to call in the morning to inquire about the dog.

When I called, they told me that he was meeting another family, but that I should just come in in case that family didn’t adopt him. By the time we arrived at the shelter, the dog was still there, but there were some very hurt feelings between two yuppie hipster families that both felt they had claim to him. I was a little sad, but we decided to meet some other dogs since we were already there together. Rocko Pistachio, a shepherd mix with a big scar on his front leg, was the first cage we walked up to. We did a lap around the whole facility, but we returned to his sad face and decided to formally meet him. They brought us to a bench in a busy hallway (all of the rooms were occupied, and it was raining outside) so that we could spend some time together. Rick and Rocko hugged each other for the better part of an hour. Of course we couldn’t leave without him.

Our first stop was the pet store, where he immediately peed on their most expensive stack of dog food. After that, we spent a few hours in the park by our apartment. When Rocko Pistachio finally got to see his new home and meet his new cat, he got slapped in the face. At 65 pounds, he screamed and fell over sideways. Jolene is still the boss, but they are on good terms now.

Shortly after adopting Rocko, we moved to a more pet friendly building, but Jolene caught her mouse just before the move. We were sitting on the couch one Sunday morning when I saw her playing with something. It was just like the cartoons. She would pin its tail with her claw before letting it run an inch and pinning it again. I screamed, and the mouse got away, but we did find miscarried little mouse babies on the floor later in the day. Jolene left her message.

Now we live in a rodent free apartment. Jolene watches birds on our patio, and Rocko practices his morel mushroom hunting skills (yes - he can sniff them out!). Adopt, don’t shop!