How To Tell When Dogs or Cats Don’t Like You

Barb showed me a video on Facebook the other day that gives you hints on how to tell that your dog doesn’t like you. The video discusses tips such as if the dog growls at you, the dog won’t let you touch it, or the dog doesn’t look you in the eye, you probably are not the pooch’s favorite person.

It was all straightforward, and with each passing enumeration, Barb and I were able to say “That’s not us. Cooper still likes us.”

But I got to thinking–how can you tell if a cat doesn’t like you? So having lived with felines since I was 8 years old, I feel qualified to share the following list with all of you.

How To Tell That Your Cat Doesn’t Like You

If your cat doesn’t look at you–he may not like you.
If your cat looks at you for more than 3 seconds–she probably doesn’t like you.
If you haven’t cleaned the litter box in a couple of days–she might poop in your bed to show she doesn’t like you.
If he doesn’t like the fresh litter in his box–he might pee on the dog’s bed to show he doesn’t like any of you.
If your cat purrs when you hold her–it’s only a trick to make you think she likes you so you feel compelled to feed her.
If your cat comes when you call her name–it is really a dog wearing a cat costume.*
If you only own one cat–he doesn’t like you.
If you own more than one cat–at least half of them, and most likely all of them, don’t like you.
If you fill the cat’s water bowl–she will drink from the toilet to prove her disdain for you.
While you are cleaning the vomited fur ball of your bed in the middle of the night–the cat doesn’t like you for waking him up.

Cats are cats. So if it is unconditional love you are looking for, a cat might not be your best bet. Have you considered a pet iguana?

Read our take on the Supreme Court.

*Note: this one doesn’t apply to us since after 12 years we still have not named our current cat. Any suggestions?

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Beauty and Disease. With Addison’s Disease, One Call Says It All

The following is a lightly edited transcript of a telephone conversation between Barb and me last week. Or maybe I just imagined it this way…

Barb: How are you?

Me: (huffing and puffing on an elliptical machine at the fitness center) I’m good. What’s up.

Barb: I just wanted to tell you, I picked Cooper up from the vet. And it happened again. The vet tech kept telling me how everyone in the place kept coming up to her and telling saying how handsome and gorgeous he is! I knew you would get a kick out of that!

Me: No surprises. Everyone tells us that. Anything else going on?

Barb: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to tell you. They did a lab test and say he has no cortisol in his blood. They think he has Addison’s disease.

Me: (phone drop)

First–let’s talk about Beauty. It is a fact. Everyone we meet does let us know how handsome Cooper is, with his deep chocolate coat and the blond highlights around his muzzle And then most people mention his piercing, golden, almost human eyes that give a hint of his playful intelligence. He is a good-looking dude; we know it, he knows it, the whole neighborhood knows it. But Barb and I still are amused by all the confirmation Cooper gets.

Health has been a different matter. The Coop has been a bouncy, happy, pup, filled with energy and mischief. But his gastrointestinal system has never matured with the rest of him. Limited ingredient dog foods, prescription diets, and multiple courses of antibiotics have provided minimal improvement.

As a next step, we scheduled an appointment with a local veterinary specialty clinic. After a 10-week wait, Cooper was seen by the specialty internist. After reviewing the history, he too felt that it would probably be some combination of diet and probiotics that would eventually solve the digestive problems.

“But,” he said, “with your permission, I would like to run a few blood tests, just in case something else is going on here.”

And that brings us to where we are now, with no cortisol, the key steroid hormone from the adrenal gland. As a pathologist, I know you can rarely make a diagnosis based on a single test result and some additional tests are in the pipeline. But I am pretty confident Coop, with his marked cortisol deficiency, does have Addison’s, and now we just have to figure out why.

This is upsetting, but certainly not a tragedy; it should just be a small setback in Cooper’s life. When all the tests are completed we will know how best to treat the condition. With proper care, Cooper should have a long, happy life.

With our help, this Beauty will beat his disease.

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Coop the Pisher

Today I turn over the keyboard to Barb, who last wrote a blog as acting General Contractor when we were building “The Big,” back in 2016. Time flies.

“Last week, Les introduced you to Cooper, the gorgeous Labradoodle that has moved in with us. And I am here to tell you — he is still around, and cuter than ever. After almost two weeks, I can give you a checklist of what is going right, and what is going not quite right.

The Good

We have never had a dog so lovable and loving. He cuddles in my lap, gazes at me with those puppy eyes, and my heart just melts away. Of course, he only weighs about 7 pounds now, the lap cuddling is going to have to end as he grows towards his adult weight — somewhere between 35 and 50 pounds of fur and muscle.
Cooper is the smartest little creature we have ever had (sorry, kids.) I taught him to sit, stay, and come in about 10 minutes. He will do anything for a treat. The Coop doesn’t follow commands quite as well for Les, or maybe Les just isn’t as patient with him as I am. And Les sometimes forgets the all-important treats. As long as he remembered my birthday.
The boy loves to play. Whether it is with a squeaky clown, the cat’s paw-at-the-ball in the track toy (ignored by the cat,) or playing fetch with us, he is always up for a romp.
We were warned we would be woken every hour of the night by a little pup that needed to “use the facilities.” Les has sort of let me know this was my dog–my responsibility. I have my robe, my shoes, and a leash ready at our bedside. Much to all our relief, Cooper has done a great job of sleeping through the night.
I get to say his name and dream of Bradley Cooper. ‘Nough said.

The Bad

Cooper is a nipper. The skin on my hands is paper-thin and offers no resistance to those sharp-as-daggers puppy teeth. My hands are now covered from the tip of my thumb to the base of my palm with bandages. I highly recommend the Nexcare Waterproofs from 3M. Those babies stick!
Our lad is not yet much of an outside walker. But he is still very young and small, and we are yet to find a harness that fits him well. We do have some very upscale sweaters for him though!
Not his fault, but Coop had me worried last night after a round of vaccinations at the vet. He was listless, in pain, and glassy-eyed. Les reassured me that he didn’t look any worse than I did after my second dose of the shingles vaccine, and sure enough, by this morning Coopie was fine. Quite an anxious night for me though. (Les had no problem sleeping.)

The Ugly

The little puddles of pee we find everywhere. Yes, Cooper is an equal opportunity pisher–inside, outside, wood floor, or throw rug, it is all the same to him. But he will learn–hopefully before we go through our remaining 27 rolls of pandemic-stockpiled Bounty paperer towels.”

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Adventures in Cat Land

Barb and I went on a road trip yesterday.

A friend had posted a link to an animal shelter in the south suburbs, a community we had barely heard of and never been to before. Our friend thought we might be interested in a cat that was ready for adoption.

The kitty was a nine-year-old male Persian named Billy, neutered, declawed, and in need of a new home. We thought he could make a nice companion for Princess, our own neutered, declawed nine-year-old teeny-weeny cat. Princess has spent most of her life with a canine companion and might now be a little lonely, but since Barb has yet to convince me to get another dog (never say never) a 2nd cat seemed like a possible option.

Barb picked me up from my lab, conveniently located half-way between our far-north home and the far-south shelter. I grabbed a cardboard box for a potential transport container, found a blanket in the trunk with which to line the box, and off we went. The landscape turned more rural in appearance with rolling hills and forest preserves. It was hard to believe we were still in Cook County.

After 40 minutes we reached the shelter, a small cottage set back from the road. A weathered sign on the door asked that we knock, receive a number, and then return to our car to await a phone call before admission. We knocked, and an attendant answered the door, looking as startled as we were. “What do you want?” she asked. We told her we were looking for a particular cat, and without much interest, she pointed out the cat room. “In there.”

The room was stacked with cages, many containing small, howling, sort-of-cute kittens. Not what we were looking for. Another attendant wandered in and I asked her about the Persian we had seen online.

“Oh, do you mean the male or the female?” she asked.

“Huh?” Barb and I both responded.

The attendant pointed to a double-wide cage in the bottom row and told us, “They are brother and sister, they can’t be separated.”

And sure enough, a pair of long-haired kitties were lolling in the cage; Billy, the grey-and-white cat we had seen online and a second, tabby-like long-hair with funky eyes. As we watched, GG pounced on the second cat in what did not seem at all to be a playful assault.

We left empty-handed. We were not ready to adopt a pair of cats to disturb Princess, especially when one of them seemed to have a mean streak. As my lab associate said, the shelter had put on quite a bait-and-switch.

So Princess still has no companion. I suspect Barb’s dog dreams have been reignited. I’m not sure how long I can hold out! Check back here for regular updates…

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photo credit: haileyxb dsc01537_v1 via photopin (license)

Menagerie à Trois: Almost As Much Fun As It Sounds

We gotta get out of this place…

…if it’s the last thing we ever do.

The Animals-1965

You all remember Max . Our 90 pound multi-breed will greet you at the door with his Irish Wolf Hound-like smile, a loud but friendly bark, and a demand to be loved. He is Barb’s shadow, though happiest when I am giving him his nightly chin rub. When I do, his swishing tail cools the bedroom like a powerful Casablanca fan. Phoebe, our featherweight kitten, is much less likely to be seen when you stop by to visit, but for Barb and I she is a rolling ball of fluff who loves a good tummy massage and racing us up the staircase. Although Max’s aging joints will love living in a ranch home and Phoebe the speed burner might hate it, the two are our Model U.N. picture of peaceful coexistence.

This Thanksgiving our weekend has been livened up by a visitor primed to end our domestic tranquility. With Laury travelling for the holiday, we have stepped in under the provisions of the “Forever Plan” to baby sit Charlie, Laury’s six year old Havanese puppy. Charlie was Laury’s loving companion through her years in New York City and transition back to Chicago, and is always a welcome visitor in our home.

The American Kennel club describes the Havanese breed as ” a small, sturdy dog of immense charm”. Charlie is indeed small, is indeed sturdy, and does his exuberant best to demonstrate immense charm. He can bounce high off any floor or wall, gobble up cat food faster than Phoebe can come out of hiding, and his playfulness has helped Max remember what it was like to be a doggie adolescent again. Like all dogs, he loves Barb to death and tolerates me as necessary. He comes equipped with little blue pills for us to slather in peanut better and give him nightly (the pills are for behavior, not for the other blue pill type of problem,) as well as a limited supply of Valium. The Valium is to be ingested when he demonstrates too much “Crazy Havanese Time”, but the instructions Laury left were unclear. We are not sure if we are supposed to give Charlie the Valium or take it ourselves. Fortunately, Charlie was on a leash when a magnificent looking coyote trotted across our front yard yesterday; if not, Charlie might have waggled over to say “Hi!” and become an excellent appetizer.

Laury will be picking up her pooch later today, ending our Thanksgiving holiday. But before the weekend closes, let me give thanks. I am blessed with a loving wife and healthy, growing, family. Nothing brings me greater joy. I am thankful for the professional skills and opportunities both Barb and I have that allow us to be of service to our community. I celebrate the roof over our heads, and the fun we will have doing it all over again while building our empty nest home. And I am grateful and proud that I have been able to chronicle it all in these posts, and that so many readers have gotten to know us and say “I didn’t know you could do that!”

In closing, an entertainment note for our local readers. “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”, the big hit for The Animals, was written by the Brill Building songwriting team of Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil. Their story is a part of the Carole King musical “Beautiful”, which is just coming to town. If you love music, King, or just a good time, you must see this show!

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