best and worst of friends

Lucy is trying to be good.

She's doing her darndest to be the best Golden Retriever ever.

But she's being taken down by a 10 pound cat.

It all started on Mother's Day when I got the gift of my not-so-distant-past dreams, a homeless cat from the SPCA that I had seen the week before.  As our family took turns renaming the kitty to make her our very own (they all thought "Lady" was a dumb name), I gazed at her black and white fur and said, "Moo.  She looks like a cow and we'll call her Moo." 

My kids were glad it was time for dessert so that they could have a reason to leave the room.

My cat/my name, I told them.  And Moo it is.

Lucy had been top dog here, literally, in the pet department.  Ever since Tiger died last August (another creatively named feline as you can tell), she'd been the only animal attraction on the property.  She got all the love, the hugs, the kisses, the bones and most of the water. 

Until Moo moved in.

That cat can hiss.  She can arch her back like the steel in St. Louis and spew enough venom across the room to kill us all.  And to see our 75-pound furry fourth child cower in fear, not wanting to come out of her crate in the morning because prima donna fuzzball is eating her Fancy Feast nearby, just saddens my heart.  And also makes me laugh.

Over the weeks we've watched their proximity grow.  Instead of living on separate floors, they now both live comfortably upstairs, preferably at least nine feet apart.  When Moo saunters in, Lucy watches her with a closely trained eye to see where she's going to nap next.  And I've caught Lucy sniffing out the house to see where Miss Kitty has gone so that she can curl up on the floor somewhere underneath the cat's current perch of a windowsill or easy chair.

Lucy means no harm.  And Moo means no kindness.

Maybe one day, they'll be friends.

You just never know.