The Other Kind Of Cat Calling: A Newlywed Story

August marks two years since The Husband and I got married. Which means it’s time I fully embrace my status as a married woman and get a dog.

I should explain. As y’all know, our household is currently run by The Cat. Whenever I’ve had a pet in my house, it has been a cat. I’m not particularly fond of dogs. At least not at this point in my life. As a child of the 80’s, I dutifully watched Pound Puppies, so Five Year Old Me liked dogs. But I’ve never had one. I figured the only thing that would cause me to get a dog was if I got married and my husband and/or child begged for one.

But when I got The Cat, I didn’t see a husband or child in my future. I had spent my twenties bouncing around various apartments, being a workaholic, wanting to buy a house but hesitating because I thought at any moment my non-existent love life might suddenly turn around, I’d get married, and then The Husband and I would get a house together.

Finally I got to a point where I was tired of waiting. I bought a house. I named it The Spinster Shack. Then I thought, “I can’t truly call myself a spinster without having at least one cat.” So I went to the animal rescue shelter and picked out The Cat. My sister moved in with me and brought her cat. So now I had my house and was slowly starting to build my feline army. Spinsterhood was off to a good start.

As luck would have it, both my sister and I found ourselves caught up in whirlwind romances and got engaged shortly after establishing The Spinster Shack. The Husband was living with relatives before we got married, so it was quickly decided that we would live at my house. And thus the feline army was diminished and I prepared to turn my house into The Newlywed Nest.

Here’s the thing, though. The Husband had never lived with a cat. And he had always grown up with dogs. I think you see where I’m going with this. Things between The Husband and The Cat got off to an interesting start.

“Cat, ‘mere,” he called up the stairs. And he waited for a moment before turning to me dumbfounded.

“Why isn’t she coming?” he asked me, shouting so he could be heard over my hysterical laughter.

“Because,” I said as soon as I regained my composure, “that’s not how you call a cat.”

He asked me to demonstrate, so I took a deep breath and yelled “kittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykittykitty” in the highest pitched, fastest voice I could manage. Instantly and without delay…The Cat ignored me.

“That works sometimes, if she feels like coming,” I explained. “Clearly she doesn’t right now.”

The Husband decided to give this a try. His family’s dog tended to respond best to loud, authoritative men, so he thought he could go Alpha Male on this cat and it would work. “Cat, cat, cat, cat, cat!” he stumbled, being unable to reach the high speed vocal frenzy that is required to summon a feline. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, she didn’t respond to this call either.

After another bout of hysterical laughter,  I showed him another trick — Shaking The Treat Bag. That worked. We heard a rumbling noise like thunder and suddenly FWOOSH! A calico blur came tearing down the stairs in search of treats.

The Husband was baffled. “So…you really can’t train a cat to come on command?” he asked.

“No. No you cannot,” I said, shaking my head at his ignorance. The Cat gave him a “don’t forget your place, slave” look as she enjoyed her treats.

Eventually we sold The Spinster Shack and picked out a new house together. One that actually had a yard. And said yard is now fenced, which means we’re finally ready to get a dog.

At least he’s ready to get a dog. He’s been ready for a long time. The Cat and I are still getting used to the idea. Thus far, here is what we’ve determined about our priorities:

The Husband: Wants a dog that will come when called. Said dog will play fetch and go on walks with him.

Me: The coming on command thing would be nice. I could probably benefit from getting in more walks. I would prefer if this dog would only allow The Husband to pick up its poop. Because I really, really don’t want to pick up dog poop.

The Cat: Why is there a dog coming into this house? Can the dog be my servant? I will accept additional servants, but I do not need competition for The Humans’ attention and affection.

I think all three of us are in agreement about one characteristic we would like The Dog to have: a strategically powerful bark The house behind us has a rather obnoxious dog. Obnoxious Dog will bark violently, aggressively, and incessantly at anyone and everything it sees. It is on high alert All The Time. For the first several months I felt like I couldn’t even go into my backyard because as soon as I did, Obnoxious Dog would strike.

“BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!” he would yell, lunging at his leash.

“Calm it down, Obnoxious Dog. I’m just gonna sit on my swing and read,” I’d say.

Obnoxious Dog takes this kind of statement as a challenge. “BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!” he responded.

About a month and a half ago, we got a privacy fence installed. At last, I could go in my yard in peace.

Or so I thought.

At first, Obnoxious Dog couldn’t find me. All was quiet (except the loud parties his owners throw in honor of Jerk Day, which apparently is every day, but that’s a story for another blog post). I could sit on my swing and read, confident that I would not be disturbed.

The calm lasted until a few days ago, when Obnoxious Dog figured out he could see through a tiny slat in the fence. And as soon as I committed the unpardonable sin of being in my own yard within his line of sight…

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!

Here is my fantasy: I step outside. Obnoxious Dog sees me. He begins his verbal assault. I stare him down through the tiny slat in the fence. He escalates his barking.

“Oh, it’s on,” I mumble.

I raise my hand slowly, dramatically. Obnoxious Dog watchers, wondering what the heck I’m up to, determining he needs to bark louder at the looming threat that is My Dramatic Hand. And then…I snap my fingers.

Hearing his cue, my dog comes bounding into the yard. Obnoxious Dog gets even more agitated as he realizes I’m about to fight fire with fire by bringing another canine into the mix. Little does he know what’s in store.

“WOOF.” My dog emits one loud, concentrated, dizzying sonic boom of a bark. It is powerful enough to send Obnoxious Dog scurrying for cover, but leave me (and our beautiful fence) standing. It also strategically destroys the neighbors’ stereo speakers, thus putting an end to Jerk Day parties.

“That’ll do, Dog. That’ll do,” I’ll say, telling him he is a very good boy. He will calmly go back into the house, saving up his vocal powers for the next time I need him to do battle.

I know, I know, that’s totally unrealistic. But a girl can dream. Any tips on how I can find a dog that would fit even some of these qualities? Let me know in the comments. I’ll read them as soon as I cover up the tiny slat in the fence.