The only plausible explanation I can muster is that I woke up one morning and decided I did not have enough stress in my life. I remember waking up and going through my litany of worries, as I do every morning when I estimate if it will be a four- or a six-Advil day, and coming up short: Business was good, the elderly relatives were thriving, the roof had stopped leaking.
“Things are pretty quiet,” I told my partner over breakfast. My partner, a classic “the glass is half empty” type of guy, could not disagree. “But don’t get used to it,” he said darkly; “it won’t last. It never does.” He was right: twenty-four hours later we had a new puppy and more stress than we knew what to do with.
We had been talking about a puppy for a long time. We have always had multiple cats around the house but it has been a number of years since our old dog passed and we decided we were ready. Moreover, our last several dogs have been elderly, rescue dogs, lovable but inactive, and I wanted to exuberance of a puppy. That’s how we ended up with Lucy.
We picked her up at the Humane Society in South Miami, a silent, shivering 8-pound Lab mix. She was an angel on the long ride back and when we got to the house we put her on the grass and she performed just like a big girl. Then we put our quivering little puppy on the living room floor; frozen, she looked at her new surroundings and then spied Haley, our 5-month old kitten who was looking at her with curiosity. Lucy looked at Haley, produced a bark worthy of a Rottweiler and, as my partner and I watched in a kind of stupor, chased Haley across the house into the guest bedroom.
A moment later, Haley chased the puppy back into the living room. Then Lucy chased Haley back to the guest room and Haley chased Lucy back to the living room. This went on for about 20 minutes, punctuated occasionally by the sound of breaking glass: A picture frame, a lamp, a vase that was a gift from my partner’s mother that I always hated anyway. Afterwards, the new best friends came into the kitchen for something to eat, to be followed, I fervently hoped, by a nap.
Since I am both highly organized and wildly controlling, we were prepared. We gave Lucy puppy chow in the den, next to the luxurious crate which we had bought for Haley but she refused to use. We fed Haley kitten chow in the guest room, next to the ratty old white chair that she adopted for her bed. We fed Ginger, our 17-year old cat, her obscenely expensive “senior formula” food in our bedroom next to the cat bed that is on the floor because she can no longer jump or climb.
A minute later we found Ginger eating the kitten food, Haley eating the puppy food and Lucy eating the senior cat food. My partner and I picked up the various animals, put them back in front of their respective dishes and admonished them to be good. Within about 30 seconds, all the animals were back where they began so we rearranged again, this time closing the doors of the respective bedrooms. This caused the cats to wail and the puppy to bark, which we endured for about a minute until my partner said, “Fine, just this once let them eat what they want. It won’t kill them.”
We spent the afternoon trying to keep the animals separated in the insane hope we could have some peace. In the process we lost two more picture frames, (Haley) a potted fern, (Lucy) and Ginger threw up twice because the kitten food was too rich for her.
Along about 3:00 on the first day my partner and I were looking speculatively at the liquor cabinet when we realized the house was way too quiet. Tiptoeing we discovered it was nap time after all. Haley was sleeping in the puppy’s crate, which, by the way, she had adamantly refused to use when it was her crate. Ginger had somehow managed to get onto Haley’s chair and Lucy was sprawled out in Ginger’s bed, snoring quietly.
“That’s not where they’re supposed to sleep!” I said to my partner in my best “the baby is sleeping” whisper.
“Leave them alone,” he said. “At least they’re quiet.”
I nodded in silent agreement and we tiptoed out. Just than the doorbell rang.