Phyllis, of course, agrees with him!
On the other hand, being a dog-lover, I say: "Your cats, Baxter and Bailey, wouldn't be caught dead being hitched to a sleigh, whether it was in the Iditerod or not."
"They don't understand ?Mush,' anymore than they would heed ?Sit' and ?Stay.' They simply don't know the words – or they choose to ignore them," I mutter.
Cats are like that. They are independent creatures who don't like to be treated like dogs!
Actually, I condone my wife's cats, although I try to keep my distance (What else could I do and still keep my marriage?).
You can take Bailey, for instance. Phyllis contends that the cat likes me. She (the cat, not Phyllis) climbs to the top of my writing desk and sits and stares at me while I'm working.
I wouldn't mind that so much, but the dumb feline interrupts me with her constant purring (why cats purr, I'll never know, but it's a lot like a constant wheeze blowing across the paper I'm working on. It's distracting, too.).
Maybe Bailey would pull a sled, since she is innately curious. But not Baxter!
He's a brother of Bailey's; however, you'd never know it. They came from the same litter, (actually they were "rescued" cats, having been abandoned). But Baxter is about twice Bailey's size.
I can understand a cat like that. He sleeps most of the day; and he does cat things like using the litter box and staring at the birds through the glass door in the living room.
I don't know what he would do with a bird if he actually caught one, because he's so fat that the bird would probably fly away while he was contemplating his next meal of Science Diet.
Why he is so obese and Bailey's so skinny is a question that bothers both Phyllis and me. They both eat out of the same bowl (the cats, not Phyllis or me), but I think that Baxter gets more than his fair share.
Daughter Jill's friend calls him "a bowling ball with legs." And the description sure fits him, what with his black coat.
It's the fur which I particularly abhor. Phyllis has learned to live with it, but I don't like ebony hairs in my Total or evidence that the cats have been in the bathroom before I get there. (I think they drink out of the toilet bowl, too, but I'm not sure.)
Getting back to the initial quote, I can just see Baxter and Bailey hitched to a sled. They would tug in different directions and drive the poor sleigh operator berserk. I think Bailey would probably make a pretty good lead cat, but fat ol' Baxter no doubt would lay down on the job.
All I know is that you couldn't find enough cats to replace dogs on a sled line – and that proves that Valdez is right, regardless of how I feel about those mousers.
© 2007 Robert F. Karolevitz