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The Rise-and-Shine-BrigadeJun 20 '05 (Updated Dec 02 '06) Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line With this crew, who needs an alarm clock? I’m being stabbed in the chest. No – it’s Harpo prodding me with his bony paws. Sixteen years ago, this cat’s routine wake-up call was a lamp crashing onto the floor. He'd had a knack for demolition in his youth. Now, in his subdued old age, he simply walks on me to awaken me. I try to dislodge him by turning over, but he maneuvers like a lumberjack in a log-rolling contest. My movement signals the two dogs to join the effort to rouse me. Jazzie, a shepherd mix, races around the bedroom, whimpering her message that she needs to go out – NOW! Kaleb, an American Eskimo, leaps onto the bed and flops across my back. The tag-team of Kaleb and Harpo has now pinned me to the mat. “Off!” I demand, struggling to rise. The animals jump down, and Jazzie punctuates her pleading by barking. Kaleb is not to be outdone, and the result is a raucous chorus that I can’t appreciate at this hour. Fuzzy-brained, I stumble into the hallway and remove the gate from the top of the stairway. Jazzie rushes downstairs. The pressure on her bladder obviously forgotten, she wreaks havoc in the living room, chasing my four other cats. I hear the poor creatures scattering in all directions. I arrive in time to witness my chubby gray shorthair, Ingrid, leap off the back of the couch, her front paws touching the ceiling before she flips in mid-air and lands on another chair. Kaleb enters the fray. I know the dogs won’t hurt the cats, but the last thing I need is a bill from an animal psychiatrist for calming my frantic felines’ nerves. “Oi!” I shout at the dogs. That’s my warning word for "knock-it-off-or-else!" They sit and regard me with the all-innocence-and-sweetness expression. Not sure which one taught the other that look, but they've both got it down pat. I attach a leash to Jazzie’s collar. A puppy in the early stages of obedience training, she hasn’t grasped the concept of “stay” by the door yet (or anyplace else, for that matter.) We fly into the front yard as soon as I open the door. She does her thing quickly, for which I’m grateful, since it’s raining. Kaleb’s less accommodating. For him, potty time is a social event. He sniffs, half lifts his leg, changes his mind, sniffs again, stares down a rabbit, waltzes around the perimeter of the yard, sits and surveys the neighborhood, and greets neighbors who fetch newspapers from the sidewalk. He’s having a grand outing while this lunatic at the other end of the leash stands in a robe in a downpour. We return to the house, though he hasn’t relieved himself. Inside, the cats have ventured into the kitchen. Jazzie might be their nemesis, but they’ll brave Godzilla himself for breakfast! I measure the kibble for the dogs. I divide the tuna for the cats. A cacophony of feline and canine voices rises to the heavens. Whoops! Almost forgot the medication. Let’s see, Ingrid gets ear drops, Harpo gets a thyroid pill, I get a blood pressure pill, Jazzie and Phantom get an antibiotic for their colds, Kaleb gets a different antibiotic due to dental work, and Cleo and JoJo – wait, something’s wrong. No medication for them? How’d that happen? (My veterinarian takes an extra vacation every year, on me.) Here comes the tricky part. JoJo likes to eat the dog food out of Kaleb’s bowl. Kaleb enjoys stealing the cat food. Phantom tries to intimidate Cleo while she eats. Jazzie will gobble anybody’s meal. With careful timing, I must place each bowl in a specific spot, unless I want to quell a riot on the cell block. It’s finally time for litter pan detail. Kaleb races me to the basement. He arrives at the litter pans seconds before I do. Why this dog loves to step in the pans and fling the litter out with his paws is beyond me. This deserves another “Oi!” He vamooses, leaving me to sweep. Everyone’s eaten (except me). Everyone’s got an empty bladder (except me). Everyone’s settling in for a nap (except me). I trudge to the bathroom. It’s been thirty minutes since they forced me from bed. Already exhausted before the day’s work has begun, I turn on the shower. Seconds later, Kaleb sits beside me, lifts his paw, and sighs deeply. His message is clear to me: “Gotta go potty!” Mental note to self: teach Kaleb to USE the litter pan! © Donna M. Rongione 2005  |
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