a message from the dean of vista street

Oh friends. I have a cat. And I have a dog. This you know because I have surrendered my life entirely to their development and therefore am no longer capable of discussing anything else, it seems. So here is, with a half-hearted apology for my topical degeneration, another pet column.

I moved into this lovely home and adopted my dogbeast on August 1st. Since that time, there has been the Stella wing (dog sorority) and the Maude wing (feline dean's office) and no coed mingling between the two. See, if there were, the sorority girl would eat the dean. And we can't have that. But I am pleased to say we are making progress.

My cat is mightily vocal. And though she is a ragamuffin, she meows like a Siamese. If you've had a Siamese, this needs no explanation. If you have not had the pleasure of cohabitating with such a strange little animal, try to imagine their noise as something akin to a cow-moo with a dash of lemon and vinegar stirred in. And as Maude has gotten more comfortable over these last ten years, she has begun expressing herself with more vigor. Nonstop. This is not so good for my sleeping patterns (nor is her habit of walking across my chest, but I digress), but it's great for dog training.

And I can now hold Stella's attention as Maude stands behind the couch and around the corner warbling her bitter banshee's rites. Listening as I work with Stella, I have suspected she may be trying to kill the dog with her song, just like the Fugees did. It is really full of spit and sorcery.

But murderous intent notwithstanding, we depend on Maude's lively chatter to bring the two animals closer together. And as Delta Delta Delta Stella proves she can handle the responsibility of a cat in her life, I bring you this commercial break, a video of some other cat entirely, relevant only because I believe with a sincere fear that it is a near-approximation of what Dean Maude is saying from just around the bend.