Confessions of a Florentine Pet Sitter


Bull Leaping Gold Medalist is…

The most famous depiction of bull leaping is a fresco discovered in the Palace of Knossos in ancient Crete. It shows a human leaping over the horns of a bull, flipping or cartwheeling the length of the bull’s back.  The sport, if it was a sport, begins with a bull and a running man charging each other, the man grabbing the bulls horns to use as a spring-board and flipping over backwards, doing a handstand on the back of the creature, and using his strength to spring up and over the rump to land on ones feet. Surviving this feat was rare.

There are many depictions of bull leaping and many archaeologists have theorized reasons for this activity. Even today there remains a group of modern tattooed-bull-leaping-sportsmen in France and Spain leaping over cows. This is a link to the National Geographic interactive educational Bull Leaping description.

My bull leaper, Cricket, is charging and jumping over a stationary exercise bicycle (the bull), only she begins with its seat or rump, not the horns or handlebars. No video, so you’ll just have to imagine her in this sport and vicariously enjoy the fun she is having. She started when she was a kitten. She enjoyed racing 8 feet across the length of the catio to two cardboard boxes she used as a springboard to leap on to the bike’s seat, then straight over to the handle bars. She managed to maintain her balance on the bars, turn around to leap back to the seat and boxes and race again to the far end of the catio. Over and over she used the bike and cardboard boxes in this manner, exhausting herself, honing her running and strength and balance skills. And keeping me entertained all the while.

In this image she is staring intently at the ball I recently placed near the handlebars, the bull’s horns. She is leaning on the bull’s rump, and it  looks like she is wondering if the ball is worth the challenge. Do I really want that ball? Do I really want to play cat-sitter Susan’s game? Is it worth getting mangled by those horns?

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1. Pondering, is it worth the challenge?

This next image shows she has made up her mind. She is going for the ball. Tentatively she reaches out to it, but realizes her leg stretch isn’t quite long enough. She tries several times, while still maintaining her ground on the bulls rump.

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2. Decision made, she reaches across the divide…

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3. Reaching, stretching, just a little more, and she’s there!

She takes a minor leap and lands her front paws near the ball, grabs it with her teeth, however, she is in a mighty precarious position. She now has to finish her routine, but how does she get from point A-Rump to point C-Horns? Especially without dropping the ball? It’s a monumental task…a challenge in which she has to get a grip and take the bull by the horns. Her crooked tail fluffs in excitement.

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4. The catch is in her mouth, now what?

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5. Feeling stretched!

We can see she still carries the ball in her mouth. Okay, she’s got both front paws on the horns, now all Cricket has to do is get balanced, adjust her forepaws and somehow leap on to the horns so she is there with all four legs. Can she do it?

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6. Teetering and Turning

She teeters back and forth, and finally inch by inch, teeter by teeter, turn by turn, she maneuvers her body around so she is now facing the opposite direction. Balancing is tricky. Still a bit wobbly perched on the front edge of the horns, Cricket is now pondering the trip back. She has to leap back to the bull’s rump with the ball still in her mouth to win the game. And then…

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Heading back to the bull’s rump, the finish line…

She steps gingerly on the lever to get closer to the bull’s seat. She is almost home.

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Finally, all four paws on the rump

The movement and power of the jump has created a forward momentum. She brakes as forcefully as she can to avoid vaulting off the edge of the seat.  She  rocks back and forth to regain her balance.

On the bull’s rump, she will need to turn her body once again and face the judges. The ball must remain in the mouth all the way through this sport. It is about the agility and balance of the cat plus their multitasking abilities.

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Turning, trying not to fall off, not to drop the ball

This is getting tense folks. We’re waiting on the edge of our seats to see just how Cricket will end her bid for the gold medal. Leaping the bull is no easy task, but so far she has done a splendid job. Long ago, in ancient times, if a young powerful athlete failed to leap the bull perfectly, he was dead. Cricket is taking her time… wanting to make this last step just right.

Remember, she needs to do it with the ball still in her mouth. It takes concentration to hold that ball and at the same time maneuver into the last perfect position.

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The final turn…and OOPS!

Oh no, Folks, she’s dropped the ball! Cricket has dropped the ball! She may have lost her one and only chance to win the gold medal. This is disastrous!

She’s looking up, looking for reaction, did someone see that I just dropped the ball? Maybe not. Hopefully not. This is the end. I’m not sure I can get through one more Olympic challenge after this. I think I’m done. Oh woe is me. Pleeeeeeease let it not be the end. She hears hissing from the stands.

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Wanna-be Gold Medalist awaiting her scores

Despite her disappointment at dropping the ball at the end of a perfect challenge, she waits patiently. A true sports-kitty. She sits. Waits for the final score. She sits staring off into the void she created for herself today, the black hole of failure.

The crowd is off their seats, meowing, ratcheting up the meows to  growling and hissing. We can’t tell if they are happy she fumbled the ball, or if they are unhappy with the knowledge she may lose.

Wait! here it comes…

The officiating officer of the games announced the winner of the Gold Medal: And the winner of the Gold Medal is... in anticipation the crowd breaks into a cacophony of roars. Deafening. Roaring Cricket! Cricket Cricket! We want Cricket!

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A gold-plated paper wad.

…The winner is Miss Cricket!

Amidst the roar and excitement of the crowd, Cricket accepts the gold-plated paper wad, designed by a renowned Florentine cat-toy designer. Set before her on the pedestal, a large bowl of Stella and Chewy Chicken nuggets and a large container of bottled water. So hungry and dehydrated from her strenuous bull leaping, she growls and hisses as she chews. No one is going to steal away her meal.  Let them eat wad.



The Defiant One teaches me about courage
The Defiant One (aka. NASCAR Blondie)

The Defiant One (aka. NASCAR Blondie) #1

I found this quote on PaintersKeys.com the morning after I had made changes to my painting The Defiant One for all the wrong reasons. It seems all too appropriate for a discussion I was having the day before with a friend about the importance or lack of importance concerning perfect drafting skills. I said I didn’t care about drawing correctly, that I thought the character of the drawing was more important. I don’t look for drawing errors when I look at art.  I look at the whole composition and how it works together. And I believe character is key. It is that which expresses the unique feeling whether one draws the cat correctly or not, and that expression of feeling is most important. It is character that turns it into a painting and not a photograph.
On Painter’s Keys the next morning:

​Limitations are an access point for focus, discipline, resourcefulness and the development of voice.

They’re clues to uniqueness and form-style and point of view — requirements of all works of art to communicate and connect. “In abandoning the vagueness of the sketch,” wrote Eugene Delacroix, “the artist shows more of his personality by revealing the range but also the limitations of his talent.” We fear our limitations will define us, yet they’re the hurdles necessary for refinement and courage. They’re the builders of character, and paintings need character. “The greatest progress in life,” said Yogi Bhajan, “is when you know your limitations, and then you have the courage to drop them.” ​

The night before, Blondie’s ears haunted me. I couldn’t sleep. I had already made many small corrections to this painting, but suddenly when I was looking at its enlarged version on my laptop, I saw that the ears were way too large for her head. I had drawn them incorrectly. They were too tall and too pointy. They looked like bobcat ears. Perhaps the devil’s ears. BUT they contributed to the character of her stance. She was excited, riled up, the hair on her rump standing up in anticipation. Blondie waited for her mom to do something, perhaps something Blondie didn’t want to do, and her fierce alert and defiant pose said so.  Okay Mom, take the darn picture, let’s get this over with, okay! I’ve got mice to play with.
Shamefully,  last night I decided to redraw and repaint Blondie’s large pointy ears that gave this painting so much unique character. Truth be told, I was afraid of failure. I’ve never been able to draw with ease. Always a struggle. And I didn’t want anyone pointing out that I was bad at drawing! I lacked the courage to believe in my work. This lack of courage rears its ugly head a lot with me.
Oh woe is me…what’s a gal to do?
I learned a valuable lesson last night, two lessons.
  • One, I am a hypocrite, I say one thing and do another. BAD. I don’t care about the drawing, yet I feel a deep need to make mine look right. What?
  • Two, I learned from the above quote that it is okay make mistakes because the errors work with the whole picture to create character and emotion and draw people in to experience something powerful —whether you as artist recognize it or not—an experience of connection and a wonderment. Oh look how those ears stand up so tall and pointy and don’t they add to the mood of that cat’s stance!
If courage and wisdom had not escaped me, I would have left the ears alone.
Here’s the altered ears. Smaller, shaped better, and more proportionate to her head.
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The Defiant One with new ears #2 CORRECTED

They added very little to the total emotion of her stance. So I made the new ears appear more pointy by limning the edges and tips of the ears with white light. Now some of the pointy character is back, but they are not as big. Not as fierce!

​Next time I hope I will be able to control my urges to make it perfect. I claim to not care, but I lack the courage to live with my failures if I cannot do it. I’ve got to let go of that. I’ve got to let go of the idea that my bad drawing means failure—not only in my painting of cats, but also in my landscapes and papiér maché cats. It is, rather, about character and emotion.


Surveying His Domain

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Almost everyday Tai The Terrible worried about his domain. He wanted to know what was going on, who was in his neighborhood, whether there were any mice, rats, coyotes, or feral cats roaming the streets. Who was causing trouble? Did he need to prepare for battle? Or was he just a curious nosy cat?

He waited patiently by the front door until I let him outside. He wandered five or ten feet from the door where he could get a wide open view of his dominion. There he sat.  His platypus(s) tail lay flat-out behind him, a sign of his high status and breeding.  Excited to be outside, he looked left and right, and now and then twitched in place.  His overall appearance of serenity belied his seething tension, his readiness in every muscle for battle or flight. He wasn’t called Tai the Terrible for nothing.

After a while, his hunger for interesting and exciting activities satiated, the boredom set in. Time to find a comfortable safe place for his afternoon nap. Or perhaps try a little camouflage among the tall grasses and wait for his folks to turn into the driveway.

© 2014 Susan Canavarro. All Rights Reserved.



The Defiant One
The Defiant One

The Defiant One

One day as I sat on the sofa and Blondie, in rare form, had just jumped up on the sofa with me to sniff my clean laundry, I must have made a noise that startled her or moved my big toe or something, for suddenly she somersaulted backwards off the sofa landing on all four paws. She turned her head to look at me, a surprised look in her eyes tinted with a bit of embarrassment. Humans also tend to look to see what caused our tripping. Usually just a bump in the sidewalk or a root in the ground, or even sometimes a cat. But the looking is a sign of one’s disbelief that one just tripped…Did I just do that?  And  also to see if anyone, God forbid, noticed our clumsiness.  Blondie was checking to see if I had seen what happened to her when she somersaulted off the sofa. Yes I saw you, Blondie. Her alert four-paw stance said she was ready to run if she sensed danger. At the same moment her look was one of bewilderment, as if she was thinking, What the hell just happened here anyway?

Blondie is an agile cat. She jumps as high as six feet to a high window ledge, she leaps five feet over a three-foot high sofa, while at the same time, squeezes her body into very tight spaces. But most of the time, she can jump up to a high shelf with decorative pots and small sculptures and wander the length of it without destroying one item. But then again most cats are nimble and careful enough to wind their way through a forest of precious objects, including expensive art objects.

When it gets tricky is when a cat is acting in defiance and knocking items off shelves on purpose, and I mean knowingly batting things off shelves with her paws. When the people are away the cats will play they say. When a substitute teacher comes to class, the students act-up. I remember doing everything our little brains could think of to make our substitute teacher’s day harder and more unpleasant, like chewing loudly on carrots in the back row, tapping our pencils against our desks, gossiping with friends and uncontrolled giggling. From my experience as a teacher for a college art class, I know how annoying that extraneous talking is. Blondie acts up when I am with her, doing things she never does with her owner. She knocks things off shelves, chews on artificial plants, breaks into the liquor cabinet, sharpens her claws on furniture she’s not supposed to scratch on. And I am reluctant to punish her for fear of alienating her for life.

Whenever I am there now she has taken to knocking off two tiny Bengal cat figurines from a shelf in the guest bath. The figurines, made of something similar to ceramic but more durable, hit the tile floor with a loud crash. They never break into tiny pieces, even their thin tiny tails and paws and ears do not crack or break. Blondie knows the guest bath is mine while I’m there. She knows I am the only one to use it. She knows I sleep in the guest bedroom right next to this bathroom. She knows the tiny cats make a loud noise when they hit the floor or when they land in the waste basket. Score one for Blondie, she meows. When I get up to see what happened she stares at me with innocent blue eyes. Her owner says she has never knocked those pieces off the shelf before, only when I’m there. That’s cat defiance. A cat challenge? A message that says this pretty cat rules!

What is the reason behind the creature’s behavior? I believe Blondie commits  strange repetitive activities to annoy me. She knows. She also does it when she wants something from me. To get my attention. My job is to figure out what she wants! Oddly, it is an act off communication. She knocks them off at 7 am in the morning to wake me, so she is telling me it’s time for breakfast, or having kibble-nibbled already, she is telling me she wants water. She knocks them off during the day at various times because she is thirsty and she prefers to drink water out of the faucet. When I hear the clatter on the floor, I peak around the corner to find her sitting calmly on the bathroom counter, looking towards the door as if nothing happened. What, she asks? I didn’t do it!

I pick up the figurines and put them back on the shelf. Like a well-trained dog, I turn the faucet on to a slow dribble and she drinks her fill of tap water. She never bothers to turn the tap off. And I always forget it is on, until an hour later she jumps up on the table where I am busy working on my computer. She exhibits some sort of excited, animated, possibly anxious behavior. I cannot work until I discover what is causing her anxiety. My job again is to figure out what she is trying to tell me. I think maybe she wants more water, but I discover the water is still running. I forgot to turn it off. As soon as I turn it off, she settles down, shuffles off to her bed and takes a nap…finally.

I wish she could talk in my language. That would make things between us so much easier!

She knows how to open doors with levered handles, so all exterior doors have to be dead-bolted all the time. I’m thinking if she knows how to use a levered door handle she will eventually figure out how to use the levered faucet handles. She could learn to turn the water on for herself, right? Her owner says she learned how to flush a toilet a few years back. Had so much fun watching the water swirl furiously down the pipe and waiting for the bowl to fill up again, she did it over and over. She was in big trouble! I have terror-filled visions of returning from running errands in town and finding the bathroom floor awash with water because she turned the faucet on and did not turn it off. Water, water every where! If only she could teach herself to shut the water off in the same way she learns to turn it on. This hasn’t happened yet, only in my nightmares!

She is one smart defiant devilish kitty!



Blondie’s Wad
August 16, 2014, 1:54 PM
Filed under: art, cat sculptures, Confessions, pet paintings-stories | Tags: ,

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A tall and skinny kitty, Blondie’s coat is a soft warm rust and cream color with both stripes like a tabby and spots like a leopard, but she is a domesticated Blue-Eyed Spotted Snow Bengal, the rarest of domesticated Bengal breeds. While caring for her I discern some of her wild ancestry in her hunting, especially in the chase. Suddenly she zooms through the living room, leaping from floor to sofa to table all the way into the master bedroom, on to the bed and over to her cat tree. She hides just behind a door or a corner and when I walk by she startles me by zooming out from the invisibility of her hiding place.  I have to be vigilantly watchful of her antics and very careful or else I come close to tripping over her fast-moving body as she zips across in front of my feet. She could be hiding behind every door or every corner, anticipating my every move. Of course, this is an ancient instinctual behavior, what all wild cats do to catch their prey. It’s a matter of preservation. For Blondie, she does this as a form of hide and seek. She’s having fun, playing, stalking, and scaring the hell out of me, while expending all her wild-natured energies.

wadShe has lots of cat toys, red balls, tiny stuffed balls and critters, catnip-filled snakes, but one of her favorite so far has been the tiny crumpled-up paper wad that a friend gave her. It’s simple, light weight, and makes crackling and skittering noises as it slides across the tile floor. Its diameter is slightly larger than a quarter. Crunch the white computer paper into a tight roundish shape with a tiny piece of paper sticking out from its circumference, and you have a paper wad. Easy. Inexpensive. Cats love them.

The wad is so light-weight that all Blondie has to do is bump it slightly with her paw and off it skitters like a spider across the slippery tile floor, Blondie in fast pursuit.  It’s not just an inanimate object; it’s a living thing with its own volition…or so it seems. It’s a  soccer ball for Blondie with a mind of its own. . .and like a footballer, she chases it all over the field, accidentally toe-kicks it here and there…she can’t help herself…and sometimes scores a goal. All I have to do is sit back, watch, laugh and hoot an’ holler Go for it Blondie! Good kitty! She races after it, slipping and sliding this way and that, bumping into walls and furniture, following the path of her wad. She chases it again and again until she gets close enough without bumping it to motion again and can gingerly grab it with her mouth. Goal!

Inevitably, the wad gets kicked under the giant brown sofa in the living room. Usually when she lost her toys under the sofa or chair, I was the one who had to get down on hands and knees with a long broom handle to fetch them for her by hitting them out from under. But with the wad, Blondie flips over on her side, scrambles and slides under the sofa, only about five inches of crawl space, and with her teeth grasps the tiny piece of white paper sticking out from the wad. Still on her side, she slides and pushes her way back out from under the sofa with the wad looking like it’s stuck to a bit of taupe fuzz that mimics lipstick on her mouth. She proudly trots over to me with her head held high, her tail straight and tall as a goal post, and a white paper-wad attached to her lips which she drops it at my feet. Goal!

At first, Blondie just wandered off with the paper wad and deposited it in odd places. It didn’t take her long to grasp the concept of retrieving and bringing it back to me, but I didn’t train her to do so. All I did was stand and clap my hands, calling her name, calling her back, telling her she was a good kitty. She always came back to me for the adulation. One day she dropped the wad at my feet. Surprised, I praised her profusely and gave her a head-to-body rub all the way up to the tip of her tail. She loved it. When I threw the wad again and again, she retrieved it each time, carrying the wad in her mouth, dropping it at my feet, and later, directly into my hand. And for this she got a big body rub. No food treats, just lots of love.

It was incredulous that she could learn that fast, especially when I had not been trying to teach her to fetch. I just wanted her to feel good, to let her know I was enjoying her game with the wad. I always rewarded her with body and tail rubs whether or not she retrieved anything. I rewarded her for simply coming to me when I clapped my hands. She figured out the fetching thing all by herself.

 To watch her mad scramble under things to get her wad and ultimately bring it back to me brought me a wad full of joy. The simplest little toy, like a wad of paper, like an empty box or a black Fred Meyer’s grocery bag brings unbelievable delight to Blondie. And thus to me. It reminds me of how I once loved to play in boxes and build forts in the living room at my friend’s house. We stretched sheets and blankets over furniture building secret hiding places. Places to play with our dolls and bears. It reminds me of how my friends and I used to slide down a steep sand dune at Asilomar beach in Pacific Grove. We used pieces of flat cardboard or boxes and surfed the dunes until the Pebble Beach Corporation destroyed the entire area by building a new golf course and resort hotel.

The simplest things always make the best toys. Cat sitting Blondie has reminded me of this tiny truth.

© 2014  Susan Canavarro. All Rights Reserved.



The Meow Gang Begins…
June 16, 2014, 3:38 PM
Filed under: art, art Exhibits, cat paintings, Confessions, pet paintings-stories | Tags:

blondiewith_bluespider

First in a series…stay tuned…



Walking a Cat Walk

Copyright 2013 – By Susan Canavarro

When you are not writing, you are a writer too. It doesn’t leave you. Walk with an animal walk and take in everything around you as prey. Use your senses as an animal does. Watch a cat when he sees something moving in the room. He is perfectly still, and at the same time, his every sense is alive, watching, listening, smelling. This is how you should be when you are in the streets. The cat’s mind is not thinking about how much money he needs, or whom to write a postcard to when he visits Florence: he is watching the mouse or the marble rolling across the floor or light reflecting in crystal. He is ready with all of him to pounce. Now, you don’t have to get down on all fours and twitch your tail. Only be still – some part of you, at least – and know where you are, no matter how busy you are.
– Be An Animal, From Writing Down the Bones, by Natalie Goldberg, p. 90 ——-© 2005 (Shambhala, Boston and London)

I am reading Writing Down the Bones in a coffee shop called Mon Ami. Mon Ami sells antiques and estate sale items. Cindy, the owner, also serves delectable deli and bakery items, espresso coffees and teas. Her employees cook up fresh wicked apple-cinnamon and/or cherry turnovers daily. Her cappuccinos are deep and rich and soothing for my soul.

It is steamy outside. Sweat is beading up in my every nook and cranny and my bra, chaffing. I can feel my skin glowing red with rash. I have a headache. This is not your average Florence weather. This day I choose to drink iced tea at Mon Ami’s.

When I read the above paragraph by Natalie Goldberg, I sat staring off across the ocean with a grin spreading across my fat cheeks. Cindy waved her hand in front of my face to see if I was okay. Mustn’t stare too hard and too long when in a coffee-house. I smiled, nodded my head, yes. In fact, I was better than usual. Across the ocean across from my table was an antique soft creamy white dining buffet with ornate filigree decorating each cabinet-door edge. One door damaged and detached, leaned against the front of the cabinet. On the buffet top stood a large showcase trophy sailboat, two tall masts in full sail. This day, the ship, gripped in the stall of its display stand, was unable to fulfill its purpose–adventure on the open seas.

At one end of the ship was a small table-clock made to look like a ship’s helm, also an old gimbaled compass in its original box and two kerosene lanterns filled with red liquid. At the other end, a selection of three books leaning up against the base of a lamp: a first edition copy of Victor Canning’s novel The Chasm a story about adventure in the Italian Apennines; a first edition by Oregon writer Elizabeth Lambert Wood writing about the magnificent forests, ocean and lakes in her home state; and a 1931 edition of Funk & Wagnalls New Standard Encyclopedia Vol. IV of people and places, only the “B” list included. A set of very old binoculars with its original leather carrying case lies next to the books. And on the floor a small white, red & blue Route 66 sign, ticking time. A display of adventure signs, sailing the oceans and rivers, crossing a gorge in the Apennines, learning about new worlds and old times. Details observed.

A small table sculpture of two black Scottish Terriers standing on their hind legs holding up two interlocked rings declares an eternal cycle of loyalty, love, life, death and rebirth.

And here I sit in Florence, Oregon, not Italy as in Goldberg’s quote, living a life nearer to its ending than its beginning, yet dreaming of a desire to write, to publish, to create passable if not stunning paintings, to travel the world and sail down the canals of Europe, and to have the love, acceptance and tolerance of good friends.

I smiled at Goldberg’s words because I recognized that I had just experienced one of my Dad’s favorite synchronistic moments. Reading her book for the second time, wondering how to write about my animals while vicariously traveling to Lyon, France thru the email and picture journals from my friends just seemed to come together to bring more meaning to what I was writing. Dad believed that when you experience a coincidence such as this and it relates meaningfully to something happening in your life, it is a moment of Grace; one to which we should give our attention. And what’s happening in my life this moment is writing and armchair traveling and learning to walk like an animal. So it all fits.

Natalie Goldberg said writers should walk like an animal, with your senses alert like an animal’s senses are alert to every nuance of sound, smell and movement. As a pet sitter, I walk a cat walk. My senses are alive to what my special charges are doing and feeling every moment of the day. If they had been my cat or dog living at home with me, I would not have been so focused. Their daily adventures and idiosyncrasies would become uninteresting to me and I would have ignored them. I would have said, Oh you’re hungry again? You eat like a bull, Taurus. What is your problem? It’s not time yet. Bootsie, why the heck are you biting my legs? What is your problem? Leave me alone.

But, as pet sitter, I watch. I become a peeping-tom, a stalker. I follow them around. I walk like an animal. I check to see what they are up to, to see if they are okay. I annoy them to no end, especially Trina and Simon. I look for details. And they follow me. Even the cats follow me like a dog as if they were afraid I, too, would leave them. I remember thinking in the beginning, Why don’t these creatures let me have a moment of peace? But secretly, I love it. I know they are feeling insecure without their people and I become their only source of comfort when they are home alone. They eventually get it. I am it! I have the hand that feeds them, that gives them a rub-down. I glean a small bit of satisfaction that my presence makes them feel better.

I’m learning a lot about pets and about myself. I’ve learned that I like to ascribe human emotions to them. I know when they are happy. I see a cat tail extend straight up when he or she walks into a room and I say Hello Simon or Hello Tai or Hello Bessie! I watch whiskers turn up or down, knowing sadness, irritation, anger or contentment; I know eyes half-opened is an expression of love and contentment and trust; eyes large and round with dark pupils in full-moon is an autonomic response to fear or anger, and preparation for an attack. Often, I’ve experienced that glare. In fact, I have been the feared one too many times, the recipient of those big, dark alert angry eyes. Scary. Suddenly I am their prey and I want to hide under the covers.

I see the young kitten-energy return over and over after they do their daily job in the cat box. They burst into the living room wanting to play, wanting attention and affection, as if they know they’ve done a good job and they want me to know…so I can scoop it out for them. Cat sluggishness goes with cat constipation; and cat energy and happiness comes after a good bowel movement! The emotional and physical behavior of animals is amazingly familiar. Language of the animal world is as it is for us humans, too.

Dog tails swish back and forth and I know they are happy campers. Tails wagging. Jumping up and down barking. Barking in embarrassment, barking to warn, barking in excitement. Running in circles. Dog whimpering. Each whimper and bark a language to be deciphered. Each look a look of desire or love or need. Each rump-wagging, tail-wagging, a sign of love and excitement. The white lab lifts her head and looks at me, a sad questioning look in her eyes. What is it this time, Belle? I know she is asking me something but I don’t know what. Are you sad, hungry, do you need to go out? I prefer to think she is sad, but her owner says she is hungry. Just hungry.

I become a cat watching them like a cat watches a bird, chattering, waiting to see what would happen next, my body quivering with tension and excitement over what I might see, what indiscretion, what new sign I can read and learn, what might become a good story to tell their owners, thus Confessions of a Florentine Pet Sitter is in the works.

Writing. Watching animals. In Florence, Oregon. Traveling from my computer chair from cat house to cat house while reading emails from Bonnie and Ralph in Lyon and Avignon, France. A synchronistic moment. Just maybe I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.




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