Name Calling

The next morning, when I woke, I went straight to the cat room. I passed Ray sleeping on his futon. Although he was curled in his usual little ball, his eyebrows followed my movement as I went by. I entered the cat room catiously and closed the door behind me expecting a big dog to appear behind me at any moment.
Harvey was sitting alertly upright on the second tier of the cat tree. His eyes were bright and whip-smart reminding me of my bright-boy, Hugo. The little calico darted from her spot inside the tree to dive under the bed. Neither Gregg nor I had been able to get a good look at her since bringing her home.
At the panicked departure of his sister, Harvey looked at me uncertainly and made a move as if to jump and run. I talked to him calmly but moved swiftly to pick him up and give him a pet. Harvey relaxed and started purring. I stroked him a bit, put him back on the tree platform, then got down on my hands and knees to look under the bed. Our little unnamed kitty was back in her inaccessible spot.
Only slightly discouraged, I played with Harvey instead, knowing that I was being closely watched.
There was a whine at the door.
I left Harvey to his toys, and just like the previous evening, opened the door, crouched down, blocked the entrance with my knees and put my arms around Ray's neck. And just like the previous evening, Ray stayed still, ears deployed in ultra Dumbo mode, nose twitching furiously, breathing in the new smells.
I let Ray get a lungful before closing him out of the room again, then picked up the empty cat dishes to take them downstairs for a wash. Harvey was one hungry little guy. The previous evening, we had watched him clean his plate before tucking into his adopted sister's dish of food.
Gregg was already downstairs when I carried the dishes down.
"We need to name the girl-cat," were the first words out of my mouth.
"Good morning," said Gregg with a smile, "There's no hurry."
"Yes there is," I replied, "I need something to call her."
Throughout the day, Gregg and I threw out name suggestions. Our old way of choosing cat-names, flipping through the white pages of the telephone book and randomly stabbing a finger on a name until we found one that fit the cat and that we could agree on, had gone the way of dinosaur. There were no white pages to stab. Also, we were having a bit of difficulty naming a cat we couldn't see except as a blur as it dove under the bed. We knew we wanted a name that had a different vowel ending than Ray or Harvey because that is what animals hear when their names are called, so we had somewhat limited our choices. We also had distinctly different likes. Gregg liked early 20th century names suitable for an older cat. That had worked well when we had adopted an ancient cat (previous to Moonie and Hugo) that we had named Maevis, but it was difficult for me to picture a youngster with Gregg's choices of Muriel or Drusila. Gregg was having equal difficulty picturing a cat with the "unconventional" Jean choices of Zula or Luna.
As the day progressed, Gregg and I popped into and out of the cat room, checking on our fluffy new children. More specifically, we checked on Harvey. Girl-cat remained aloof but interested. By mid morning she wasn't at the far end of under-the-bed, she was in the middle watching my interactions with Harvey, and at noon when I cautiously opened the door to see if I could snap a quick photo of the little guy, I found the two of them cosily curled in the tree together. Thrilled I ran to tell Gregg that our kitties seemed to be getting along famously.

By 5:00, I'd had enough. I found a website of random girl/pet names and chose ten. I told Gregg to do the same. We compared notes. Not only did nothing match, nothing was even close. 

"Well," said Gregg, "There is one name on your list that I had considered putting on mine."
"What was it?" I asked, hoping it was Zula.
"Juno," he replied
"That's it then," I said only very slightly disappointed, "She's Juno. Juno, Harvey, and Ray. I think it works."
Satisfied, I went to the cat room to tell our new girl. Surprisingly the fluffy blur didn't seem to care.

Juno and Harvey

Ray's Surprise

"I just want to tell you that it will probably be bad before it gets good," I said to my lovely husband.
"I know," he replied, resigned to the probable mayhem that would result from our decision.
We were driving home from the shelter where we had spent three hours adopting Ray's new family members; Tiny Tim and Josette, two young cats, a male and female, both under a year old. I had spent weeks discussing with whomever would listen, whether young cats or old would be better for the exuberantly-cat-loving blind hound, but in the end Gregg and I went with our gut feeling that a couple of youngsters would be more adaptable. They were in the back seat, the mesh parts of their cages touching so that they could see and smell each other.
As we drove home, we discussed names for Ray's new siblings. Harvey was quickly decided on for the boy, a four-month old, feisty little black and white fellow whose rap sheet had said he "liked to play with the dog." We had no idea if the played-with dog was a three pound Yorkie or a hundred pound Lab but we were agreed that some exposure to dogs was better than none at all.
The girl-cat's name didn't come as easily, and although lots of names were tossed around, nothing seemed right for the teeny-tiny seven-month-old calico we had both fallen for. Despite the description on her cage as "timid but warms up fast," we had both been charmed by her purr-upon-touch reaction to us. We had no idea how either of them would react to Ray but we were determined to find out.
"Let's leave them in the car while we get set up," I said as we pulled into the driveway.
Although I had wanted to mainstream the cats into the family, they were both skittish enough that a safe-room for a week or so seemed a better idea.
"Do we have everything we need?" asked Gregg as he got out of the car.
"Well, we have litter and beds," I replied, "And the shelter gave us a bag of food. I think we have enough of everything to get us through the night."
Ray met us at the door, glad to see us after such a long absence, and anxious for his dinner. As he sniffed the interesting scents on my pants, Gregg went upstairs to drag the cat-tree into the freshly painted and redecorated guest room. Trailed by my loyal, hungry hound, I headed to the garage to retrieve the litter boxes from the attic. By the time I made it upstairs, Gregg was wrestling the cat tree into place. Not knowing if our new family members were totally litter trained, I rolled up the area rug and dragged it out of the room.
Feeling that something momentous was happening, but not entirely sure what, Ray anxiously followed me from room to room. By the time Gregg had filled the litter boxes with sand, dug out Moonie and Hugo's old food dishes and filled them with the gifted food, Ray was on high alert. I draped a sheet across the top of the bed, strategically placed cat beds around the room, dropped Ray's dog bed on the floor to get the cats used to his smell, and threw in a couple of our smelly sweatshirts to get them used to our aroma as well. Lastly, I tucked a fleecy throw into the hole at the bottom of the cat tree thinking it would make a comfy bed and a nice hiding place for skittish kitties.
I looked around. We were ready. The guest room had reverted to a cat room in no time flat.
"Why don't you bring in the cats," I said to Gregg, "I'll feed Ray to distract him."
Ray followed me into the kitchen. While I made as much noise as possible putting food into Ray's metal dish, Gregg snuck the cat carriers upstairs.
I watched Ray as he looked over his shoulder at the minor noise that Gregg made as he crept up the stairs with the cats, but the dog made no move to follow. I waited until Ray finished eating then ran up the stairs followed, of course, by the hound.
I entered the room and closed the door in front of the inquisitive dog's nose.
Both of the cat carriers were open. Harvey was crouched under the bed, the little calico was cringing at the back of her cage. I reached a hand in; the little girl cat put her head on my hand and started purring, then rolled over and still purring, grabbed my hand with her paws and held it on her head.
There was a vigorous scratch at the door. I left the purring bundle of joy, opened the door, and using my knee as a blockade, crouched down with my arm around Ray's neck.
Ears deployed in ultra Dumbo mode, but not struggling to get by as I expected, Ray breathed in the new-cat smell of the room.
Ignoring the dog totally, Harvey started exploring, found the food dish, and tucked in with gusto.
I pulled Ray back, then Gregg, Ray, and I left the cats to get used to the room and to each other.
As we checked in throughout the evening, we found that the little calico had moved from her cage to the farthest reaches of under-the-bed. Trying to entice her out of seclusion, I found the stash of cat toys left behind by our dear departed friends and scattered them around the room. Harvey immediately started playing batting things hither and thither. The other little cat remained where she was. And there she stayed.
When we went to bed, despite all of the soft cosy places to sleep in the room, our furry new little girl stayed inaccessibly under the bed on the hardwood floor.

…to be continued

Surprise!

Not yet. But soon.

Twice in Two Days

That is how many times Ray has slurped up the half 'n half that was sitting on the kitchen counter for my coffee. He has gotten so stealthy at it, tiptoeing into the kitchen, gently putting his front paws on the counter without his tags jingling, and lapping the cream out of the little porcelain pitcher without making a sound, that I don't even know he's done it until I go to pour myself another cup of joe and the pitcher is licked clean.
I'm on to him though. If I'm paying attention, I can watch him sneak-walk into the kitchen, after I've exited with my mug of cafe au lait, and catch him in the act.
I yell at him to GO. But secretly, I'm proud of my blind ninja hound.

After Effects

I was pouring myself a cup of joe when Ray appeared at my side.
"What do you want?" I asked the hound as if I didn't know.
I went to the refrigerator, got out the can of whipped cream, and pfffted a jaunty little dollop in his dog dish. The one-time gubernatorial candidate of Virginia was a little depressed over his loss. Despite the fact that I had done my best to cheer him up the previous day by taking him for a long, leisurely walk in the fall leaves, Ray was being a bit mopey. I figured, whipped cream makes everything better.
Ray slurped up his treat, meandered over to his chair, climbed laboriously up into it as if he were 100 years old in human years and curled into a tight little miserable ball.
Obviously, my dog doesn't take rejection well.

sigh. Who cares about fall leaves.
I thought we were going to live in a mansion.

If I were governor, I'd make giant scary birds illegal.  

Why, oh why, doesn't anyone like me!?

Election Day

"C'mon, Ray, let's go. It's crunch time," I said to my snoozing dog.
Ray, curled in his favorite chair, lifted his head from his tail and looked at me, head atilt.
"Let's go, Ray," I urged my dog to get up.
Thinking that there was the possibility of a walk, Ray crawled off the chair, stretched, and yawned.
I picked up his sweater vest and tie, grabbed a campaign button and pinned it to my sweatshirt, then hustled the candidate into the back seat of his limo and drove him to the polling place. As his campaign manager, I knew the importance of face time with local voters just before they entered the booth. As I buttoned Ray into his vest, he gave a deep sigh.

Demonstrating the Bellyrub Platform to the opposition

"Last time, Ray," I said, "It ends tonight."
I slipped Ray's tie over his head. He gave a mighty yawn, bored at the prospect of more campaign stops.
We strolled to the school entrance where campaign crews were handing out sample ballots. A woman approached us offering us the piece of paper for her party.
"No, thank you," I said, "Ray the Blind Dog is my candidate. He's running for governor."
"I've seen his signs," replied the woman as she retreated, "I see you walking all the time. Good luck."
Ray meandered over to couple of young men similarly handing out flyers, and while I explained Ray's bellyrub platform, he demonstrated.

Pressing the flesh

As I chatted with another of the campaign workers promoting his candidate for Sheriff, Ray was greeting voters. A woman with a purse dangling from one hand and a small child on the other slowed to admire the nattily dressed candidate. Sensing a child, Ray eagerly approached the duo then surprised me by ignoring the youngster and jamming his head into the woman's purse and rooting around in it.
"Sorry," I said apologizing for this egregious display of greed, "But he's like any other politician, always trying to get something from you."

Photo opportunity with a happy voter

After fifteen or twenty minutes of meeting and greeting the few voters that were trickling by, Ray and I decided that perhaps we should return at the end of the day when people were getting off of work. I chauffeured the candidate back to his cozy chair then went back to the polling place to vote. I was greeted by the same campaign worker with whom I had been chatting.
"Ray the Blind Dog emailed me," he said, "He wants you to vote for my candidate for Sheriff."
I laughed as I took the proffered sample ballot.
When I exited the polling place, the same man approached me.
"Did you come with your husband?" he asked me.
"Huh? What? No," I replied somewhat confused at the question.
"Well, I thought maybe it was your husband because he came right after you, and when I tried to give him a flyer he said he didn't want one because he was voting for Ray the Blind Dog," said the laughing man.
Thinking that perhaps Gregg had gotten off work early to vote, I asked the campaigner what the guy had looked like.
"Did he have dark hair?" I asked, helpfully describing at least a third of the world's population.

Basking in the attention of a fan.

"Well, he was a bit younger than you and about your height," explained the man.
Even though Gregg is taller I was still, not entirely sure that it wasn't him, so I called.
"Nope, wasn't me," said my lovely husband when queried.
A warm glow spread through me. Ray's campaigning had really paid off. He had secured a single vote.

Charged up at the thought, I asked Gregg to stop by and get us before he went to vote so that Ray could have one final chance to meet the voters. Gregg agreed.
We returned to the polls at dusk. It turned out to be a fortuitous time. Streams of people were coming in. As Gregg went in to vote, Ray and I stayed outside to work the crowd.
"Vote for Ray the Blind Dog!" I urged voters, "He's running for Governor, a good alternative candidate!"
Happily, some of Ray's friends and neighbors were there. Ray enthusiastically greeted everyone in a last ditch effort to secure his place in the governor's mansion.
This morning the results were in. The democratic candidate won by a slim margin.
More importantly, Ray the Blind Dog secured at least three votes.

Supportive friends...

... favorite neighbors

Worn out after a long day of campaigning

Campaign signs outside of the polling place

Support from Over the Pond

With Virginia's gubernatorial elections just two days away, support for Ray continues to pour in. Unfortunately, most of his supporters are not actually allowed to vote in elections in Virginia, like these two from England. Even though England used to own Virginia, it's been awhile since that was the case.