I met Elvis at Cat House and he took me home. Based on a true story.

Cats take over the dog blog, part 3

By Tia Ayers with Barb Ayers, Hood River, Oregon, 2018

In part 1 - Mod Squad of cats ‘n dogs – day in the life of Surf Dog Diaries by Kihei the cat.

In Part 2 – In the Beginning – the day Kihei the tabby was adopted.

Me. Tia. Auntie. The Magnificent Calico. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

I am the Other Cat, the Other Woman.

Tia, the calico.

It’s about time you heard the other side of the surf dog story.

Here in the Columbia River Gorge, we live wild - cats and dogs, cougars and wolves, people and surfers.

I am an indoor kitty now. Large and round and soft and fuzzy, cozy and confident. Brightly colored, I stood out too much in the wild. Now, living inside, I’m no longer hiding and hungry.

I am the brains of - the cat in charge of - the Surf Dog Diaries.

Oh, but my bff - my Elvis!

Big and strong. Confident and steady. A little slow – after all, he is a basset hound.

No hurries – no worries. Eccentric about his bed - circling and circling, to get his body into position…. scratching and scratching, until it feels… just … right… before plopping down with a shuddering sigh.

Then, snuggling up to me. Cat nap time!

We’re kind twin-like. Agreed?

Our eyes met…. oh, my Elvis! Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

He was and always will be, my very best friend. It wasn’t what I expected. After all, he is a dog. A surf dog, even! All that water and sand - so uncouth! But still…

I’ll never forget the moment we met. The door creaked open at the home for wayward souls. Elvis dragged himself slowly up the steps, and nosed right in.

A dog walks into a house full of 25 kitties. Like he was looking for something – some one – at Cat House.

Like it was no big deal that a dog drops by a house full of cats, to take a look around.

His person, the woman with long golden retriever hair, brought him in to pick from a house full of rescue kitties. To take one kitty home.

Those big, brown, basset eyes, outlined in black! Droopy eyes. Knowing eyes. Eyes, sweet and soft. Subtly confident. Not braggy. Open to the possibilities. Smiling eyes. We didn’t have a lot of smiling eyes at Cat House.

My velvet Elvis.

He had two inch legs. Funny what you notice.

That head was massive and so were his feet. A basset hound wading into a sea full of cats that could easily pounce him. Cats, big and small, wild and scaredy. Cats who lived in curtains and blankets and boxes, couches, crates and bath tubs. That was us - that was me. Cat House kid!

But it was weird that day. Like, all of a sudden, there was a new Us.

We wore the same colors– red, brown, black and white. We looked related –twins, if that’s even possible. A calico and a basset. Elvis and me.

Twins! Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Elvis was a windsurfing basset hound. Alpha of our surf dog family.

I was thinking... a windsurfer!?!? A windsurfing basset hound?… That just doesn’t pass the sniff test…

No self respecting cat would be caught on, or in, the water.

But – whatever! My twin was a dog.

Elvis was 70 pounds of solid muscle, bearing down on two inch legs.

Which I found out later, makes him an amazing athlete. Low and solid. Good balance.

Always up front on the nose of a paddle board, a windsurf board, a surfboard. With his person riding behind. Tall dogs fall off more than low dogs (shhhh… it’s a basset hound secret…)

And we’re not talking about easy surf dog days, on flat water that doesn’t move around. He rode the mighty Columbia River. We’re in Hood River, Oregon - the Windsurfing Capital of the World! Where the wind whips up from Mount Hood to the cliffs all around and the river moves so fast.

And the waves – yes the waves- right here on the river - crank up, high, overhead. I ran from them when I was a wild kitty.

Elvis and our mom, Barb Ayers, windsurf the Columbia River. Elvis’s basset brother is behind, on board. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Elvis had a big heart. He loved all animals, all people. All sunlight and rain and glowy sunsets over the Columbia Gorge with orange highlights along the craggy cliffs towering up above as he surfed by.

His little basset brother was blind and Elvis watched out for him, on the surfboard and the rest of life.

Elvis also adopted the little doxie - because he was young and Elvis was old. He wanted someone to carry on the surf dog family tradition.

Elvis loved all sports. July 4 and Christmas parades - streets lined with hundreds of kids, waving and laughing, as the surf dog float rolled by. Parades are a sport, right?

Elvis surfed on a board behind a ski boat, wearing a colorful vest. Big ‘ol basset hound ears normally dragging on the ground - flapping, happy. Flying circles in the breeze.

My surf dog family! L to R: Dude, mom Barb Ayers, Elvis, Doodle. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

He rode waves on the ocean, at Dog Beach.

Elvis loved windsurfing with our person, and his little brothers, the blind dude named Dude and the wiener dog, Doodle.

What a weird pack - three dogs, all low, and the woman - all on one board!

Here, in the wild, where kite surfers and windsurfers and paddlers and salmon share water, and waves.

Elvis was a rock star. Maybe that’s what rock stars do… open us up and show us something we couldn’t figure out on our own.

Like writers do. Writer dogs. I’m a writer cat. I’m working on our life story here.

I heard that Elvis wasn’t Alpha when they lived in California. Must be all those fancy people and animals down there in the big city. We’re more down to Earth here in the country. He must have grown into his Elvis-ness after moving to Oregon.

I miss his old soul here on Earth down below. Only the doxie remains in our house, now that my Elvis has left the building. I also heard he had a cat before me. OMG.

Surf Dog Diaries - me on the right, 4th generation surf dog Doodle on the left. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

From the wild to Cat House. From Cat House to the home of surf dogs.

At Cat House, all 25 of us kitties lived in a full sized house *without a human.) The house was people sized - in a normal neighborhood, with normal people. Houses next door and kids and cars and yards and dogs and skateboards. Can you imagine a house full of felines, hanging out all day, inside, without human supervision? The things we might think or do? Talk about catty.

The first person I met at Cat House was the one that found me hiding in the forest. Coyotes were circling around - it wasn’t a good scene. I was too bright and colorful (translation: awesomely beautiful with lots of white.) It was hard to hide. But I was living like our ancestors - hunting for quail and flitty brown birds and an abundance of ground squirrels. Living under cliffs that light up with warm glowy warmth in the morning, and these super sized cliffs that made you feel small and kitten-like, down below and big ol’ cougar like at the same time.

Yep - me. It’s no so bad - inside. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

The cat lady trapped me and brought me here to Cat House, and for while I was still wild and flighty.

She fed us, and paid our bills, but no human lived at Cat House. It was already full – four or five cats per room, depending on who got along and who staked out what furniture. Which, as you can imagine, was shredded.

The woman ran Cat House in her spare time when she wasn’t making house payments for homeless cats, so they could live in a real neighborhood, with real neighbors and try to assume a so-called real life. While we all waited around for a house of our very own.

Don’t all cats have human servants to buy their homes and pay their bills?

But back to Elvis.

He was handsome. And bold. Fearless. What self-respecting dog walks into a house of 25 cats – willingly?

He did. He didn’t turn and run away. He didn’t even look scared. Like a normal dog. He looked kind of stoned, really. And he just hauled that lug of a bod up that little tiny step, and made it look like some Gorge cliff climbing scene that was nearly impossible, what with short legs and gut and all, up onto the living room floor of Cat House, and dumping it all back down, with neck flaps and skankles and a sling of basset hound slobber flung with a sigh. It was spectacular! And tiring! It was SO manly. So hot (for a dog, of all things)!

I heard that Elvis lived with a cat before me – Kihei, back at Dog Beach in San Diego. It took that cat 13 seconds to pick out her new human at her California cattery.

It took Elvis about the same amount of time, or maybe less, here at Oregon Cat House. He walked in. Our eyes met. The house of 25 cats shrank to one. Guess who?

24 cats dematerialized.

Elvis presented himself. I picked him up and he took me home.

The new 3-dog-night. Left to right: Elvis, Dude, me. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

I am Tia, hear me roar. Did I mention that I’m beautiful?

There was no “fighting like cats and dogs.” That’s some media story.

It’s not like you have to choose if you’re a Cat Person or a Dog Person!

Tia selfie. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Cuz I’m both. And I tolerate humans.

I met ELvis at Cat House and he took me home.

The rest is surf dog history.

-  TO BE CONTINUED –

Cat and dog politics: neither side winning - or needing to. Maybe we could learn something here.

Left and right. Red and blue. Us and them... the baggage of humans.

Dogs don’t do politics. That’s what we love about them.

They don't take sides. They don’t care about human psycho babble.

They do care about whose in charge.

They don’t debate. Or criticize.

They're too busy chasing life, chasing tails, romping trails. Getting blow dried on the road trip of life.

They aren’t hung up on news or Twitter, CNN or Fox News.

Facebook is irrelevant to them.

They love you unconditionally, even when you don't deserve it.

They may be smarter than humans, despite what scientists say. Because they're way more intuitive.

You think you can hide your feelings, but they just know. And they love you anyway.

They don’t press your buttons. They stand by you until you get outside yourself. For some of us, that could take a lifetime.

Dogs don’t do Twitter. Well, maybe they do. This is dog Twitter:

“Soft warm body pressed up against yours – no words necessary.”

You think you can stay away long hours on trips out of town when the dog sitter takes over. You think they won’t notice. They reward you with a bounce up and down welcome home ceremony. And the top-secret mini poo pile, just this side of the dog door. It’s just a tiny pile - just a small statement. That says so much.

Life downsized our pack. I went from four dogs to two. One is a fake dog. 

Doxie Doodle, surf dog #4 and Tia the calico, of Surf Dog Diaries. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Tia the kitty would be really catty on Twitter. But she’s dropping the cat act and turning into a dog.

They are the last remaining pack members, after our basset hound friends went to heaven.

The cat and the dog are ignoring breed restrictions. Ignoring politics. They are becoming one - partners.

The cat is rising to the Alpha role. Or co-alpha.

She is first to take possession, within 30 seconds of me sitting or lying down. She always beats the doxie to my lap. She does it effortlessly. Strategically.

So in that contest, he’s #2. Doodle snuggles up alongside us. He backs in, pressing his butt up against her chest, then splaying body parts sideways, oozing in, to make contact with me. That his side slide move. His curly tail spirals around my leg.

Sometimes he carefully crawls up, noses in toward the cat’s stiletto nails, face to face…. verrrrryyyyyy carefullllllllly.

Sometimes she rubs her head against his…  like she really loves him… but none of us totally trusts that. It’s more of a head butt, really. She can be a politician.

Doodle has that wild-eyed look like, please don’t throw a sucker punch at me. But he persists. And that has, in turn, softened the cat. Sometimes it all works out.

Sometimes he smooshes in, doxie under cover, all 007 style, a tube of movement under the bedspread, inching closer, as if the cat won’t notice.

OK, so maybe just a hint of sibling rivalry.... Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Nowadays, the cat snuggles up under covers as quickly as the dog does. Maybe even with him.

But shhhhhhh - don’t tell them I said that.

She has descended from cat throne to soft, dog-like behavior.

She’s dropped the cat-itude.

She’s evolved into a dog.

Just when I was looking for a lap basset on Petfinders, the lap basset appeared.

And the Dennis the Menace doxie has become a little less Dennis. A little softer. More grown up.

I used to think there was a war going on for my attention, but now it’s more like detente. Fragile, hesitant teamwork. Like long-warring parties coming together to pass some really important legislation for the first time. Creating social change, where both sides beat the odds. Overcoming some long time Hatfield and McCoy thing. People stuck between two sides- nobody winning.

Here, the two “dogs” don’t totally trust each other, but are actually trying to work together - and meet in the middle.

Figuring out that working together, they both get what they want – they just don’t exclude the other partner. They may make some critter concessions, but on the grand scale, nothing worth quibbling over.

Maybe this is a long, ugly custody battle over me, that just took a positive turn?

The cat, unlike the dog, is a much more political animal.

She’s into power and isn’t always soft and fuzzy – or is, but usually with purpose. She likes being Alpha. She likes being on top. Lap cat.

The dog just wants to be there. Lap dog. He wants to be #1. More love, more attention, more adventure. More road trips and surfing with mom.

Doodle bumbles in, tries to take over my lap, and the house, and the pack. He thought he was Alpha too.

There’s an absence of clear power without someone in charge. 

It’s the two party system. Dog vs. Cat. Neither in charge. Neither has veto power.

But they both flex themselves, when it’s really important.

Sometimes I feel like I am the prize. Sometimes, a citizen stuck between two warring political parties. A kid two parents are fighting over.

And when the dog and the cat drop their drive to be Alpha, #1 - they blend into one. One species. Curled up, yin and yang.

Everyone wins. No one’s in charge. Just the three of us as one.

Being in charge is so over rated. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.

This wasn't possible, not for this cat and this dog, with a full pack of dogs in the house.

Elvis, my dearly departed Alpha Basset, was always in charge. He loved the cat - they were one. No war for top dog between them. Everyone got along. Elvis was king, without even trying - with all of us in the pack.

Now that Elvis is gone, Doodle the doxie wanted so badly to assume Alpha and earn all that love and trust. But he hasn’t earned the cat cred that Elvis had.

Dude, his basset brother (RIP,) gave up on Alpha long ago. He was top dog in surf dog contests. He competed - and won - against other dogs, but never his own pack.

Dude and Elvis, my two basset sons, RIP. Second and third generation surf dogs of Surf Dog Diaries. Photo: (c) Barb Ayers, DogDiary.org

Dude was bff’s with Elvis. Everyone was. Alpha Elvis wasn’t kingly. He was a love buddy.

Now that we’re down to two “dogs,” those two have expanded to fill the void. The calico and the doxie. They’ve expanded into me. And they've expanded into each other. Even though they’d never admit it.

Number three and number four try harder. Now together, they are #1.

Co-Alphas. Parents. Partners. The third, neutral party.

It’s a whole new era in our home in the absence of basset hounds.

The two remaining dogs may not be low rider bassets, with silly-sad faces - stand-up comedians wearing basset-hound-hearts-on-sleeves. That were accidental Alphas.

But the cat and the doxie are surprisingly able to evolve.

I wonder if I can. If we can – the human species?