“Well, now you know that your cat has nine lives, baby,
Nine lives to itself.
You’ve only got one, and the dog’s life isn’t fun.
Mamma, take a look outside”
-John Lennon, Crippled Inside
Yes, dog’s life in the dog’s house can be well and truly sad – unless this is life in the care of the loving masters, or at a dog hotel. My first dog, as you may remember, was presented to me as a birthday present, and what a present it was! To this day, three years after her passing away, we still feel as if she is still here – and it doesn’t change with the fact that I’m in England, I feel her presence just as much.
I had lived with two dogs in England, too, they were siblings, Belgian Shepherds, although the brother had left us in 2008. And back in Moscow, we had a cat, too, who also departed in 2008. It was the so-called Russianblue cat – and if you’re wondering about the look, here is an example (left). The picture (by pepleo of Flickr) illustrates well the regal air persona of the Russianblues: somehow the queenly “we’re not amused” becomes them well.
These days my mother and grandmother have adopted a kitten who is about to provide a whole new experience of having a cat in the house. The new cat, by what I hear, is tenfold more mobile than the cat and the dog we’ve had before, put together. She hasn’t yet criss-crossed the ceiling, but apparently this is in the making.
Still, the dog’s life has never meant something really bad for me. In fact, as you can see on the photo on the right, it has always been more about trying to emulate the dog, rather than pity her. You see me, back when I was in Russia, most probably as a student, and my dog I told you about. I have to say, being as old as I was on that picture, I probably didn’t find sleeping in the armchair as comfortable, as my dog evidently did. But I vividly remember falling asleep in an old chair when I was about 5 years old, which was quite lovely. Shall we say that the comfort of such sleep prominently depends on one’s height??