How We Became 'Cat People'

Dog people can be cat people and vice versa—there’s plenty of love to go around

You’ve heard it before—at the PTA meeting, around the office water cooler, or while chatting it up at the grocery store: “We’re dog people,” or, “I grew up with dogs.” You’ve also heard it said a different way (and it’s always muttered under the breath): “They’re cat people.”

It’s time for a national conversation. It’s all about diversity. It’s all about acceptance. Why can’t we all just get along?

Truth be told, my family used to be part of this pet-related problem. We used to say it: “We aren’t cat people.”

That’s what I said when our college-aged daughter, Kate, called to say an “adorable” stray black cat followed her home from class. The next morning, the cat returned, looking for her. He sat outside, waiting patiently for her to take him in. Her roommate said, “No! He’s not coming in.” I said, “No! He’s not coming home.”

The homecoming
Later that week, Kate left school for the holiday break. I called to check on her progress, “Hi! How’s the traffic?” There was a noise on her end. It wasn’t human. It was a horrible screeching, like nails on a chalkboard. “What? Kate? Is everything OK?” I yelled into the phone.

“It’s Robert Goulet,” she said. “He’s fine. He just doesn’t like the car ride.”

(OK, time out. Robert Goulet? I think my parents listened to that singer. Wasn’t he on a vinyl album cover in their collection?)

“Mom, I couldn’t leave him … and he would love it at our house,” she pleaded with me.

“Kate,” I tried to stay calm, “we have a dog who hates cats, and your brothers are allergic to them. What are you thinking?”

Later that day, Robert Goulet strolled into our lives, sleek and swanky. Like a lounge singer from a smoky club, he had attitude.

Robert vs. Buddy
Our lovable dog Buddy was forced to defend himself at every turn. Not a spring chicken and blind in one eye, the dog had all he could do to prevent himself from being skewered. It was World War II—or III. There was no safe haven. Robert Goulet leapt onto furniture to ambush the dog from above. Drapery in every room provided the camouflage necessary for cat sneak attacks. Robert soon found Buddy’s favorite spots—the arm of the chair with a view to the front yard, the heating vent in my office—and tried to lay claim. It quickly escalated to a serious turf war.

Then the sneezing began. Followed by itchy, swollen red eyes. The allergies blew up full force. I vacuumed and doled out antihistamines.

We launched an intensive search for a home for Robert Goulet. We took clever pictures of him and commenced a rigorous e-mail campaign. Later that week, Kate returned to school, sans cat. Robert Goulet commandeered a basket in our laundry room for a bed. The days wore on. There were no takers on the adoption front. Slowly, we found ourselves learning to adapt. Buddy reclaimed his chair. The sneezing subsided and the eyes didn’t look as red.

A blended family
Robert Goulet worked on his act: singing, talking, and demanding attention. He began an all-out battle for companionship. Downstairs to watch TV? There’s Robert, right on our heels. In the shower? He’s waiting by the curtain. Taking the dog for a walk? Mr. Goulet keeps pace with us as we circle the block. He even took his show on the road with regular visits to entertain neighbors.

We now live together. Side by side, the blond dog and the black cat sleep and eat and play. It’s not easy. The fur does fly. It continues to be a work in progress. But maybe we can be cat people, too. Maybe we can all learn to get along.