She could be a cat, but she’s a dog

It’s been decades since a cat was a member of our household. While there have been some wonderful felines, including Sam, we’ve always adopted dogs. The cats, more or less, adopted us. 

Sam was a city cat who shared Carol’s New York studio apartment when we started dating and came along to Vernon, Connecticut after we married and I took a job with the Hartford Times. He was an independent dude who tolerated my attention, but clearly was “Carol’s cat.”

As the story goes, before I met Carol she was alone in her tiny apartment, when to her alarm she heard someone peeing in the bathroom. Fearing she might encounter an intruder she checked the front door. It was locked and then she cautiously looked in the bathroom to find Sam perched on the seat and doing his business. Unfortunately, Sam did not adjust to country life in Vernon. He was struck by a car outside our apartment building.

The reason for bringing up Sam – and no other pet we’ve had ever learned to use the facilities as he did – is my conclusion our latest canine resident is partially cat although a mix of Welsh Corgi and German Shepherd. Given her 25 to 30 pounds and her docked tail, Ferrah is more corgi than shepherd, which is a good thing. She is cat smart and loves tossing her toys or a carrot and then sliding on her belly to reach for them when lodged under the fridge. Her love for carrots isn’t necessarily a feline characteristic. Ferrah enjoys chewing them.  She reduces them to golf ball-shaped orange nubs that roll across the floor or land with a thud when thrown across the room.

Unlike most cats, when not distracted by a squirrel or rabbit, Ferrah is focused on people. She’ll spend hours lying on the back porch watching the neighborhood and is ready to jump into the car as soon as it looks like we’re ready to leave. Catlike, she’ll weave between your legs, anxious to be petted and admired. She’s also a jumper, hopping up into your lap when you’re sitting in front of the tube.

Usually she’ll follow this up with a lick to the ear and a meaningful stare that says “are you ready to play?” What comes next can be a series of gentle nibbles until you either scold her for getting too rough or there’s a catastrophic release of energy that sends her racing around the yard or up and down stairs.

Carol calls it “zooming,” which we make sure she does before retiring to her crate for the night.

There are the undesirable feline characteristics, too. She delivered a dead baby robin as if it was a treasured treat. Carol’s reaction told her otherwise. A week later Carol found a dead mouse on her bed, undoubtedly a gift from Ferrah . And we were not less pleased to remove a newly born rabbit from her mouth.  Ferrah cowered as we heaped on “you don’t do that” in harsh voices and banished her from going out the rest of the afternoon.

There are times she’ll stretch out, snuggling as close as she can get to have her ears scratched and belly rubbed. She could be purring, but she hasn’t gone that far.

Nor, as of yet I haven’t I found her seated on the toilet. If she does, maybe we can teach her to flush it, which would surely beat doggies bags.