About Cats

I didn't meet a cat until last summer, and then I had to live with FIVE cats for two months up in Maine.

Now, dogs I can control, particularly large dogs like the two chocolate Labs I live with. I let them chase me around the lawn, and I am the fastest little terrior you can imagine, grinning all the while. Sometimes I let them catch up with me, and then I quickly roll over while they snuffle around and I rest a bit before springing up and running, running, running again. It's great fun!

I love to go for a ride. In fact, if the word 'ride' is mentioned, I am immediately there, ready for an adventure. Last summer, though, the ride went on and on and on until we ended up in northern Maine, at Cathie's old farmhouse. Going inside, I didn't notice any strange furry animals. They were quietly hiding. At suppertime, however, out they came. One, two, three, four, five white and black cats. Oh my!

Scooting over to one of the strange creatures, I tried to make friends. They did not seem interested in becoming friends...some made a loud hissing noise, throwing their backs up as their tails fluffed out. One even began chasing me, clawing my backside in a very undignified manner. With all the stairs in the farmhouse, I soon discovered chasing cats up the front stairs and then back down the kitchen stairs was great fun. Except for the one cat, who wheeled around to chase me upstairs.

We stayed there a very long time. I was not at all certain I would ever be home again. Finally, after two long months, we went for another long, long ride. When the truck stopped, at 6:30 in the morning, even in the dark, I saw the trees, the small lawn, the sidewalk, the azaleas. Joy! Total JOY! Racing into the house, I went straight to my toy box and began pulling out each rubbery toy, tossing it into the air, then going for another toy to toss. If I could have laughed out loud, I would have done so. Racing around the living room, I continued to toss my toys up in the air until I finally knew, I was home.

And there were no cats in my house.

Hi, Everybody!

Let me introduce myself. This is my baby picture, when I weighed just two pounds and was two months old. As you can see, I thought of myself as a writer immediately; that was two years ago, as I have grown considerably and developed an amazing (if I do say so myself) personality.

I guess you could call me a rescue dog. The breeder got into trouble for just breeding way too many small dogs, but before that happened, he'd decided to breed YoChons. That means I have a Yorkie dad, and a Bichon Frisee mom. I have their papers, so I'm legitimate, thank heavens. No one knew what I would look like once grown. I began as more Yorkie than Bichon, but now my curly champagne-colored hair looks Bichon-esque.

Look into my dark eyes, however, and there resides a Yorkie's brain. The theory in creating a YoChon was to capture the Yorkie smarts and the Bichon sweetness in one single breed. I have a tendency to make long graceful leaps, often jumping over one of the chocolate Labs I live with, racing down the hallway, scrabbling around, then racing back and...wheee!...jumping back over the Lab before he even knows what is happening.

Well, this should do for an introduction. Now I have to figure out how to make my paws hit the right keys to download a picture or two.