Reflections - Horror. Fascination. Bewilderment.

Lyra and Ellen (Photo by Chris)

I pondered my daughter Ellen’s text. Chris would like to know if we can bring the adorable puppy for Thanksgiving.

Would our tabby cat brothers—Ande, Rills, and Gilbert—be terrified of a four-month-old corgi invading their sanctuary?

Since mid-September, my daughter’s and son-in-law’s lives revolved around Lyra. Ellen had sent photo after photo. Under extra, extra-large ears, her brown puppy eyes could melt the north and south poles. I longed to see all three of them. Of course, Lyra could come. 

Ande, our ambassador, met all neighbors, contractors, and guests at the door. He expected everyone to be a friend.  He would meet Lyra and befriend her. 

Hopefully.

Thanksgiving afternoon, feet tromped up the ramp. Ande dashed to the door. Ellen, her husband Chris holding Lyra, and his mom Terri stepped inside.

Ande raced back to the sofa. 

Rills and Gilbert scampered upstairs and crouched beside bookcases. 

Chris set Lyra on the floor. She pulled the short leash taut and lunged for Ande. Her mini tail and cute corgi butt wiggled in delight. A friend. A playmate.

Ears straight up, Ande froze. His face broadcast mixed emotions. Horror. Fascination. Bewilderment.

Spence grabbed his winter jacket. “Would Lyra enjoy a walk?”

“Yes.” Ellen took the leash from Chris and led the puppy outside.

In the next few days, Lyra would get plenty of walks—actually runs. She dashed forward and back while people walked. She would wander leash-free in the loft. She would also join me in the bedroom for morning yoga—licking my toes during staff pose and my nose during downward-facing dog.

With Lyra outside Thanksgiving afternoon, Rills and Gilbert tiptoed downstairs and circled Chris, a cat-friendly human who obliged them with pets. Ande put his paws on Terri’s knees. I quizzed Terri and Chris about their October family wedding—lots of white, lots of rain, and lots of photographs.

The puppy came back. 

The cats scattered.

After wiping Lyra’s feet on a towel, Ellen set the puppy on the floor. She barked a greeting. In unison, Chris and Ellen said, “Hush, Lyra.”

She hushed.

Ande stepped toward the puppy.

Lyra jumped, lifting her front paws off the floor.

Ande halted.

Ande Checking out Lyra in the Amazon Box

The two gazed at each other. Ande inched closer and closer until his nose touched Lyra’s. He sprang back. 

Later, a text came from our son Charlie, Not feeling great. Going to rest tonight and head over tomorrow. So five, not six, humans gathered around a table piled with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, asparagus, green beans, peas, cheesy cauliflower, and cranberry sauce. Leashed, Lyra lay at Chris’s feet.

Three yards away in the great room, the cats took positions by the sofa—Rills on the floor beside the near end, Ande in the middle, and Gilbert at the far end. Their eyes focused on the puppy.

Her head rested on her front legs, her eyes drooped, and she whimpered disappointment in the standoffishness of the potential playmates. When she barked an invitation to chase, their stony faces gave no indication they’d heard.

After apple and pumpkin pies—no one had room for the homemade blackberry sorbet—Lyra and her accompanying adults left to prepare for Terri’s family Thanksgiving on Friday.

In the subsequent quiet, Ande jumped on Gilbert’s back and bit his neck. 

Gilbert wailed.

“That’s enough, fellas,” I called in my teacher’s voice.

Ande let go and tensions relaxed—until Ellen, Chris, and Lyra returned Friday night.

With Lyra on a tight leash, Ellen sat cross-legged on the sofa and held the puppy on her lap—puppy back against Ellen’s belly, short corgi legs resting on Ellen’s knees. Chris sat at the other end of the sofa.

Moving one paw, pausing, moving another paw, pausing, Ande crept across the coffee table.

Lyra stared.

Ellen grabbed Lyra’s sides.

Ande inched onto the sofa.

Chris petted Ande.

Ande lay with his back against Chris’s thigh and stretched his long cat legs toward Lyra. Less than two inches separated their paws. Chris kept petting. Ande inhaled the tantalizing smells on Lyra’s leash.

Getting to Know You - Rills and Sleeping Lyra
(Photo by Chris)

Rills preferred a sleeping Lyra. When she slept on the floor, he sniffed her butt. If she fell asleep on the sofa, he poked his head through the log armrest and sniffed her paws. At bedtime, he sneaked to the loft and sniffed the puppy sleeping in her crate. 

Following Rills’s example, Gilbert reached a paw toward the puppy’s velvety ear when she napped with Ellen on the loft bed. He pulled his paw back, though, without making contact and trotted over to eat puppy chow out of Lyra’s bowl.

The cats frustrated Lyra by not playing chase, but they did tolerate her. Harmony reigned in the log house.

No doubt figuring the trial period had finished, Chris set Lyra on the floor and removed her leash. 

Free, she zoomed around the first floor surprising Gilbert in the bedroom. 

Gilbert backed against the wall and hissed. The hairs on his tail fluffed making it three times its normal size. He jumped onto the bed then ran into the hall. 

I lifted him over the cardboard barrier we’d set up to block the spiral stairs. Letting Gilbert down on the landing, I expected him to dash up or down to safety. 

He didn’t. Scampering up four steps, he scooted through the balusters, perched on the wood railing around the stairwell, and flicked his fluffed tail.

Ande hid under the sofa. 

Lyra poked her head under but gave up the chase.

Chris sat on the floor and cuddled Lyra. She rested her head in her sad dog pose.

Ellen and I played Dutch Blitz at the kitchen table. In an exciting moment with both of us, slapping cards on the green pile, puppy paws scratched the wood floor. 

Lyra charged and cornered Ande.

He hissed.

“Hey,” My protest let Ellen slip her seven under mine. 

Chris threw his arms to the side. “She wants to be friends. She just wants to play.”

“When a cat hisses, that means stop. Lyra needs to stop. Now.” I didn’t want the cats to develop bad attitudes toward her. She’s cute, friendly, and part of the family.

Chris picked Lyra up and set her on the sofa, a corgi puppy playpen. She could walk back and forth but couldn’t jump off because of her short legs. 

The next morning, our son Charlie arrived for an early Christmas celebration. Gilbert curled up behind the woodstove. Rills watched from the plant table. Ande played with the curling ribbons Charlie dangled. Lyra, on the sofa playpen, contentedly chewed her new toys—especially the rope elephant Charlie gave her.

With presents opened and second cups of coffee or tea consumed, the humans scattered to work on electronic devices or play the new card game, Taco vs Burrito.

Animals moved too. Gilbert slinked under the coffee table. Rills and Ande curled on chairs warmed by human bottoms. Lyra stretched in the middle of the sofa. To my amazement, the cats felt comfortable enough to nap in the same room with the puppy, their idea of being friends.

Maybe, like me, Ande, Rills, and Gilbert are looking forward to Lyra’s next visit.

Getting to Know You - Gilbert Checking on

Sleeping Lyra and Ellen 2 (by Chris)