Reflections - A Tabby-Corgi Christmas
Woods Walk - Ellen, Chris, Spence, Phoenix, and Lyra
“He can’t smell the corgis from here, can he?” I asked Spence, glad my long wait had ended.
“Of course not.” Spence’s mustache scrunched into a frown.
“Then Gilbert’s in for a surprise.” Hoping to achieve the “all is calm,” of the Christmas carol during this visit, I opened the door to our son-in-law Chris, loaded down with tote bags and a container of dog kibble. He resembled a male bear with his thick black beard and large stature filling the doorway.
“Hello,” he boomed, set the gear down on the kitchen table, spun around, and strode out.
Our daughter Ellen, arms extended and straining to hold the leashes of tugging corgis, burst into the great room. She giggled and jiggled in her new purple coat and rubber boots.
Like Santa’s reindeer, the tabbies dashed out of sight.
The corgis, Lyra and Phoenix, escaping their back seat confinement from Indiana to Western Pennsylvania, scampered in opposite directions. They pawed my legs and licked Spence’s hands. Discovering the cats’ water fountain on the tile by the sliding glass door, the corgis slurped long, splashy drinks then raced to the nearby cat food bowls.
Ellen yanked them away from the forbidden rich food and offered them Greenies, teeth cleaning treats shaped like toothbrushes.
After multiple trips from car to kitchen then kitchen to loft, Chris panted and removed his winter jacket. He zigzagged a metal fence with plastic tipped bottoms to close off the hall and spiral stairs without risers. This prevented the corgis from scampering, sliding, and plummeting to the basement. Chris removed the dogs’ leashes and flopped onto his back on the great room floor. “I want to relax the puppies.”
The corgis pranced from his chest to his feet, wiggled their cute corgi butts, and planted their paws on his torso for observing the tabbies that crept back one by one.
Ande, normally an ambassador greeting guests at the door and following the newcomers everywhere, hovered by the fountain. He tip-pawed toward Phoenix, a red and white male. Phoenix took a cautious step forward. With twitching noses half an inch apart, Ande retreated to the safety of the fountain.
Rills, our explorer, perched on the steps to survey the situation from an overhead view.
Gilbert, the most timid, observed from the floor at the end of the sofa—ready to dive under in case a corgi approached.
Curious but cautious, the cats weren’t horrified like they had been during the Christmas visit of 2021 when Lyra, a red-headed tricolor female, had been a puppy. She hadn’t been around cats yet and considered the tabbies little dogs. Expecting the cats to wrestle, she chased them. Instead, the tabby brothers hissed and fled with raised hair. At the end of her literal and emotional tethers, Lyra whimpered in frustration.
The corgis hadn’t visited Christmas 2022. But the tabbies might have remembered meeting the corgis last June. Lyra had matured and acquired two kittens of her own. They scratched her muzzle to teach her cats needed proper respect. Lyra trained—rather paw-whipped Phoenix—into appropriate behavior around cats. He’d tip-pawed toward the tabbies, giving them plenty of time and room to escape.
Phoenix did the same this Christmas.
We still made accommodations to avoid the mass hysteria of dogs and cats living together predicted in Ghostbusters.
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| Phoenix Tugging Ellen's Sock Off, Ande Lounging, Lyra Lapping Water |
Charlie and I stretched his foldout cot across the landing at the top of the spiral stairs because the corgis spent nights in the loft. The barriers let the dogs run leash-free and kept them safe from upstairs landing.
Not limited by six-inch legs like the corgis, the cats could easily have leapt the barriers. They chose to circumvent them instead—sneaking in to satisfy their curiosity and slipping out for comfort. Our son Charlie never had so much feline company in his basement man cave.
Top cat Ande had claimed this territory. He would cozy up to Charlie on the futon couch and glare at his brothers if they even set a claw in the doorway.
Christmas weekend, however, Rills and Gilbert braved their big brother’s ire and curled up on Charlie’s futon for hours one afternoon. Ande, who’d been monitoring the corgis in the great room, halted in Charlie’s doorway. The big cat scowled at his lounging brothers, arched his back, and growled.
Rills and Gilbert didn’t budge.
Charlie did. He unfolded the couch into its flat, queen bed form to accommodate all three cats. He patted an empty spot.
Ande glowered from the doorway.
Charlie gathered the pudgy pouter into his arms and rubbed the cat’s tummy until Ande relented, jumped onto the bed, and curled for a nap.
Food became a movable feast. Ellen set the cat bowls on a table. “That’s where our cats eat. The dogos can’t jump up there.” She lifted Ande and stroked his back.
He daintily ate two kibble from the bowl and fled. Since Ande normally eats by pawing kibbles to the floor, backing up, and gobbling, the table wasn't safe for the big fella.
“That won’t work.” Spence grabbed the bowls, maneuvered through the barrier, and marched to the end of the hall. There Ande could scatter food all he wanted. When Chris and Ellen carried the corgis to the loft for the night or took them out for walks, Spence toted the bowls back to the great room tiles.
Ande and Rills swarmed and munched. Gilbert waited until they finished.
Attention accommodating hugs abounded. Oh my gosh, the hugs. Ellen—a consummate cuddler—hugged, petted, and fussed over all the cats and dogs constantly. Chris petted and ear ruffled the gang. He also pulled on thick leather, arm-length gloves, plopped cross-legged onto the floor, and called. “Phoenix! Lyra!” Phoenix wrapped his teeth around one glove, shook his head, and snarled. Chris waved his free arm. “Lyra.” She trotted to Ellen for traditional cuddling.
Spence and I patted the corgis, cooed “You're so cute,” and cuddled our cats.
But the corgis growled at Charlie because he wore a hoodie. Not a problem. The corgis had four other humans fussing over them, and tabbies kept their familiar hooded-monster busy on cat snuggling duty.
With five people, each of the animals had as much or more attention than they desired.
And the corgis were patient. They didn't charge the tabbies. If the cats wanted to stay away, the dogs didn’t whine. If the cats came into the room, the dogs didn’t jump or bark. They never barked at the cats.
Lyra and Phoenix barked to protect the homestead. They barked at birds zooming into the feeder attached to the sliding glass door. From the satisfied cats’ faces, the felines appreciated this help. The corgis also ran to the glass door and barked at passing pickups—even after they drove out of sight. Though the cat faces turned to puzzlement, the tabbies didn’t argue with the corgis’ judgment on the matter.
The patience of the corgis waiting for the cats to approach worked. Ande and Rills crept close. Noses touched. Cats inched silently away. Not a single hair raised nor a hiss uttered.
Christmas Eve Day arrived and the Ghostbusters mass hysteria had been avoided. Mass mess hadn’t. Holiday paper crinkled, ribbons flew through the air, and five people sat in a circle petting passing cats and corgis. A half hour into the festivities with animals wading through wrappings, Lyra nested in crumpled paper to snooze. Ande settled between Ellen and Lyra to chew on ribbons. Rills watched from the fountain. Gilbert hid under a chair. Phoenix meandered from person to person. My “all is calm” wish prevailed.
That night in the loft, I collapsed into a recliner while Chris and Phoenix lounged on the bed. Ellen settled on the floor by Lyra in her dog bed. We watched the animated movie, The Queen’s Corgi. Unlike the previous night when the corgis barked at the real corgi barks in A Very Corgi Christmas, they ignored the barks of the actor voice-overs.
Rills Playing with Toy from Anita
Christmas Day morning, Ellen had the corgis perform for treats in the great room. “Sit.” A command Lyra easily fulfilled. Phoenix squirmed, eyeing the treat in Ellen’s hand.
“Sit.”
Lyra remained sitting.
Phoenix eyed the treat. He didn’t plop to his butt.
Beside the corgis, Ande pawed a long black twist tie, a leftover from yesterday’s gift exchange and a treasure Spence would have taken from Ande if Spence discovered it.
Dogs leapt to snap treats from Ellen’s hands.
Ande pawed under tissue paper—oblivious to the dogs, focused on the forbidden toy.
Ellen dusted her hands on her pants and walked over to the sofa. She sat cross legged. Lyra lay on the sofa with eyes shut. When Gilbert strolled past, Ellen gathered him into one of her famous hugs and pulled him across her lap for copious pets.
Gilbert faced the sleeping corgi.
Lyra’s eyes blinked open.
The dog and cat eyed each other. Lyra quarter-inched closer to Gilbert.
Ellen kept petting Gilbert.
Noses touched. The dog and cat eased away.
Chris, not a morning person, finished breakfast, and packing for their trip to his mother’s house ensued. Final hugs, pats, and goodbyes followed.
“Another day and they’d be curled up for naps, sleeping together.” Ellen waved her hand to encircle the tabbies and her corgis before stepping outside.
We’ll still apply the barriers, movable cat food, and human attention on their next visit, of course. But the corgis and tabbies have the situation under control. Dogs and cats living together is a delightful holiday treat.
Lyra and Gilbert Touch Noses While Ellen Watches
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