Dog Days of Autumn: Puppy Fever...

While cat-sitting for a friend this week, I did a little soul-searching.  Do I really want a pet?  The question is a recurrent one, prompting discussions with friends including Youtube clips of adorable puppies and cats talking to each other.  It’s a sickness; one that I think I need to cure soon.

Maybe it's time for a real animal...

The dog-cat debate is a heated one.  I’ve considered other contenders – birds, gerbils, monkeys, panted-donkeys, and living teddy bears – but in the end I think the dog wins out.  I know I said I wanted a kitten, and my backtracking may seem a bit hypocritical, but I’ve been watching a lot of political debates lately so I don’t feel that guilty.

I was in Uniqlo the other day waiting in line to buy socks, something I like to do – already a good sign for a dog owner – and I saw the most adorable terrier pulling at his owner’s leash.  I was on the verge of walking up to the man and asking him what the dog’s breed was (Parson Russel, I already knew) before punching him in the face and running off with the dog, leaving the socks behind. 

If I’d sacrificed reasonably-priced socks for a puppy, then you know I’m being genuine.

Stalker photos of dogs in metro...a sign?

Cat-sitting has re-opened my eyes to what I really want.  This week’s cat, Jazz, much like the previously-mentioned Cali, is adorable.  He likes a little bit of affection, he’ll play with me, and then he’ll vomit on the floor before hiding under the bed grumbling.  I can’t speak cat, not well at least, but I’m pretty sure he’s telling me in his British accent to get out of the house because he’s tired of me.  Cats always speak in British accents.

Dogs won’t do that.  First off, they have American accents, really cute ones.  A dog, I know, will drag me out of bed at 7AM in the dead of an icy February morning to go pee, but a dog will also sit at a café with me, go to the market with me, rush to welcome me when I come home and never get bored of me.  A dog will race me up the stairs to my fifth floor apartment, will beg for scraps at the table, will sit with me along the Canal as I pretend to read a book but really watch the tourist boats float by slowly.

Maybe I’ll flip flop again, but this fall, puppy fever has hit.  I’m taking applications for babysitters for next summer in case I ever need one, but I can’t imagine wanting to go anywhere where little [insert name here] will not be allowed.  Oh yea, then there’s the business of a name…so many details…