Their love was a perverse, yet passionate and star-crossed one. He was a callow, young charmer with a cocky, devil-may-care attitude and orange-reddish hair. She was an earthy type with a long, freckled nose and missing teeth. And she was old enough to be his great-grandmother. But they connected on a deep spiritual level as soul-mates. Were they human, poets and singers would have mellifluously immortalized them in song and verse.
Of course each had their rivals. She stood riveted, eyes wide and ears perked, every time a certain mixed breed hunk with a feathery, curled tail swaggered by the front of our house. Several times I had to prevent her from running down the street after him. He was the dog with which she most wanted to swap fleas. -- And yes, she was spayed!
Kitty-corner from our house lived a platinum toy poodle who let the callow, young charmer know she was game for anything; including getting kinky with a member of a different species. She was always throwing herself at him. French poodles have a certain reputation, you know.
Our dog was into her teens at this point, a senior citizen in canine years. We got her through mutual friends when she was a 10 month old hellion. She turned out to be too much for her elderly owner who had paid top price for this pure bred. Now she was looking for a good home. We treated animals better than family, so we were perfect.
"She's gigantic for a chihuahua!" I thought aloud upon 1st seeing her. The dog was about twice the size of our previous one. She more closely resembled a terrier.
"She's an asthmatic chihuahua," the lady told me, "they're a larger breed. They're supposed to help people who suffer from asthma. But I'm just getting too old to tend a pet."
Upon bringing the dog home, she went wild, tearing up everything within reach! Among other things, she pulled a photo from my mother's open purse and shredded it. She barked non-stop at a vase of flowers on the table, also clothes hanging on the line, too. -- She sure wasn't the sharpest stick in the yard!
Our elderly cat was not happy to see her. He had only tolerated our previous dog. And this one was constantly shoving her long nose up his behind. -- He didn't swing that way!
She had one really disgusting habit as well! The dog was constantly raiding the litter box and gulping down it's contents before we could stop her! Sometimes, she liked to just sit in the litter box and stare at the river outside through our glass door. -- Perhaps she was pretending she was at the beach!
It took us 3 long years to completely house-break her. For several Christmas's I used to sing, "Check the hall for piles of dog poop!" whenever anyone got up to use the bathroom.
The previous owner had named her Cocoa because of her chocolate color. -- I used to call it poopy brown! Seems every 3rd dog, cat, or monkey I knew was named Cocoa. I wanted something more distinctive! I suggested altering it to Cocote' (pronounced Co-co-tay) after a floral designer who once worked in our shop. But the lady had bitterly told my father off before she quit. So he adamantly refused to have an animal in our home with that name!
Our elderly cat died a year later. Soon after, we got a new one, a year old female from an ad in the newspaper. She was unused to dogs. Especially one who was constantly shoving its nose up her backside. It was an affront to her dignity! She ran away, back to her previous owner. They decided to keep her.
We found another female cat from the newspaper. A Russian Blue who was the same age as Cocoa. Her name was Tasha. She didn't take any nonsense from dogs! Big ones from down the street would wander onto our property. Cocoa would cower and want to be carried. Tasha would charge them, yowling with claws and teeth barred! And they'd run, too! Sometimes multiple dogs at once. It was hilarious to see!
Early one evening, the 3 of us were outside together. Out from the bushes sprang an impudent young tomcat less than a year old. He ignored Tasha and went straight to Cocoa as if to say, "Hey baby, smell me up, smell me down!"
The dog was at first startled, then confused by his attention. He began jumping on her rather than the other way around. Tasha watched transfixed in amazement, as did I. Soon Cocoa wagged her tail as she and the tomcat began to play a flirtatious game of tag.
He came courting right before dark every day. We learned he belonged to a neighbor at the end of our street. The only cat in a household filled with dogs; his name was Clyde.
"He probably thinks he's a dog, too!" my father used to say.
"Well that explains a lot," I said. My nickname for him was, "The Little Pervert." I remember the way his eyes lit up upon 1st seeing Cocoa.
The poodle's owner didn't want her messing around with any cat. So Cocoa and Clyde became an item.
Soon he was neutered. But that didn't seem to deter his ardor for our female dog. He continued to come courting. Both delighted in each other's company! They had clicked and bonded unlike any 2 animals I had ever seen before.
Tasha perished from lung cancer, which mystified us. No one in our family smoked! And the cat sure didn't!
Later that same year, Clyde was struck and killed by a car. It happened right before dark! Probably on his way to see Cocoa. She looked around sadly for him on many evenings.
That Thanksgiving, before our feast, I told my father we should observe a moment of silence for both cats. Only months later, we put our house up for sale.
By the time we moved to our new home in Vero Beach, Cocoa was nearly 16 yrs old and afflicted with Cushing's disease. We were told it was fatal! But she seemed to do well on medication.
Now she had a new companion. The cat that came with the house.
As my father's health continued to decline, so did the dog's. Her hearing and eyesight started to go. She became so arthritic I had to lift her up and down from furniture, and carry her on the stairs. Also she couldn't hold her bladder for long.
My father wanted to put Cocoa to sleep. But she still had that mischievous gleam in her eye, and she still enjoyed food. So I refused.
A few months after my father's death, the cat failed to come for breakfast. I found him dead outside. The dog's health continued to deteriorate. I swore our next trip to the Vet would be one-way for her.
A couple months later, I ended up putting her down over a dental infection. She was 18 yrs old. I was with her right until the end. As I held her in my arms, I assured her there would be lots of familiar dogs, cats, and humans to welcome her on the other side. And one special feline in particular, the great amour of her life, Clyde!
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