The Pied Piper of Pets

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My Beautiful Mystery Companion is the Pied Piper of pets. Three cats and two dogs live inside our house, usually scattered about on couches and beds like throw cushions. As she gets ready to go to work in the morning, most of them dutifully follow her around the house, all of them looking up at her with eyes of love. Or maybe they’re hungry. It’s hard to tell.

Mollie the Maltese and Olive the New Kitty are especially devoted. When my BMC retreats into the bathroom and closes the door, they semi-patiently wait outside. Mollie will scrunch down, attempting to see beneath the door, uttering an occasional whimper. Olive, rescued from beneath the dumpster at Olive Garden by daughter Abbie last September, now has the run of the place. She emits a tiny meow as she waits for the bathroom door to open.

Tater the Lugster Cat is usually more interested in getting some more food to add weight to his nearly 20-pound frame. Already, his belly nearly touches the floor. At least now he has both Mollie to wrestle with and can go outside to half-heartedly attempt to run. His brother, Tot, is unpredictable as to when he will bestow his affections. Rosie, the aged one at 11, mainly wants to eat and sleep.  But first thing in the morning, all of them display heightened interest in whatever my BMC is doing.

Outside, Pancho the Donkey awaits his daily bucket of snacks, carefully prepared by my BMC. It usually consists of apple slice, grapes, carrots and shredded wheat mixed together. When Pancho spies my BMC, he begins braying and heads toward the fence line, even if he was at the very back of the pasture.

On the other hand, I am definitely second fiddle to these critters. I know my place.

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My BMC was unsure what I meant when I called her the Pied Piper of pets. I guess she missed that fable in childhood. Versions vary. Robert Browning’s best-known poem is about the Pied Piper, written in the 19^th century. The account I grew up with concerned the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who in 1284 was hired by that town in what is now Germany. Wearing a multi-colored robe, he lured the rats plaguing the town – perhaps literally – out of the city limits playing his flute-like instrument. When the townsfolk reneged on paying him, he exacted his revenge by luring 130 children from the town. They were never seen again.

Despite my explanation, the BMC was not terribly thrilled by being compared to a rat-luring, children-abducting figure from a folk fable. Understandable. But the term has come to mean someone who is skilled at getting folks – or, in this case, critters – to follow them. And there is no disputing that she is the best at that, because they know she loves them. If she is sitting on the couch with Olive in her lap, Mollie by her side with her head resting on her leg, Tater sprawled out on top of the couch seat behind her head, and Tot on the ottoman on which her feet are propped, all is right with the world.

Rosie, however, is a problem. In her dotage, she has become downright gaseous. She can’t help it, but she can clear a room quicker than a cat lapping chain lightning. We spend an inordinate amount of time shooing the poor dog out from under our feet and into her bed several feet away. I am considering trying Beano on Rosie, after research indicated it is not toxic. It also might not work.

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After my BMC heads to work, and I’m home alone with a basketball team’s worth of four-legged critters, all is generally quiet. Tater and Olive often sleep curled up with their legs entwined, while the other three find respective spots around the house. I take great pleasure in watching them sleep so peacefully.

When it is time for me to head to work my evening library shift, rarely does anybody raise a furry head. They’re waiting for the main attraction to return home.

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