Cats, dogs, trouble

I'm not the cat guy that appearances would suggest.

I feed them. I bestow the occasional scratch under the chin. I write columns about them.

That's about it. I don't let them into my lap. I don't mistake them for furry humans. They are never in my dreams.

It works for me. I don't see the cats complaining.

This orderly relationship falls apart whenever dogs charge onto our yard. The cats scatter. Their human keepers go berserk.

And for justifiable reason.

A year and a half ago, two dogs from a property across the way burst through an open gate. Before we knew what had hit us, our two geriatric cats were dead.

It wasn't done maliciously. I rather think the dogs killed out of an abundance of instinctual joy. Delighted to have two small mammals on the run, they snapped their necks without a second thought.

I found the bodies. I dug the burial hole. I visited the suspected owners and laid out what had just happened.

The guy was in denial. These dogs live with cats, he said. They like cats.

A few weeks ago these same dogs again went marauding. Again a gate had been left open.

The dogs left a path of torn landscaping as they ripped around the backyard trying to get our two surviving cats. Being much younger than their deceased cohorts, they escaped.

This time Cheryl's daughter was the witness. Mother and daughter made the walk over to the neighbor's property. It was a repeat of the last time. Emotional accusations were met with denials.

Cheryl vowed to trap the dogs and turn them over to animal control if it happened again. You'll have to pay a fee to get them back, she said.

Note the restraint here: You'll have to pay a fee. There was no threat to get medieval.

I praised Cheryl for her civilized response, while privately questioning if moderation was what the situation called for. Couldn't she have alluded to owning a gun? Or a baseball bat?

We tightened our defenses after this second dog incident. No more open gates unless someone is actually passing through them.

Which brings me to last Sunday morning. With a few idle minutes before we headed off, I was on the sidewalk raking clippings. When I looked up, I spied a large dog 30 feet away. His eyes were locked on something in my side yard.

A man stood nearby, holding a leash to which no dog was attached.

Cats, I said. We have cats on the property.

The man didn't respond. Did he not hear me? Cats, I repeated.

Again no reaction. Meanwhile, the dog was becoming more tense by the second. Finally a cat, a neighbor's cat, bolted into our yard. The dog let loose with a bark and began the chase.

This commotion spooked one of our cats, who streaked from under a bush and onto our porch with the dog in hot pursuit.

I couldn't believe this was happening. A strange dog was on my porch, terrorizing one of my cats, while the human on the street just stood there.

I dropped my rake and began chasing the dog. I yelled and waved and created as much bluster as I could. The dog returned to the street.

I looked at the owner. No peep of apology was escaping his lips.

I made a conscious decision to create a ruckus. I wanted to embarrass this man who was not apologizing.

Dogs have to be on leashes, I yelled. Twice.

As soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. Dogs have to be under their owner's control, but not necessarily on leash.

I amended my declaration. Your dog was not under control, I said. This is the city. This is not the county.

The owner gave me a smug look. As if talking to a child, he uttered the only words that he would speak during this entire incident: "It's a dog," he said.

It's a dog?

What does that even mean? Dogs rule? It's open season on cats? I couldn't imagine anything more stupid.

I should have come back with a snappy rejoinder. "I bet you don't let your dog terrorize cats in your neighborhood," I could have said.

Or, "If this happens again, your dog will be a dead dog."

As it was, my brain had no adequate response. What words would reach a man whose only response is, "It's a dog"?

The silent man and his happy dog continued their off-leash amble up the street. His nonchalance was infuriating.

That's when I yelled the only response that came to mind. "You're a dog," I said.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register, P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com