Which one is really the king of the castle?
by Nick van der Leek
Over a birthday dinner, someone said that dogs, if they could talk would say: “You shelter me, you feed me – you must be gods.” Cats on other hand say, “You shelter me, you feed me – I must be a god.” Well, which is it?
I like dogs. They’re friendly, they’re simple, and they’re playful. Somehow, in the world of domestic pets, good looks are not enough. A sound strategy is just as important.
Dogs have obviously developed a winning psychology, which is why they’ve made it as far as we have. They’re boisterous, they work in a group, they’re not very subtle, and tail wagging is key. There are people like that. I know a big lumbering fella who has a big slobbering dog. He plays rugby, or used to, and his dog greets you by first plunging his snout into your crotch and then trying to wrestle you to the ground.
But dogs are different. We have a beautiful Jack Russell with a muscular body. On a walk, she is absolutely fearless; in fact, she becomes a terrifying little demon, as she digs and shrieks, and disappears for hours, on the spoor of a poor, hapless meerkat or some other critter. Her name is Jodie, and she takes no prisoners. Yet, off the field, she will follow you around hopefully (even into the loo), and jump off the ground, into your arms at the slightest invitation. She likes to lie close to you, seeking warmth, and when she does, she lies meekly and quietly. She’s a perfect little lady when she wants to be.
But I know another Jack Russell that is rotund, and neurotic. Her owner is into Yoga and New Age. Her woofie is a whiny, overweight, pathetic creature who lives under the shadow of the past. Perhaps she was kicked as a pup, who knows, but she’s never gotten over it. She’s a whimpering, individual, prone to weeing on carpets, and a blight on her species.
Cats on the other hand, are all about stealth, subtlety and a carefully crafted strategy. You’ll find a bounty of the smaller wild cats in the wilderness of the West Coast, Botswana, especially the close cousins of the domestic cat. Hunting dogs like the Australian dingo and Cape Hunting Dog are out there too, but struggling to survive as farmland encroaches further and further into the wild. Wolves on the other hand are doing well in the woods of Canada, Alaska and parts of Russia. But their big mouths call far too much attention on farms, and wild wolves and dogs often end up getting themselves shot. But who rules the roost at home?
Our cat, Booger, shares space with Jodie, our feisty Jack Russell, and 3 energetic, large and loud Labrador collies. That’s 4 dogs versus 1 cat. How it works is the cat maintains all the best territory – the front lawn and driveway (giving her face to face access to all the comings and goings), the kitchen counter (where handouts abound), and when the lights go out, the lounge. The dogs have to sniff around at ground level, and they get to frolic in a large back garden, often in pursuit of tossed tennis balls. The dogs do get special treatment though – they get taken for walks, even taken on holiday and to the beach, whereas the cat never goes anywhere.
She mostly avoids the pack of hounds, but when transferring from kitchen to lounge she sometimes has to square off with them. When that happens, she puts on a Garfield ‘in absentia’ gaze, and despite a little bit of mayhem, she moves on unruffled, so that the dogs begin to beg desperately for a ball – something, anything – to chase.
In the mornings, Jodie and Booger both love to lie inside the curtains, soaking up the morning sun. Often, she co-ordinates a move to someone’s bedroom by simply sticking close to a human that is wandering through the house. Jodie, ironically, does the same thing, but for different reasons. She wants first dab at the breakfast bowl because she’s also in competition with 3 bigger Collies.
Living in South Africa means you eventually get used to beggars. Your kindness is called upon when stopping at an intersection, when you park your car, and often, in the driveway, before you’ve even left your home. For many, begging starts in the home, where every meal presents an opportunity for mutts and cats to imbibe in lekker kos. The dogs have a simple strategy: stare hopefully. At lunch and dinner the cat is by far the most successful at scoring morsels of meat. She positions herself quietly beside her chosen patron, and when she feels like she’s being ignored, she’ll dab her paw at you. If that doesn’t work she either leaps onto your lap, or worse, jumps onto your shoulder, using her nails to hold on.
In our house, Booger – a cat – has pride of place. And not because we say so, because she makes it so. With calm precision, she gets her way. But she suffers from that most feline of afflictions – the hairball. It’s not pretty, and the dogs, I imagine, cackle like hyenas when they hear her coughing and retching, and finally gagging out a nasty grey gob all over the carpet. So much for style and etiquette.
Now, I know of another house where the odds are even – two dogs and two cats. One of the dogs is about as big as a brown T-Rex. The Jack Russell there looks like a tiny cow. One of the cats arrived as a young kitten, and the Jack Russell responded by bulging, and now she is almost bursting her mammary banks. In cat years, Maya is a teenager now, but she’s still milking the dog and taking the cake. It’s sad but true: cats, hairballs notwithstanding, do rule, and dogs definitely do drool, but we can’t help loving both.
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