Of weenies and their loves

THIS morning as I was running about trying to get ready for work, I noticed something sweet. Monster, the weenie, has been in love with Addie the kitty, ever since we brought her home as a tiny baby.

She was only six weeks old when the girl smuggled her in in her winter jacket, claiming her as a Valentine's Day present from her boyfriend (and as such, immune to the 'no more dogs/cats/kittens/puppies' decree). We had just gotten rid of four kittens, Addie's "oops" litter, so I was in no mood for any more small crying things. But there she was, a tiny handful of spotted cuteness, with one blue eye and one brown. The girl promised to keep her in the crate and take care of her. "I won't take responsibility for this one." I said. "If you can't train her, she goes back. No arguments."

And so it went.

She potty trained hard, as dachshunds do, and cried all night long in the crate for months until we relented and let her sleep in the bed, where she promptly burrowed underneath the covers and slept peacefully, gone to ground like a little hedgehog. She was bright, funny and cute, and despite myself, I liked her.

And the cat did too. They would spend hours playing, then Addie would roll her over and hold her down with one paw while she licked her ears and her face, grooming her. Monster would lie blissfully while the cat performed her ablutions. We figured that Addie must have adopted her, missing the kittens.

Now, Monster's full grown, and their wrestling matches are more equal, and as often as not Addie will call it quits first, tired of the relentless energy of the dachschund. But there are moments, like this morning.