They Call Me Kitty

When people ask me what my Jack Russell's name is, I can give two responses: the name we gave her and the name she has given herself. "Your dog gave herself a new name? It must be really smart." I guess when you look at it that way it seems like a logical jump; that is until you meet the dog.

No, I'm afraid that the explanation is much simpler than that. Skippy's extreme insecurity as a legitimate pet in our household only intensified with the arrival of Kitty four years ago. Any attention given to the cat meant attention withheld from Skippy and therefore, signified Skippy's demotion to second pet. Skippy also began see how cool the cat was. She was amazed at how quiet she walked, how she didn't care about anything, how she didn't get scared or nervous all the time. The cat was like, "whatever" and Skippy soon came to envy the cat and became jealous of her innate coolness.

But what could she do? The solution provides us with even greater insight into how incredibly strange this dog is. Since Skippy quickly realized that she couldn't compete with Kitty with respect to her grace, poise, and overall lack of respect for authority, she decided that she would become Kitty. From that point on, she resolved not respond to her name the other 50% of the time and only respond to "Kitty". As you can imagine, this became very frustrating for us as whenever we called the cat, the dog would come running. Maybe it is because "Kitty" sounds similar to "Skippy" and the dog is confusing the sounds. I wish it were only a case of bad auditory reception. But the two sounds must be distinguishable enough to her ears because she comes to one and no longer answers to the other. I'm afraid this is a choice that is somehow meant to up Skippy's cool status in the eyes of her human cohabitants.

The decision to change her name was only the beginning of Skippy's Kitty worship. We have found Skippy sitting uncomfortably on the arm of the couch or on the back of the couch looking out the window: two of Kitty's favourite spots. Her face betrays both her eagerness for approval and her awkward discomfort, as her soft nest of blankets lies unused nearby. The cat also has her favourite stool, which she loves to sleep on. If she leaves it, Skippy immediately replaces her and takes up residence on the stool. She looks at us with a ridiculous smile. Yes, Skippy, you are just as cool as the cat.

In addition to this, I once watched the cat grab a rolled up sock out of the laundry basket and toss it in the air, then jump and catch it again. We were all amazed and praised the cat for her agility and prowess, and even took turns throwing the sock up for the cat to catch. She played along for a few more throws before she got bored and walked away. Skippy then jumped off the couch, walked up to the abandoned sock, nosed it a bit, then turned to face us, hoping to receive her portion of the praise we bestowed on the cat. We patted her on the head and told her she was pretty.

I'm not really sure how to conclude this. Skippy's strange behaviour provides us with many laughs because she's quite a pathetic little creature. She wants our approval so much that she will go to any length to obtain it; even to the point of impersonating the cat who despises her. I find it hard to believe that this is a trait common to Jack Russells, and although she had troubled beginnings, she has received constant love and inclusion into our family for the past eight and a half years. So really, what is up with my Jack Russell?

You are very pretty, Skippy; and a tad pathetic.