Who needs a cat?

I am not a cat person… it’s not that I don’t like cats, because I love all animals, but when it comes to personalities, I’m a dog person all the way.

I grew up with dogs and we got Rhoda when she was just 13 weeks old…someone threw her out of a car window on a busy street in Richmond when she was 8 weeks old. Through fate, when I was making sales calls to the local kennel (where she was thrown out — at least the barbarians had enough sense to make sure someone would find her), we met Gracie.

But I couldn’t keep the name Gracie for this dog and the main reason? I was seeing someone who had a daughter named Grace, whom he affectionately called Gracie.

After two days lamenting over what we should call our newest family member, we settled on Rhoda.

Actually, my mother settled on Rhoda. It came down to Pouncey or Rhoda and a stroy behind both.

Pouncey was simply because she was discarded and rescued on Pouncey Tract Road in Richmond. Looking back, I’m so very grateful that we did not name this dog Pouncey. But at the time, it was much better than my mom’s suggestion of Rhoda… and her suggestion of Rhoda came, not because she’s a huge Mary Tyler Moore fan, but because she was found on a Road.

To really understand this, you must know that my mother, at the time, had a dog named Highway and I’ll give you two guesses where this dog was found… first one doesn’t count..

My coworker and I sat there, in our offices, for a day, calling out to an imaginary dog to determine what we liked best and after much polling of the other members in my office, we determined, or rather, they all determined that my mother’s suggestion was the best… and we began to call her Rhoda.

I like it.

It’s different.

It fits her.

A few times along the way, we’ve added other dogs to the mix. We had Bert who died a horrible and sudden death at 5 months old. He looked like the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz and that’s how he got his name, Bert.

There was Napolean… he was the 7 month old Great Dane that we adopted, but when Tim and I split, I got Rhoda and he got Napolean. I miss Napolean, but I got the better end of the deal. Napolean was too much dog for me. And dumb as a box of rocks.

Rhoda is smart. Too smart.

I’ve thought about getting a cat a few times in the last few years for the sole purpose of working with me, against the mice. I thought that a cat might help alleviate the mouse issues that I have but I’ve never been able to bring myself to get one. For one, I have a fear of getting a cat that is afraid of mice, because that’s how my life works… for two, Sam grows in and out of cat allergies, and for three?

I just don’t think Rhoda would allow a cat in here. She’s okay with my parent’s cats, but we have to watch them or all chaos breaks loose and in a house the size of my parents, it’s manageable… in my shoe box that I call home?

That would be like a bull in a china shop.

But here’s the best part.

I don’t need a cat because I have a Rhoda.

A Rhoda that caught a mouse for us Saturday night.

A Rhoda that was so proud she deposited the mouse, sometime in the middle of the night, right in the doorway where all of us have to walk in the morning so that we would see what she had done for us.

Not only am I blessed with a Rhoda, I’m blessed with a Matthew, who quickly noticed an odd object lying in the middle of the floor, investigated, determined what it was and promptly disposed of it before my feet even hit the floor Sunday morning.

Yes, dear readers, I am beyond blessed.

Until next time…

Heather