Paw Prints In Her Heart
Disclaimer: Victorious and its characters are the property of Schneider's Bakery and Nickelodeon. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. No profit is intended or wanted for this story.
Note: This is based on my own experiences since last September when I adopted an older dog and a very young kitten – who get along famously. Unfortunately, I don't have a Jade to harangue me and help with the my little goofballs.
I knew it! I knew, even before I got to the apartment, that Vega had done something stupid. It's like a sixth sense I developed when she started at Hollywood Arts but I fine-tuned that sense when we started rooming together in college. Over the years, I've gotten really good at 'knowing' when she did something to irritate me - not that she ever planned it. Like the time she bought decaf coffee since it was on sale. That can is still unopened and in the back of the pantry. Then there was the processed 'sushie' with an 'e'. Or the meatless hamburgers…
We lived in a three-flat in a building built in the 1920s. We had the first floor, two-bedroom apartment. Upstairs was another two-bedroom. Just inside the building's front entrance was a door to the lower level where the washers and dryers for each unit were located at the front of the building. The lower area also had some small storage space and there was the front door to the smaller, one-bedroom, garden apartment.
We were on a corner lot with the front of the building facing west. We had a small front and side yard and a fenced-in backyard. At the back of the yard was a three-car garage (my classic Challenger was in our space - Vega had to park her 'vintage' Toyota on the street). The garage opened onto the side street that ran along the south side of our building. There was also a small patio at the back of the yard behind the garage. Beyond the garage and patio, in the alley, were dumpsters and recycle bins.
Our neighbors were a young paramedic and his girlfriend downstairs who I rarely ever saw and two surfer-dude types upstairs. The surfers had two small, yappy-type dogs which, fortunately, were pretty quiet. I think they were lovers (the surfer dudes, not the dogs) but I never asked as I really don't care. If they are or aren't doesn't matter – I like them anyway. Even with the yappy ankle-biters.
I loved the building. The older apartments were so well built that you barely heard sounds from upstairs or from the garden apartment. An occasional floorboard creak but, unless the EMT and his gal had a rare, very loud fight, we never heard a peep from either apartment.
Anyway, after five days in the high desert near Yucca Valley, shooting some exteriors for an indy film where I was associate director, I was finally home in L.A. With what I was sure was an unwelcome surprise waiting for me.
As I unlocked the front door of the three-flat, under my breath, I muttered, "What now, Vega? How much am I going to regret the whole situation this time?"
I walked up the six steps from the building front entrance to our door, apartment one. I took a deep breath and walked into what I expected, hoping I was wrong.
I wasn't. She did do something. But what it was still came as a surprise.
As soon as I stepped in, a white shape charged at me and jumped. Two small but hard clubs hit me in my gut and I staggered back against the door, slamming it shut with my butt. As I caught my breath, I heard Vega yell, "George! Stop!"
I saw this beast standing and panting even as I saw Vega rushing up. Getting my wind back, I stood for a long minute, waiting for Vega to speak. Finally, I prompted, "Well? Why is the Hound of the Baskervilles in our apartment?"
"I, uh... He's a senior rescue. His family abandoned him and... You know I always wanted a dog so..." Then she scowled as she said, "He's not a hellhound!"
In truth, George was much smaller than a mastiff and he didn't glow with hellfire - at least not in daylight. The dog had a white body with faint black spots mixed in, like a faded Dalmatian. He had floppy ears covered with short, black fur, a white face with black around his eyes. While he wasn't starving, you could see his ribs and his pelvic area under his short fur. He had to have been injured at some time – his tail was only a few inches long. I later saw it was only less than half as long as a regular terrier. Even so, he looked like he had a smile on his panting face.
Vega said, "He's a Jack Russell mixed breed..."
Before I could say anything, I felt a weight on my leg then tiny pinpricks through my jeans along my thigh. I glanced down to see a tiny black kitten 'scaling' me - fast. "What the hell, Vega?"
"Jade, let me explain..."
By this point, the kitten was perched on my boobs and sniffing my face before settling on my shoulder, like a pirate's parrot.
Of course, Vega chimed in. "Aaawww..."
"Can it, Vega! What the hell is going on here?"
She was kneeling on the floor, petting George who had that goofy dog grin on his face with his slobbery tongue hanging out. "Well, we talked about getting a pet... I wanted a dog and you wanted a cat. So... I got the best of both worlds."
I let out a heavy sigh. In a tired voice, I asked, "Why?"
"Cat saw this listing for an abandoned senior dog who needed a home. His family abandoned him for some reason. She talked me into going to the shelter in Mission Hills. You know how she is. Anyway, I saw George and fell in love. I knew you would too. He's thirteen years old and… "
Vega faltered and I asked, "And what?"
"Jack Russells usually only live to thirteen to fifteen years. I want him to have the best for his final years…"
That worked. I gave her a very rare smile, "Okay, you did good, Vega. George will have the best of everything so long as we have him."
"Thank you, Jade."
"Okay, so you adopted a senior dog. Where did the kitten come from?"
"Um... She was abandoned too. No mother or litter mates."
That's Vega. She's such an easy touch. If she was Inuit, she could still be talked into buying an icemaker with the right sales pitch. Her big heart was going to get her in trouble someday.
I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there or not…
"How old is this little ball of lint?" I glanced over at the little animal. She had a white chin that I learned spread down her belly with white feet - the rest black as my hair used to be. A tuxedo cat…
"They think three weeks..."
"Three weeks?! How the hell do we take care of her? She can't be weened yet!"
"They gave me some cat food that's good for pregnant mothers and infant kittens. She loves it! They also gave me a small bag of litter since she's using a litter box already..."
"Litter box?"
"Well, a carton lid with some litter..."
"Carton lid?"
"Um...yes..."
"One of my boxes?" The tone of my voice showed my displeasure before I even learned I was right. When we moved in, a lot of my cartons had lids. All of Vega's had flaps that she could seal with packing tape.
"I'm sorry but, when I first got them home, I didn't want to leave them and go buy stuff. I didn't think you'd mind. Well, I hoped you wouldn't... When I did buy a litter box, I found out she's still too small to climb over the lip, so I kept using the lid."
All this time, there was a buzzing in my ear. It took me a couple of seconds to realize it was the kitten purring next to my head. The purring was so loud, for such a little beast, Vega noticed it too. "Aawww... Jade, she likes you!"
Ignoring that comment, and the pleasant feeling the kitten's purr was giving me, I asked, "And how do you know this...flea bag is a girl?"
"She's not a flea bag!" Some more spine from Vega. "The vet at the shelter said there was a ninety percent chance the kitten is female. She showed me a short video on Youtube. We should know for certain in five weeks or so. If she doesn't have little furry balls, she's a she."
"Oy..." I groaned.
"You're not Jewish!" Tori said, as she always did when I said 'Oy vey!' or 'Oy gevalt!'
"Neither was Fuji on McHale's Navy," was my standard argument. That less-than-PC 1960s World War Two comedy, rarely seen anymore, was a favorite of mine when I was a kid. Thanks to Fuji, the POW the PT-73 crew had for their houseboy, for years, I actually thought 'oy vey' was Japanese.
Anyway, Tori was standing, looking at me, a hopeful smile on her face, as George sat at her feet but he seemed to be edgy. I glanced to the side to see two big eyes (big in relation to the size of the kitten's head anyway) staring at me. That annoyingly sweet purr filled my ear and I refused to say anything.
I refused to give in. I wasn't going to let these beasts in – not like Vega. Their pawprints were in her heart like mine would be on the Hollywood Walk of Fame one day.
Finally, Vega had to fill the silence and said, "So, Jade... I think George and Gracie like you."
"Gracie?"
"The kitten. You know, George Burns and Gracie Allen?"
"Why not Donny and Marie or even Martin and Lewis? Better yet – Abbott and Costello? Oh! Laurel and Hardy!"
Tori shook her head, "George was already named and he responds to the name. See? He perked up when I said his name." She was right. When she said 'George', his ears twitched forward and that too-short tail flipped back and forth as he glanced at her. "So I thought Gracie would be a good name for the kitten."
"What if she is a he and drops some testicles? Gracie's a crappy name for a male pet!"
Vega shook her head then, ignoring my question (as usual), said, "I was just about to take George outside..." The dog jumped up and headed to the backdoor in the kitchen. "See? He's a smart cookie!"
Leaving the kitten inside, I decided to walk out with her and the mutt. In the enclosed porch behind our back door were the steps down to the outer backdoor and another flight down to the garden unit's back door as well as two short flights up to the surfer dudes' apartment. Just outside our backdoor, there were hooks for jackets. There was a retractable leash hanging from one. Along the adjoining wall was a tall wall shelf. We kept a few things like a bucket, coiled hose and nozzle for washing our cars. On one of the top shelves was a small role of green. These, I soon found out, were bags for picking up droppings.
Vega opened the kitchen door and the goof gallumphed down the steps, waiting and wagging his stubby tail at the building's back door. As we followed him down the steps, he started jumping up and down.
Outside, George raced around the yard along the fence then the garage wall before he finally stopped to squat and pee.
"Vega, you said this was a boy dog."
"Yes."
"Then why is he squatting? Boy dogs lift their legs and..."
She cut me off to say, "He had some kind of surgery in his belly at some time and... Well, it's easier for him."
George watched us for a minute then dashed on to the small patio behind the garage. The fence around the patio was somewhat overgrown but the dog dove into the foliage. Occasionally, you could see a flash of white through the green as the dog pursued smells with the occasional sneeze.
I sighed and said, "'Hooray for Captain Spalding...'"
"Huh?"
"'The African explorer! He brought his name undying fame, and that is why we say, hooray, hooray, hooray,'" I intoned, quoting the classic song that became Groucho's signature music.
"I know that... The Marx Brothers... Monkey Business?"
"Nope. Animal Crackers." I had to give her credit though, she was close. And Vega was never a Marx Brothers fan, for some obscure reason. At least she liked the Stooges…
"Oh! George did his business!" Tori squealed, dropping the conversation.
I walked with her to the 'deposit'. God! The smell! "What are you feeding him, Vega?"
"Huh?"
"That smells like…"
"Shit?" Vega actually smirked at me! Then she said, "You know, it's not exactly a garden of flowers when you…"
"Do not finish that statement!" Then I added, "And you're not that fragrant either, Gassy McFarty." Oh God, I used a cute nickname! I hate that!
Sticking her tongue out at me, she walked over towards the fence along the neighbor's side and knelt to pick up the dog droppings. "Eww! It's warm and squishy!"
"Vega, I never want to hear those words again!"
"As a phrase or the individual words? That'd make things hard to say..."
"I hate the word squishy!"
"That's not on your Slap page…"
"Can it, Vega!" Guess I have to update my page. I haven't added anything I hate in a while. That goony brunette was a bad influence. I mean, back in school, if someone had stuck their tongue out at me… Well, that gruesome scene in just about any version of The Mummy where the Egyptian High Priest had his tongue cut out for reading from the Scroll of Life... Ring any bells?
Meanwhile, she trotted out the gate and around the garage to throw the small bag of crap in the trash. Trotting back into the yard, she stopped at my glare but was still smiling. George bounced up to us, wagging his stubby tail happily. Obviously forgetting I okayed George's residence with us, she asked, "So? Can we keep 'em?"
I poked my finger in her face, "You're responsible!"
"Yay!" She pulled me into a hug and said, "Thanks Jade." Then, finally, came the kiss. I mean, I'd been home for almost twenty minutes with nothing more than a loving hand on my shoulder – the shoulder not occupied by the little feline fleabag.
But this was more than just welcome home kiss but a thank-you kiss too. And the promise of more later…
While we kissed, George jumped up and down gleefully.
Later in the evening, after taking George out once more, Tori came in the back bedroom we set up as a combination guest room and office. She yawned dramatically. "I'm going to bed…"
I took the hint and scrambled to save the new script I was working on, shut off the PC, took care of my bathroom needs (especially brushing my teeth and gargling) then headed to our bedroom.
The bedroom was dark but, sometimes we liked it dark and mysterious.
In the dark room, I curled up next to the small shape next to me. Then I felt fur.
Fur?! What the absolute fu…?!
"OW! What the hell?" Needles pierced my big toe, causing me to yell. I heard Tori snickering next to me. Well, on the other side of George who took over the middle of the bed. Then I saw Gracie in the darkness by my feet and I knew she thought I was a chew toy.
Once I pulled the sheet over my feet, the kitten left my feet alone but, from Tori's giggly squeals, Gracie was assaulting her.
I knew we weren't going to have fun that night so, with an exaggerated sigh, I rolled onto my side, away from the menagerie.
Only to come face to fur with a purring Gracie, laying next to my head on the pillow.
"How the hell did she…?"
With an irritating chuckle, Tori said, "She's speedy, Jade."
The next morning, fortunately, Tori got up early and took George out and fed Gracie. Closing the bedroom door on them, she woke me up the best way ever. By the time we had our fill of each other – for the moment – George was ready to go out again. Fortunately, the dog had amazing control.
Vega drove George and I to the local Petco. He was straining at the leash but still wasn't sure what to do in the store but he got into it when Vega led us to the dog section.
Don't ask me why but I bought a bunch of healthy treats, two big bags – different flavors - of one of the top-rated dry foods, some toys, a large dog pillow and an equally big, three foot by four foot orthopedic dog bed. Then, Vega led us to the cat section and I grabbed a case of the kitten food for very young kittens, a cat bed (more like a puffy cocoon), a feather toy with dangling things for the kitten to play with and some catnip toys.
I paid for all of this even as Vega was beaming like a goof.
Of course, the damned dog ignored all the toys, slept on the cat bed (which was smaller than his torso) and tried to eat the kitten food. The dog toys were a hit with the kitten though, especially the squeaky ones.
Later in the day, George did use his bed after throwing it around the living room a few times. (He either dug under it with his head and shoulders or grabbed it with his teeth to move it.) Finally, later in the evening, he did the same with the over-sized pillow before he settled down to nap on it.
Of course, Vega had to laugh about it being a throw pillow. Oy vey!
Gracie took her bed once George got up. She was small in the small bed. Also, she loved the catnip toys – something like one in four cats don't care about catnip. But she really loved the dog toys too - the squeaky, stuffed Godzilla, the long, blue dachshund with the squeaker in the body. Then there were the tennis balls…
Gracie wrapped her tiny body around the ball, looking like a toddler with an over-sized beach ball. Much as it pains me to say it but this was adorable.
When I couldn't help but laugh at Gracie's antics, fortunately - for her - Vega kept her trap shut.
She did have that irritating I-told-you-so smile though…
We have a full workstation set up in the corner of the back bedroom. A wide-screen laptop on a small platform with a widescreen monitor (creating dual monitors) as well as a wireless mouse and external keyboard hooked up. We each had several 4-terabyte external hard drives to store music and stories – both stuff we made and what we bought on-line. Also a printer-scanner set up as a wireless unit. This was my - our permanent workspace. I also had a tablet and a notepad PC, as did Tori, that we could use in the living room or in bed. All of these were tied to a wireless router/modem.
Once the kitten came into our lives, I laid an empty file folder across the laptop keyboard so she wouldn't screw up whatever one of us was working on by hitting random keys as she raced around the desk or decided to nap on the laptop. I didn't want to share writing credit with her, especially the gibberish she 'typed' - even though it was probably better than most of the dreck coming out of Hollywood.
We couldn't keep her off the desk as she had a nasty habit of climbing up your pants until she poked her little head out from under the desk.
And yes, it was adorable. Damn it!
The little pain in the ass didn't care if I was wearing shorts either. I think my screeches only encouraged her. And amused Vega.
I could hardly wait until she was big enough to jump up on her own.
When she tired of terrorizing the desktop, she crawled up to nap on my boobs. I'm better endowed than Vega but, when Gracie relaxes, I still have to help support her little body with my left arm. I had to learn how to type one-handed as a result. Have to admit I got quite good at one-handed typing.
Another favorite spot to perch was my shoulder. I could walk around and perform whatever task I needed to and she would sit there like a…a parrot. (I hate using the same descriptor twice, damn it.) If I had to bend over, she'd just walk onto my back then back to my shoulder when I was upright again.
Regardless of where we were – lounging on the sofa or working on the laptop - George would come by for scratching behind his ears and his neck or to have his head rubbed. Wagging his little stub would get his butt wiggling too. If I stopped petting him, he'd reach/jump up and pull my arm back down.
Like me, George didn't take no for an answer.
After the animals got used to our place, Tori and I took them to Petmergency for a checkup. George was good in the car and Gracie, in the pet carrier on Vega's lap, was fine after a block or two – I think it was the bumpy street that badly needs to be paved alongside our building than had her mewing at first.
The staff at the vet's were all oohing and aahing over Gracie, telling us how adorable she was. And George, with his goofy attitude, was a hit too.
Beyond that, we got a glowing report from the doctor, a pretty blonde named Gloria Sullivan. Hey, I'm committed, I'm not dead.
Anyway, Dr. Sullivan told us, "You've done wonders with these two. They are both in excellent shape. George is showing his years but he's in much better condition than when I examined him at the shelter.
"I only had a chance for a relatively short examination before I had to leave for another scheduled visit to a Northridge shelter. Due to his thin frame and his teeth, I accepted the family's information they supplied about his age. Now that he's filled out some, I have to revise my opinion. He's not a senior dog as I thought. I think he's closer to ten years old. He's no pup but he's younger than I surmised."
"I told you so, Jade! The way he plays outside and in the apartment…" Tori hugged me tightly in her happiness.
"You know what I think of 'I told you so'…" I growled even as I returned the hug. I was almost as happy as Vega that George had the chance for more years with us.
Gracie got her initial vaccinations and was due back in two weeks for a follow-up for the feline leukemia preventative. George was up to date on everything, fortunately.
Dr. Sullivan also checked out Gracie. "She's doing great! You two are born pet parents! George is healthy and more muscular with a lot more energy and a great, happy outlook. He obviously loves you two. And Gracie is developing in a text book manner. You should both be proud!"
I didn't want to take any credit and said so, "Tori does all the heavy lifting."
Tori shook her head even as Dr. Sullivan said, "No. I see how you both are with them. And how they react to you. Jade, Tori, you are both responsible for how well they are doing."
Tori nodded as she added, "Jade really is as involved with them as I am. She loves them too."
I just scowled at both of them even as Gracie launched herself from the exam table onto my shoulder. One ear was full of laughter and the other with contented purring.
As Ben Grimm said in the old Fantastic Four comics, "What a revoltin' development…"
Five weeks later, Vega was on a short domestic tour. Guess who had to take care of the animals? Yeah, I was so thrilled…
But, I have to admit, I preferred them in bed with me to really being alone when Tori was away like I was before the animals came into our lives. And the few nights Gracie didn't share my pillow, I…actually missed her.
We must've been doing something right too. As the doctor said, George was filling out – his ribs and pelvic bones were no longer easily felt, much less seen. And it was all dense muscle. He had almost no body fat that I could see.
Gracie was growing too. She was getting lanky and more sure of herself as she maneuvered around the apartment. It was more notable every week – especially when Tori forced me to look at the pictures she'd been taking with her PearPhone every twenty minutes or so, since we took them in. That woman must've taken at least four or five hundred of each of them in the first week. Then came the emails to family and friend, the Twitter, Slap, Facebook and other social media…
Anyway, while Tori was away, she called every day (as did I when I was on the road – which is why I'm still pissed she never told me what to expect that day I returned from the high desert). She always told me she missed me but now there came innumerable questions about the animals – taking the focus off of us. But she always told me she loved me and I responded in kind. And we both meant it with all our hearts.
Anyway, in one of the rare instances that I could sit on the couch and work on the notepad without that little pain in the…well, Gracie getting in the way, I was able to use two hands to work on a short story (and possible story treatment as well) that was almost ready to be submitted to my agent. Just a few finishing touches and…
An obnoxious odor filled my nose and I knew George had floated another air biscuit. He as a gassy little dog. Just like his 'mother'. Then I noticed the mutt was getting edgy and said, "George, wanna go outside?"
He was out of the living room, through the kitchen and at the backdoor before I finished saying 'side'.
With an overly dramatic sigh, which, naturally, was lost on the mutt, I let him out after making sure Gracie was distracted – she loved to dash out the door into the front or back foyer. She was so fast, I had nicknamed her Black Lightning.
Grabbing one of the small shit sacks (Vega hated that nickname but it was true), I went to the outer backdoor and let him out. As usual, he was jumping up and down at the outer door with that goofy expression on his face. I'd swear he was grinning whenever he got to go out.
Further proof of what the doctor confirmed, George definitely can't be a senior dog the way he bounds across the yard. He races back and forth, stopping to sniff a patch of grass on occasion, then back to running the fence and through the overgrowth in the back, around the patio. He spends a lot of time back there, snuffling whatever was back there.
For every five or ten loud sniffs, there was a sneeze. Have to admit, that's funny.
He was the same on walks around the neighborhood and trips to one of the local dog parks. George was a maniac at the beach!
Afraid of losing the creative spark I was experiencing, I said, "Dammit, George! Do your business! God, you farted up a storm inside!"
George ignored me, following a set pattern around the yard and the patio, sniffing and snuffling at just about everything. Including places he'd used!
Finally, George found some grass sufficient for his needs and spread his legs to pee. Then he was off to the races again. After his fifth happy lap around the yard, I yelled, "Cop a squat, for God's sake!"
George finally slowed down, sniffed near the fence, walked in circles twice and started to squat. Then he moved on, sniffing and deciding. I was getting irritated by my new 'friend'. Finally, he settled on the same spot he almost used! A few moments later, he trotted off to kick grass back over his 'deposit' except, as usual, he was kicking grass off to the side, away from his 'fragrant' droppings.
I knelt down and was hit by the 'aroma'. It was eye-wateringly bad! Blinking rapidly and holding my breath, I used the bag like a glove to grasp the droppings. As I grabbed the small pile, I could only say, "Dammit, Vega! It is warm and squishy!"