I Didn't Think I Would Mind Being Worshipped. Turns Out, It's Much More Uncomfortable Than I Realized.

Yup. I'm definitely a cat person.

I have a friend who has an adorable little toy shihtzu named Jazzee (after the Utah Jazz basketball team), and every day I bring Jazzee over to our house to get some exercise and attention, as my friend is home-bound and not able to get down on the floor for serious tug-of-war. For some reason, when she's here, I am Jazzee's preferred person. Even though the girls are the ones who generally take her on walks, if I'm around, all others rate only a quick, uninterested glance. I rate cuddles and kisses and constant companionship. She follows me everywhere I go.

Somewhat like a certain three-year-old I know.

As cute as Jazzee is -- and she's adorable, with a face like an Ewok! -- that kind of attention is exhausting. I was contrasting her devoted and glue-like loyalty to a moment when I stooped down and gave Lincoln a thorough and very purr intensive scratch around the neck and ears. When he had had enough, I went off to put the laundry in the dryer, and Lincoln resumed his interrupted nap, not in the least concerned about my current plans or whereabouts. Jazzee, however, followed me closely, not taking her eyes off me for a second so that I would not give her the slip and dash off to the bathroom and lock the door, or something equally heinous.

I promised my friend that should anything happen to her, Jazzee has a loving home with us. In fact, Jazzee had a sleep-over one night just for fun. It was more tiring than that last sleep-over Elannah had with a billion little friends running up and down the stairs all night long and leaving the milk out on the counter. Jazzee wouldn't sleep anywhere but on my bed where I was, and Husband was not having a dog on the bed. For half the night, I tried to pawn the dog off on the girls, only to have her click-click her little nails on the wooden floor and bound back up the stairs to my room again. If I left her on the floor, she sat and stared at me (I could feel it through my closed eyelids). When she felt she had waited too long, she gave her signature single bark. After a couple more minutes, another bark. Repeat cycle of pawning and returning and barking.

Finally, longing for sleep, I plopped Jazzee up on the bed at my feet, where she happily lay down and proceeded to make loud smacking noises for about five minutes before her final, tired sigh, when she settled into slumber at last. Any time Husband or I moved and jostled her, Jazzee would repeat her smacking routine and loud sigh before falling back asleep. Although Husband slept in between those times, he woke up with the impression that Jazzee had been smacking her tongue just about constantly through seven or so hours.

How do people deal with dogs? Aside from the whole training issue, how does one put up with that kind of attention? I guess I could get used to it in the daytime, but nights would drive me crazy. Compound her need to be around me with her incessant nocturnal smacking and the fact that Myles the Cat, king and chief ruler of our household, took an instant and violent dislike to the ball of fluff that entered his domain (and Myles is the one who sleeps on our bed), and there would possibly be some sort of civil war -- and not just between the animals.