I now know how many doors are in our house. At first, I wasn't sure, but then it rained. It rained so hard it poured cats and dogs. It rained millions of cats and dogs! Cats and dogs all over the place.
No, wait. Those are my cats and dogs.
Well, it FEELS like there are a million of them, especially when they all want to go outside. I open one door. One of my pets sticks his head out and says, "Fu.....I don't want to go out in that!"
I close the door. They see another door and I can see them think “Hey, Maybe the Sun is shining out that door!” So they go scratch that one.
Repeat to infinity. I've been opening doors for cats and dogs all day.

At this moment, Baby, my California Spangler cat is clawing the back door. He just looked out there 5 minutes ago, but now, he's back. I don't know whether this proves that cats have no short term memory or that they just love to yank my chain. When I get up to open the door, is he peeking back around my ankles at the other pets? Is he hiding his giggles behind his paw?
" Look! She's doing it again! Okay, now Lionel, you go to the front door upstairs. And bark real loud like there’s an intruder! God, this is GREAT!"
I've probably logged 40 miles today just opening doors. We have a lot of them. I have a door to the front drive, a door to the kitchen porch, a door to the bedroom porch a door to the steps going up from my office and then there's the door to the to the back porch and wait, there's the door to the other side steps.
I fully expect that if Fab Five were to come and excavate a wall here, they would find a doorway no matter which wall they chose. With all these getaways, I'm pretty sure this house was formerly owned by a priest or Janet Jackson’s dress maker.
I love my animal companions. I must because what other kind of nut wakes up at 3 am in the morning because her cat wants to eat?
Chippy, my tabby cat, has figured out that if he hooks a claw into the screen door to our bedroom porch, he can pull it back and then release it like a sling shot.
THWACK! At 3 AM.
Every night.
For WEEKS!
I usually respond with "Chip. I’m gonna kill… Snortzzzzzz."
Then he repeats the process until I am slowly driven insane. I leap out of bed before Glenn does because Glenn wants to make Chippy our first Astronaut pet. I reach down to grab the little Shi…Chip, but he's already running for the food dish, "MEOWING" the whole way.
It's like this:
“ Chip."
" REOW!"
" Chip!"
" REEEEOOOW!"
" CHIPPY! SHUT UP!"
It doesn't work. He only shuts up when his belly's full.

Why do I put up with this? Well, last year I was really sad and lonely, and Chippy would snuggle with me and make me remember that one little being loves me. Actually, they are all pretty good at that. Even the Big Dog.
Lionel, my other furry son, drives me crazy in different ways. He insists on holding hands all day long. Doesn't matter where I am, this dog just has to reach out and touch me. He's a very loving cross between a golden retriever and a lab. He's a very loving cross between a golden retriever and a labrador. Yes, I have a cross between a golden retriever and a lab. Some people call that a ... pitbull. That breed has gotten a bad rap. It's like me saying, "Hi! I'm Carol and I’m bipolar. Please hide your knives and not to worry, I left my Uzi in the car."
It’s a real icebreaker.

At the doggie park, when people see Lionel, they back away; their eyes bulge, and they say, " I don't allow my dog to sniff other dogs.”
This drives me nuts. Why the heck did they come to a park then?
This is usually followed by “Shouldn’t your dog be on a leash?"
They are just so scared my dog is going to eat theirs. And which owner has more control over their pet? The one with the pet hanging himself on a leash yapping his head off ? Or the one whose dog comes on voice commands, “Lionel, come, get the Uzi out of the car, sit, stay.”
Of course, as soon as my back is turned, a toy poodle walks up, and their dog becomes an instant proctologist. Then the two pet owners start talking like they've known each other since their first screenplay was produced.
It's okay.
Glenn taught me to say, “Come on Lionel. Don’t play with your food. Leave that lunch alone.”

Lucie, our oldest, is not a dog. Lucie is a person in fur. If you say "Sit!" to Lucie, she looks at you as if you suddenly were speaking a foreign language.
" I'm sorry, did you mistake me for …a dog?" her eyes say in disbelief.
She can do that. In dog years, she's even older than me. That’s an OLD lady dog.
Lionel is smart. I'm sure eventually, I will teach that dog to pee in the toilet. I look forward to the day when I can say, “Lionel will you lock the door and shut out the light?”
But for now, I’ll just sit and hold hands with him while I read a book. He's my other boyfriend.
Lionel is for the couch and for the park. Lucie is by the fire and by my desk. Chippy is for my TV lap. Baby is my bathroom cat. His former owners were a fraternity who did panty raids; I’m sure. As soon as I sit down, he has to twirl around my underwear asking me to pet him. He’s also my alarm clock.
If I’m still working at 2 am, he climbs up next to me, stretches out his claws and tattoos my arms. Then he gives me a look that says, "Turn off the F--ing light already!"
So, I go to bed. I don't like to tick him off. Those claws even scare Lionel.
Then there's Spark, the matriarch of the house. Sparky our black and white cat weighs about 13 pounds. She keeps after the boys. If I am worried about Baby or Chippy, I send Spark out to find them. In five minutes, they are all back at the door with Sparky chastising them the whole way. Sparky is a talker. She has conversations with me all day. She will walk into whatever room I'm in and say, "Mrow?"
" What Spark?"
" Oh, mrown." (Oh nothing.)
" Watcha doin' Spark?"
Big sigh, "Oh, mrow ow." (Oh, nothing much.) "Mup Mroow?" (Can I have a treat?)
" Okay."
“ Mup, Moor.” (Thanks, Mom.)
My feline name is "Moor." I know this because Chippy and Baby call me this too.
Glenn has noticed that all 5 pets gravitate in my general vicinity most of the time. That is except for Saturdays. Saturday is big dog day at our house. Everybody sleeps late. I am usually the first one to crack open an eyelid. As soon as I do, Sparky asks if she can come up and snuggle. How does she know I am awake?
It's a cat thing.
Sparky jumps up, and nanoseconds later, Lionel launches himself on to Glenn. They have this big fake dog fight
every Saturday. Lionel wants Glenn to wake up, and Glenn wants to sleep, so I say my favorite three words.
" Lick him, Lionel."
And Lionel licks Glenn's face and his arms and his neck, wherever he can find a spot. Glenn tries to hide under the covers, but Lionel digs him out and usually gets his ears. This is a good thing since the Big Dog doesn't always clean his ears. Finally, Glenn shouts "OOOFFF!" and launches Lionel into space. Then Lionel defies gravity and turns in mid air landing “THUMP!” on Glenn’s chest.
Now this sounds pretty scary when you remember Lionel is a pit bull. And it looks pretty scary when you see those mean teeth and that steely jaw so close to Glenn's face and back and behind, and other stuff but…the dog never bites.
He just licks Glenn to death.

What do I do? I laugh. I laugh till my sides ache because Glenn is shouting, "Lick her! No, you stupid dog! Not my ears! Lick Mom! Augh!"
See, I taught him. Lionel knows he’s not allowed to slobber all over me. He gives me kisses by putting his cheek next to mine.
That's it.
No licks.
But Glenn the Big Dog gets showered with drooly affection.
It's the funniest dang thing to witness. It really launches the weekend.
They are all my very precious to me Baby, Chippy, Sparky, Lionel and Lucie.
And of course, my Big Dog, Glenn.
How many doors do I have? I’m not sure, but there are at least six that lead to my heart.

That’s the latest from La La Land.

Now, fine folks, your job if you choose to accept it is to email Carol Wood at Carol@hazelst.com And tell her to be brave!

(Can't you just hear the Mission Impossible music?)