Cat vs. Dog

This video has been making this rounds lately, and it prompted me to share my own cat vs dog tale . . .

My aunt brings her dog over for thanksgiving every year, and every other subsequent holiday, which is fine; it can be fun, even, seeing a cuddly, energetic dog for a change from my erratic cats. The only problem is it sucks for the cats, because it usually means we have to lock them upstairs. Until this year, we thought it was for their own safety . . .

Les chats.

Les chats.

This year, Sabrina decided she’d had enough of this treatment, being a second class kitizen in her own home, and just sat on a chair in the dining room, right in front of my aunt’s full-size golden doodle, Harley.

At first Harley was fine, she was all, “Oh look! A new friend! Hi, new friend! (pant pant, tail wag)”. Well, Sabrina was having none of this. When Harley made a move towards her, a low growl emerged from this 7lbs (8 on a bad day) cat. Through this, Sabrina did not move, she stood – er, sat – firm from her bar stool perch, just staring down the dog.
The dog freaks out: it retreats, hiding behind my aunt’s legs, and Sabrina is still staring her down, meowing periodically, causing the dog to try and hide under the table. Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a golden doodle, but they are not small dogs.

For comparison sake, a stock image of a golden doodle. Aunt Cath, if you read this, could you send me a picture of Harley? Thanks.

Well Sabrina started crying, so mom said I could let her out as long as I held her. She’s a cat; this did not last long.

She quickly resumed her role of dominating the dog. I almost felt bad for Harley, until I remembered that she was literally ten times her size. Still, I admire that she ceded to the cat rather be swiped at (though we had anticipated Sabrina’s, err, catty streak and trimmed her claws that day).

The best reaction to this situation by far was my other cat, Dashall, or Dash, for short. Dashall is over twice Sabrina’s size, weighing in at 17lbs of cuddles. He hid upstairs in my parents room, knowing Harley wouldn’t go up there. The only problem? His food and litter box were in the basement. The only way to get to the basement? Through the kitchen, where the dog was. Maximum stealth and skill was required. While we were eating dinner, you just see a small head poke out around baseboard, and then, BAM, black and white streaks across the kitchen from doorway to doorway and then down the basement stairs before the dog even noticed movement. If Sabrina could have, she would have facepalmed.


For god’s sake, Dash. Stop hiding, it’s embarrassing.

The moral of this story is debatable. It’s how big you think you are, mind over matter, or maybe just bite over brawn. My personal favourite, though, is cats are evil, and that’s why I love them.

Ah d'aww. My squeaky.

Ah d’aww. My squeaky.

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