The Great Cat Controversy

Husband-and-wife journalists Bob Miller and Callie Clark Miller share the same small house, tiny bathroom and even the same office. But not always the same opinion. The Southeast Missourian sweethearts offer their views on every-day issues, told from two different perspectives.

SHE SAID: A little over a year ago, stepson Drew and I waged war on Bob.

I called it "Operation Getakitty."

For the first time in our relationship, Bob put his foot down.

No more cats!

I came into the relationship with two. Estelle is a feral black-and-white who is ferocious to nearly everyone but me.

Then there's Fletcher, a cross-eyed Siamese mix I adopted from a co-worker three years ago. Even with those two keeping things lively, there was something noticeably missing from our little family.

We needed a kitten. Drew and I were very clear on this point.

Bob insisted that crossing over from two to three made us the crazy cat people of the neighborhood.

I have several cat books, and one of them says you shouldn't have more cats than you have bedrooms. Well, guess how many bedrooms we have? There was no argument against that. Plus, Drew and I were stealthy in our attacks.

Eventually, we wore Bob down.

On a Saturday last September, Bob and I went to the Humane Society of Southeast Missouri.

We found a tiny little fuzzball who, upon scooping her up in my arms, immediately sniffed my nose and then sneezed kitty snot in my face.

It was that clichŽ of all clichŽs: love at first sight. Bob insisted she was ugly. True, her wire-brush tail was twice as long as her body and her distorted tortoiseshell coat wasn't exactly gleaming. But she loved human contact, unlike my other two. Here was a cat to cuddle.

We took her home that day. By the following Monday, she was a very sick kitten. The vet's diagnosis was pneumonia, ear mites, fleas, ringworm and an eye infection.

Several hundred dollars later, we were force feeding what smelled suspiciously like Robitussin down her not-so-friendly throat.

A few weeks ago, Scoop (as in a story scoop, not ice cream) celebrated her first birthday.

Though she was originally a source of controversy between Bob and I, now she's -- well, still a source of controversy.

She gave the entire family ringworm. Despite a deluge of baths, professional bug killers and vet-approved repellants, fleas continue to be a problem.

Recently, she's taken to using our favorite pieces of furniture as her litter box in what I suspect is repayment for our changing shifts at work and upsetting her schedule.

This morning, she coughed up a hairball on the carpet. (A whole house of hardwood floors, and she pukes on the one rug. Imagine).

"We just needed another cat É " has been Bob's constant chant for the past year.

None of that matters though, as long as she's there to crawl in my lap in the morning, hook her paws around my neck, stick her cold little nose next to mine É and sneeze in my face.

HE SAID: I had a temporary moment of weakness.

Ah, who am I kidding? I have a permanent moment of weakness, the inability to say no to my cute and talented wife or my brown-eyed, well-behaved boy.

We didn't need another cat, another headache, another expense. Weren't we busy enough with work, with Drew, with our relationship? I thought we needed a new barbecue grill. Some landscaping work in the backyard. Another bottle or two of steering fluid for my 11-year-old car. But not a new cat.

But the constant begging became psychological sabotage, like constant drip torture. So I did as I always do when those I love need something: I caved.

Callie picked out a wiry hairball from the Humane Society. She wasn't a pretty cat. Perhaps her great-grandfather was a squirrel or a ferret. But looks didn't matter. After all, we needed this sneezy, wiry hairball. She was so cute with her matted eyes, her ear mites and her spewing snot.

Turns out, she needed us. And between the vet and the Humane Society, they needed about 300 bucks.

We had to get several kinds of medicine, including one that was so bitter it made her foam at the mouth. She ended up biting the heck out of my finger. But that's OK. Because (all together now) we needed a kitten.

Weeks later, the cat needed to be spayed and declawed.

I admit the ugly wiry thing ended up being cute, even though her head is still two sizes too small. She's the most affectionate cat I've ever seen. She's a snuggler who likes to curl up on my chest.

She's also a furniture destroyer. But who needs an odor-free $1,300 couch?

A month or two ago, we were forced to keep all three cats in our messy basement because fleas had taken over our upstairs.

During this basement banishment, Scoop disappeared. We looked all over the basement, but she was gone. I thought she had escaped outside, so I got the flashlight and started searching the neighborhood for her. After several hours, I gave up. I couldn't sleep that night. The kitten was gone and I felt horrible. I needed her back.

I admit it. I had a temporary moment of weakness.

Ah, who am I kidding? I loved that cat -- had ever since I saw how Callie took to her back at the Humane Society.

And I've been paying for her ever since.

We found Scoop the next morning, curled up in a basket of laundry.

Stupid cat. Scared me to death. Who needs the frustration? Like I said, I have a permanent moment of weakness when it comes to those I love.

Contact features editor Callie Clark Miller at 335-6611, extension 128 or cmiller@semissourian.com or Bob Miller at 335-6611, extension 122 or bmiller@semissourian.com