I've always been more of a dog person than a cat person. Dogs go places and do things. They're basically like extremely attractive people who never disagree with you.
I don't have a dog though. I have a cat. He's turned out to be the most dog-like cat I could have ever hoped for. He fetches. He gets into the trash. He destroys his toys. He's never been late to a meal. He exhibits canine behavior in almost every vain. If he started humping legs, I would not be terribly surprised.
So this weekend, we decided to engage his wild side and take him on our weekend trip to Tahoe. It got off to a rocky start, he was panting and meowing in that low growling meow that must translate to, "you will suffer for humiliating me in this most idiotic manner." By the time we had crossed the Carquinez bridge, he resembled a limp noodle. In fact, I barely recognized him.
Not letting me forget that he is actually true to his feline form, he spent the first night and most of the following day under the bed. But when we returned from our activities (for me, that was doing the swim as a relay in the
Tahoe Blue Xterra), he was ready to dismiss his sulk and get to know his new digs. He quickly returned to being the terror that we all love him for, sliding across the hardwood floors and crashing into doors as he under-estimates his turning radius, jumping like a kangaroo to chase his favorite toy (which he then proceded to destroy), and stalking birds and chipmunks through the screen door.
Matthes could very well be a good adventurer cat, as much of an adventurer as a cat can be. He'd probably stick his head out the car window if I let him. When it comes down to it, all he really needs is a sunny spot and the occasional scratch on the head. Oh, and a new toy.
Don't ask me how, but Matthes, the INDOOR CAT, has gotten fleas. In the past month, I have flea bombed, I have had pest control come and spray toxic chemicals, I have washed my bedding and vacuumed maniacally, I have put Matthes on Advantage (a funny story for another blog entry). And tonight, I returned from a wonderfully relaxing and flea-free weekend at Sea Ranch to find fleas, fleas and more fleas. I decided it was time to give Matthes a flea bath. 
I was expecting the worst and thought I was going to walk away from the bath with Matthes carvings on any piece of exposed flesh. He was actually fairly reserved. He just sat there in the tub, he seemed resigned. I almost didn't recognize him.
