Jim Kershner: Little one brings grand adventure in caregiving, hissing

We had the most charming experience at our house last week. Our son and daughter-in-law brought their 10-month-old, Miya, to stay with us for five days.

She played with stuffed toys, shrieked with delight at the antics of our border collie, explored our backyard, jumped a five-foot fence and devoured a dead bird, whole.

I should mention that Miya is a dog.

Reams have been written about the joys of having grandchildren. Meanwhile, I can attest to the joys of having a grandpuppy, if that’s even a word. It was an exhilarating – and might I say, exhausting – adventure in dog-sitting.

One of the challenges involved our elderly cat, Boz. He and Miya, an energetic boxer-Australian shepherd mix, did not see eye to eye. Actually, they did see eye to eye, for hours at a time. That was the problem.

They would lock eyes for what seemed like an eternity, emitting various unpleasant yowls and evil hisses, neither willing to advance or retreat.

Let me explain. Miya found both of our cats endlessly fascinating, but not in an entirely healthy way. Both cats interpreted her advances as borderline predatory. The younger and less-addled cat, Scout, dealt with this in the time-honored cat manner, by giving the dog a smart whack on the muzzle and skedaddling away to the top of a closet.

Boz, however, is past the skedaddling age. So here’s how an encounter between Miya and Boz usually went:

Dog: Approaches cat and stops at one-foot mark.

Cat: Hunkers down, arches back and hisses.

Dog: Advances an inch or two closer, apparently finding this inviting.

Cat: Slashes dog smartly across nose.

Dog: Expresses mild surprise and moves back to one-foot mark.

Cat: Stares angrily at dog and hisses louder,

Dog: Stares with renewed fascination at cat and commences to whine in frustration.

Cat: Hisses louder.

Dog: Whines.

Cat: Hiss.

Dog: Whine.

This whine-and-hiss standoff would endure for at least 60 minutes at a time, and I am confident in that estimate because one night, it lasted through an entire DVD episode of HBO’s “Rome.”

Do you have any clue how hard it is concentrate on the subtle political maneuverings between Octavian and Mark Antony when you have a hissing cat on your lap? Not to mention a drooling puppy staring fixedly from 12 inches away and emitting the occasional heartfelt whimper?

All I can say is: We even had trouble concentrating on the nude orgy scenes.

We eventually sequestered the poor cat in a closed-off part of the house, just to give everyone some peace.

Yet the rest of the experience was a delight, since Miya got along famously with our dog, Jack. They raced around the backyard, engaged in tug-of-war with sticks, marched around with stuffed toys in their mouths and occasionally attempted to perform biological functions upon each other.

These attempts were doomed to failure, because Jack has been neutered and Miya has been spayed. In a classic example of selective amnesia, both had clearly blocked out all memories of these operations.

Now Miya is back at her own house and our life has reverted to its boring, staid, puppy-free routine. I miss Miya and her energy and enthusiasm.

Boz, the cat, however, has been looking at me with an expression that says: Get a grandchild, for God’s sake.