Today is Ernest Hemingway’s Birthday.   Yes it is.  He was born on July 21, in the year 1899 in a little suburb of Chicago, called Oak Park.

The guy could write.   Most famous, probably for  “The Old Man and the Sea”,  “A Farewell to Arms”, and “For Whom the Bell Tolls”.   But you know…. he was extremely troubled for a good part of his life.  He had four wives…. not at the same time… but over the course of his adult life.  And…..he drank a lot too.   Sadly, he committed suicide in 1961.

Here’s the thing though.  He loved cats.   And had a ton of them, especially when he settled into his home in Key West, Florida.  (They were a bunch of six-toed cats, and their descendants still hang out there today.)  Yes, he loved his cats.

This morning I was thinking about my cat.  Winslow Homer.  I love her, but I’m not sure why.  I feed her. She eats.  She poops.  I scoop.  (Rinse & Repeat).  Other than that, we don’t have much of a relationship.  I am not allowed to touch her….except for the very rare occasion when she allows it.  And that is the entire extent of our acquaintance.

Most would say I am a bit of a lummox for putting up with it.  But truth of the matter is… I  truly care about that old cat.  And it is kind of depressing.

All in all… it seems that I am more of a dog person at this point in my life.  Dogs seem… somehow… happier.   Their brains are definitely wired differently than cats.   They run & play.  Heck.. they run in to walls.  Dogs will dance and sing.  Roll around with reckless abandon in  fresh patches of grass.  Chase the invisible.  Scamper.  Belly crawl.  Duck and dodge.  Protect.  Console.  Press their little bodies into yours… whenever you walk in through the door.  Wag tails.  Shake paws.  Pee on the carpet.  Pee on the carpet.  Pee on the carpet…. and… uh….. pee on the carpet.

Maybe that last part is why Hemmingway preferred cats.   He alludes to this in several of his novels.  For example… from:  “For Who the Bell Tolls”… he mused:  “A cat will be a friend for life.  His stare will make you ponder.  But the dog, oh the dog, will pee on your floor.”

That entire chapter was riveting.  Nonetheless….  it doesn’t change my mind about dogs.  Cats may be sophisticated… and thinking…..

But dogs are filled to the brim with moxie.    Seems that some of them are filled to the brim with pee too.  Despite that…. they are my very own most noble prizes…  treasured gifts.

Maybe if Hemmingway  had dogs, he would’ve been happier.  But then his novels may have been much different… like… “A Farewell to my Favorite Rug” or “The Old Man and The Pee”