Edited by Hobo Hudson

Written by Wylie Hudson

When Hobo interviewed me for the job at his home, he conveniently forgot to mention that I would have to share the living quarters with cats. I was more than surprised at finding those critters in my new home, but they turned out to be OK, and I knew right away I could live with them, especially since they were enamored with me or at least with my tail.

However, taking on the job of a cat sitter is a completely different ball game. In fact, the cat I have to babysit does play ball, and from all the balls available, he has found a liking to tennis balls. I was always under the impression that tennis balls were the exclusive toys reserved for me and my fellow dogs. Anyway, despite my misgivings, the cat is a pretty good catcher, and we’ve already had some good games going. He’s a little slow in tossing the ball toward me and instead rolls around with it, but that’s just a minor snag.

Now back to the cat sitting job. Several weeks after I accepted Hobo’s offer and moved into his home, he told me I needed to help our mom with a difficult task. Hobo explained that for months, Mom had tried to move our kitty brother, Thomas, from the porch into the house but wasn’t successful in any way. Hunkering down at the door to the porch without moving away from it, Thomas cried and whined, forcing Mom to let him back out, and Mom finally gave up trying to keep him inside.

Hobo said he really didn’t understand why Mom wanted Thomas to move into the house because the cats had everything they needed and more on the porch where they were safe, happy and content. But he hated to see Mom being unhappy, and he always did his best to accommodate her.

So, Hobo gave me my new assignment to change Thomas into a full-time house kitty and take care of him. When I pointed out that babysitting had not been a part of the job he’d offered me, he said I shouldn’t consider it a job but an act of love or a hobby. He said he couldn’t do it because he had too many things going on and just didn’t have the patience for it. Even though I knew that if babysitting the cat wasn’t a job, I wouldn’t get paid extra kibbles doing it, I agreed to it—as if I even had a choice.

The first day I became a cat sitter, I found out it wasn’t work at all. I didn’t have to do anything. When Mom carried Thomas into the living room where I was waiting for him, he came running toward me, snuggled up against me and then followed me wherever I went. He barely left my side. I finally showed him a hidey-hole in the corner of the dining room where he now likes to curl up, and I’m able to take a snooze alone again. 

 

This has been going on for a week or two, and Thomas has no urge to go back out onto the porch. And I’m receiving payments after all, even for doing nothing. Every time Mom sees me walking around with Thomas on my heels, she pats my head and tells me what a good boy I am.