Our dog Tilly may look like a Jack Russell Terrier, but she thinks she’s a cat. She walks like a cat, she preens like a cat and, oh, yes, she climbs trees. This is her, 15 feet up an apple tree in our back garden.
She went up after a ball, or possibly a bird, and then stopped. She knew, and we knew, she was in trouble, but being a cat/dog she wasn’t going to admit it. She simply pretended to admire the view while we earthbound humans descended into chaos.
‘Oh my god, mum, she could die! She could like, fall on the ground and get totally squished.’ (daughter)
‘If she stays up there tonight, will we have to put her bed up there? (youngest son)
‘WTF? I was asleep, you know…It’s not even lunchtime.’(eldest son)
‘Get the step ladders!’ Get a sausage! Tilly! Come down now!’ (me)
But she was deaf to all our pleas. Eldest son, who’s over 6ft tall, balanced precariously on top of some step ladders and tried to get hold of her. But cat-like, she just looked at him with disdain, stepped out of his hands and climbed higher.
And then as we stood on the lawn, helplessly wheedling and brandishing bits of sausage, she balanced her haunches and leapt into the blue.
I have to say, I put my hands over my face. When I looked I expected to see a cartoon dead dog. But no, there she was trotting cockily off up the garden, pretending that nothing had happened. As we stared in silence, she leapt lightly on to the garden bench and and then arranged herself regally, waiting to grant us an audience and get some sausage. Because that’s what catdogs do, isn’t it?