Digitized and Pixelated

In my former veterinary career, I used to take on the occasional pet-sitting job as my schedule permitted. When I departed that field, I left the pet-sitting behind – at least until Pixel and Digit entered my life. Pixel and Digit are Papillons, a small breed known for their luxurious coats and – especially – for the way that their fur cascades from their upright, pointed ears. Their dad – P – is a graphic designer that I met through work. We had a friend in common, for whom I used to cat-sit, and one day our conversation took a turn toward pets. The next thing I knew, I had acquired a regular client.

P and his wife travel, and the “kids” do not care to travel with them if it can be avoided. That’s where I come in. In addition to Pixel and Digit, the household counts two felines as members: Stray Girl and Crumbcake. Both cats were originally strays. The dogs tolerate these feline intruders, for the most part, although there are regular moments of tension.

Together, the canines create an odd – yet oddly compatible – couple. They are close to the same age, seven or eight years old, but are very obviously from different parents. Digit is a boy, and he is practically a caricature of himself. His eyes are large (frankly, they’re a bit bulgy) and they protrude from the sides of his head in a comical fashion. One of the eyes seems to stare slightly off in the wrong direction at all times. He has a tendency to run about with his tongue sticking out of his mouth ever so slightly, and his personality matches his appearance in every way. His entire body vibrates with enthusiasm, and – when pleased – he cannot help but wiggle every which way. When encountering any sort of comfortable resting place, whether it is a bed, a pillow, a blanket, or even a yard, he throws himself at it and rubs his body to and fro, making snorting noises the entire time.

Pixel, on the flip side, is like a porcelain doll version of a Papillon. She is absolute perfection in a tiny four-pound package. Small and delicate, her itty face holds beautiful doe-brown eyes. This appearance is most deceptive. She is fearless, and patrols the yard for signs of any intruder. As a sufferer of small-dog syndrome, she doesn’t seem to realize the truth of her diminutive size and would not hesitate to take on a raccoon, despite the fact that a raccoon would see her as nothing more than a light snack.

The two dogs are delightful to care for – most of the time. Things get a little tricky at night, when I am trying to sleep. P specifically requests that I stay overnight at their house, as he doesn’t like the dogs to have to spend the hours alone. This would be fine, except for the fact that Pixel and Digit seem to believe that nighttime is a time to take care of many odds and ends (snacking, tormenting the cats, etc.) and that it is also important to be extra vigilant for intruders. To be on the safe side, they bark at anything that might be a noise. This is disturbing, particularly as the home is located in the country, where there is no external lighting. In addition, the house is filled with large, uncovered windows. This – effectively – puts me on display for all to see.

The first time I stayed with “the kids,” it took me some time to relax enough to begin to feel that I might be able to fall asleep. I lay in the bed, one small dog curled into each side of me, concentrating on relaxing each individual part of my body. As fatigue began to overcome me, and I finally starting a slow drift toward sleep, the night was split by a horrific yowl. I very nearly leaped out of bed. What in the hell, I thought, was that? My mind briefly ran through every horror movie that it had ever seen, searching for that particular sound in the “noises to be very concerned about” database. I didn’t locate the sound, but this was not all that comforting as I watch very few horror films – expressly to avoid fueling my already-very-active imagination.

As I lay frozen, the yowl came from the darkness again, but this time it was much closer. Pixel, lying next to me on the side closest to the noise, stirred slightly. What kind of watchdog is this? I wondered. It barks at nonexistent noises, but completely ignores the sounds of an approaching monster. Once again, the horrific noise cut through the night. It very much sounded like it was coming from the space right next to the bed. This time, Pixel lifted her head and growled. The noise responded. Pixel growled. I realized that this mutated noise was the cat, Stray Girl. It appeared that her mangled, roughen-up appearance – a result of her years on the street – coordinated with this garbled version of a feline voice.

Despite her looks, Stray Girl is a sweetheart. She loves attention, and it appears the night hours – full of darkness and silence – bring out the loneliness in her. The only cure for this ailment, of course, is affection. Unfortunately, Pixel was not about to let a cat on the bed that was reserved for the higher ranking members of the pack. As Stray Girl – desperate – leaped unto the end of the bed, Pixel sprang into action. With a fierce spattering of barking, she threw all four pounds of body weight toward the pitiful feline, who turned tail and jumped off of the bed. As her feet hit the floor, she let out the first of what would be hours of plaintive, complaining yowls.

Pixel, satisfied with her performance, curled back into place next to me. I sighed, feeling a sense of foreboding about the actual amount of sleep that I was likely to get. My fears were not misplaced. Just as my ears had finally learned to ignore the freakish cries of the despondent cat, and I began to doze off, the dogs spontaneously sprang from the bed and run – barking frantically – down the stairs toward the front door. I found it odd that they alone had heard anything that might prompt such behavior, but – since I was now sitting straight up and was wide awake – thought that I might as well check it out. I moved toward the stairway and down the steps only to find the two dogs munching on dog food in the kitchen, looking happy to see me as I passed through the doorway. Oh good! Their faces said. She must have come down to reward us with a treat.

By the time we reconvened upstairs, I had given up on sleeping. Resigned to a long night, I turned the television on and distracted myself with bizarre late-night offerings. Pixel and Digit, meanwhile, had made themselves comfortable and soft snoring emanated from Digit’s slightly open mouth. Off in the distance, I could hear the sound of my companion in sleeplessness, Stray Girl, whose yowls waxed and waned as she wandered in and out of rooms. Occasionally, as the sounds grew louder, Pixel would growl softly, not bothering to open her pretty little eyes.