Why I Don't Play the Piano

I have a great little dog who makes me smile and laugh all the time.  He is an adorable little thing - all white because of the Bichon Frise in his mix - he is also part Cocker Spaniel, and his name is Opus.

Opus does not like to be alone.  He actually doesn't really like it if all the members of the household are not present at the same time and will sit and wait in the window that overlooks the driveway until all his people are with him again.

Opus also loves it when people visit, especially children.  He can hardly contain himself.  Fortunately, he does not bite so there is no concern in that regard, but, at 2 years old, he doesn't yet abide by the "Stay Down" rule and just wants to jump in the lap of everyone who sits down.  He is hyper and, despite his cuteness, he is very annoying when he feels he needs to get to one of our guests.  And he's fast!  He can also jump from the floor to the chest of a seated person in the blink of an eye - so he MUST be relentlessly policed if he remains in the group setting.

I have actually put him in the car before (only when weather allowed it) when guests were visiting with a small baby, just for the ability to have a nice visit without supervising his behavior or listening to the whining complaints he puts out when confined to another area of the house.

Dogs are very unlike cats in this regard.  Where a dog wants to be social a cat will typically be stand-offish with guests, and let the guests know they are of no interest by a telltale glance of disapproval.  This does not apply to every single cat, I know.  In fact, I know this too well!

During my college years I lived with my sister, Debbie, in a 2-bedroom apartment.  We had always had pets as kids and decided, mutually, to bring a cat into our household.  Within seconds of the suggestion we were headed to the pet store where we found 2 orange-haired kittens to choose from.  We asked to get both out of their cage so we could decide.

I was handed a whiny little furball that shook uncontrollably as he cried.  He curled up in my neck but his crying did not subside.  Debbie was given a kitten with the polar opposite personality.  She tried to cuddle him but he saw the macaw bird perched on a stand a few feet behind her and he was certain he could take it down.  With the prowess of a lion he scaled my sister's arm and reached her shoulder in an instant.  As she tried desperately to keep him from leaping from her shoulder to the bird's perch he swiped with his tiny little paw, hoping to land a shot on the colorful bird.  He wasn't even close but his determination was evident.

We chose the hunter over the whiner and they put the tiny little thing in a big box for us to transport him home.  We were given strict instructions to not alter his diet so we splurged for the expensive food the store sold.  Far be it from us to cause a disruption in his eating habits and set ourselves up for what the salesperson ensured us would be cute little vomiting kitty with terrible diarrhea to boot.

In the car the cat cried like he was dying.  I have never heard a kitten who was less than 1 pound in mass make noises like this.  When I looked in the air hole and talked sweetly to try to console him a tiny orange paw with fully extended claws shot out through the hole and latched on to the outside of the box. His talons sunk into the cardboard and he could not retract them.  He was suspended inside the box.

Of course I had to open the box and rescue him.  Big Mistake!  I had unleashed the tiny little fury and just barely caught him before he leaped at my face.  This kitten packed a wollop!

When we arrived home we decided it best to put him back into the box before walking through the parking lot to our apartment.  We didn't want to lose him after all.  Somehow, he had already grabbed us each by the heart.  Debbie held the box open while I peeled him from my shirt and lowered him in.  All four paws shot out and he successfully prevented being deposited into the box.

We tried again.  This time, I gently held him under the belly with my left hand and used my right to keep his front paws contained.  Debbie did the same with his back ones and held the box open too.

Denied!

The next two attempts failed too and the little growl warned us that he was done with our game.

Debbie put him inside her jacket and held him close to her while we made the walk to the apartment.  I carried all the other stuff, willingly.  I was relieved to not be at risk of having my skin shredded if the kitten got spooked.

Once inside the house the first thing we did was cut his claws, a regular practice I can assure you.  He was surprisingly good for this process but we still worked together on it, one to hold him still and gently squeeze his little paw to expose the razor sharp claws (Debbie), the other to do the deed (me).  Then, the little stinker took off to explore his new surroundings.  Debbie was not injured in the process so we proceeded to set up his food station and kitty litter box.

When our little terror heard the litter hit the pan he came running and promptly christened the fresh clay.  That would be the beginning of a ritual for him and he responded to the sound the same way each time from then on.

From there he joined us in the living room.  Debbie was seated on the couch and she called him up to her.  He clawed his way up and she picked him up to give him a little nuzzle.  It lasted all of 2 seconds before he smelled the contents of the bowl of cream of broccoli soup she had eaten for dinner.  She left the bowl on top of the backrest of the couch when she was talking on the phone and had forgotten to put in the sink afterward.

Our attempts at keeping his diet intact failed as he immediately lapped up all the remaining bits of soup and growled when Debbie reached to take the bowl from him.  This cat had serious attitude.  We named him Murphy.

This tiny little devil maintained that attitude throughout his life.  He had moments of sweetness with us but he was mostly ornery, especially with guests.  Except for the friend whose perfume he really liked, he was content to show his disapproval with anyone who visited.  He even bit one friend on top of her head - just because he woke up and saw it close to him.

On one particular occasion I was caught completely off guard.  Debbie's electric piano was in need of repair and the man to handle the job came to the apartment.  He laid the machine on the floor, upside down, and proceeded to do the work.

Murphy was on the couch next to me, where I sat reading a book for one of my classes.  He took a good, solid nap and then jumped down to get a refreshment.  I watched him as he made his way behind the gentleman who was kneeling on the floor with the piano apart in front of him.  He was a pleasant and professional man.  He was dressed very simply, a pair of gray pants and a white, button-down shirt.  He was minding his own business, working at his task.

Something about him gave Murphy reason to stop behind him.  I saw the look in his eyes and recognized he was about to make himself known to this man, in a way that did not match his professionalism.

"Don't even think about it Murph," I warned as I put the book down and proceeded to get up from the couch.

He didn't listen ... he never listened.  In the blink of an eye I watched in horror as Murphy sprung from the floor and onto the back of the nice man fixing Debbie's piano.  His claws sunk in on the man's shoulders and he held on with great vigor as the man desperately tried to reach him over his shoulder.

It was a sight that has been burned into my mind - kind little bald man in a white shirt, flailing back and forth trying to grab hold of the by then 13 pound cat attached to his back with feline grappling hooks.  I swear Murphy was smiling and just enjoying the ride he was taking on the back of this man.

When I peeled Murphy off of him I was mortified at the sight of the ten dots of blood in the white shirt.  I apologized profusely and the gracious man assured me he was fine.  He finished his work quickly and left without another word of the incident.

I can't be 100% sure but I am fairly confident I saw my cat laugh as the door closed.

I am thankful Opus is not a loose cannon like Murphy obviously was.  But... just in case... I have decided it best to not play the piano.  If I played the instrument I may become tempted to get an electric version.  At some point it would probably need service and I can't take the risk of ever seeing that poor man again.

And that's why the world is deprived of my piano prowess.  Sorry.