All my life I have been a dog person. My first recollection of having a dog was when I was a small child. The dog’s name was Bum. He was always on the run. He would jump the fence and away he would go.

The only other thing I remember about that dog was that my mom loved him dearly. So, I did too. Following Bum, my family had a succession of dogs...Candy, Lady, Boots.

When I was 5 or 6 years old, a stray cat appeared at the door. It was winter, so my parents broke down and took him in. He managed to outstay his welcome in less than 48 hours.

I still remember my mom saying, “I hate cats. They are everywhere. They get in your pots and pans. They get on the kitchen table. Out with the cat.” My mom hated cats. So, I did too.

When I grew up and had my own family, we got a dog, Fluffy. Then we got Barker. Across town my parents also had two dogs, and my sister had two dogs. You might say we were confirmed dog lovers.

Then something happened. Our daughter requested a cat. She was a mere three years old. “Now how could a little girl who is surrounded by dogs and dog lovers want a cat?” I thought.

Every birthday and holiday thereafter she pressed for a cat. Every birthday and holiday I resisted until one day my love for my daughter overcame me and I said, “Oh alright, we’ll get a cat.”

Then we got two cats. When I walked in the door, there they were, waiting. I loved to watch them play, swishing their tails back and forth, back and forth. They would also chase each other around the house at breakneck speed. As I watched them, I frequently would feel a smile on my face. You might say, I fell in love with cats.

Which leads me to a question I’m often asked. Can people really change? The answer: yes.

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