Mullis: If fur peace is possible, why not world peace?

When our beloved dog died, we rescued a couple of cats because we wanted to pet something that wasn’t a dog.

And they weren’t dogs. They showed up when they wanted to show up, dissolved into the shadows like ghosts, and negotiated the terms for affection. The only thing remotely doggish about them was their love of food.

So, we brought in a puppy because we wanted to pet something that was a dog. We got another Labrador, a breed which has “adore” in the name. Sure enough, he adores us – he’s glued to our sides, quick with a kiss, and absorbs affection like a sponge.

I was nervous about mixing the two species and rightly so. The cliché “fighting like cats and dogs” summed up their first meeting.

The chubby, curious puppy waddled up to the lean, territorial cat sisters. The shy cat fled, the bold cat fluffed up to the size of a Tom turkey, hissed like a raccoon, and arched her back like a bear-trap. Being a Labrador, he figured this was nothing a wet kiss couldn’t fix. She swiped him across the nose, claws out.

Crying and chaos ensued.

Discord reigned for months. If the dog came in, the cats went out. If the cats were on the dog’s bed, he found another bed. If he tried to join their cat-games, they jumped to the top of the fridge and meowed.

Slowly, things changed. When we let the dog out, the cats would gather at the window and watch. One dark winter morning, the shy cat followed him out without me noticing. Immediately, she started mewing, but I couldn’t find her. The dog did, pouncing on her hiding spot with unrestrained joy. She shrieked, but she didn’t swipe.

A few months later, I took the dog to the kennel because we were leaving on a week-long trip. When I came home without the dog, the cats started following me around, squawking as if to say, “Hey, did you forget someone?”

Over time, the dog learn to belly-crawl to where the cats rested, and the cats stayed put. Sometimes the cats settled beside the dog – not touching, just by him – and he would stay put. Sometimes he would test the waters with a kiss, and the cats would swat him on the nose, no claws.

One morning I caught the bold cat rubbing against the dog’s face and neck, purring. The dog sat still, no kisses. Soon this was a daily snuggle, her dog-like affection, his cat-like indifference. They began following each other around, without incident, even playing rowdy games of hockey using one of my flash drives for a puck.

Once, they committed a crime together. Usually, I crate the dog when I leave, but this time I decided to trust him. Wrong decision. The pets teamed up to achieve a common goal – more food. The dog knocked over a new bag of cat food I had by the door. The cats perforated the foil with their sharp claws and teeth, and my husband came home to find them breaking bread together.

When my husband reported their naughtiness, I had to laugh.

When I read the news in the morning, it’s usually with two cats on my lap and a dog at my feet. Most days I need the comfort. The world can be so ugly and our reactions to this ugliness even uglier. People fight like cats and dogs over everything.

No, it’s worse than cats and dogs. We fight like human beings who refuse to tolerate each other, much less break bread together. If only we could tap into the common sense God gave cats and dogs.

If “fur peace” is possible, why not world peace?

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith." Contact her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com.