Cats, Dogs, Guinea Pigs and the Kiss

In the shelter her name was Heather and she lived on death row. The Winnipeg Humane Society was moving and all adult cats were priced for quick sale. I was suspicous that those who couldn't find homes wouldn't last long.
After losing our very dear friend, Jet Jackson, I thought of the Humane Society. Jet was our first family pet but I didn't want her to the last. She was a guinea pig. She had one good eye and blonde hair.
From the moment the boys received her, Jet was loved. She was handled with typical boy roughness, yet she rarely bit. Until one fateful day, when, in some excitement, Jet fell from the hands of a small child and injured one of her eyes. After that, she became our one-eyed rather-reluctant-to-be-handled, guinea pig.
Upon her death, Luke and I asked for a cat. Dave laughed. Hadn't our experience with Jet been enough?
I thought about it. Was Jet enough pet ownership for one family? The answer was no.
We went to the Humane Society. Luke was anxious and his anxiety was vocalised in a room full of cages filled with cats and eager wannabe owners. People stared. I tried to ignore his behaviour but finally, without adopting a cat to take home, I hauled him away.
I couldn't help but think a cat was still a good idea and after dropping Luke off for some quiet time with his brothers, I went back. The shelter was closing and the cat we liked was gone. I persisted. Surely they could make an exception.
The pet counsellor looked me over. Well, she said, you could go to one of our satelite offices, they're open until six.
Petcetera was nearly empty. There weren't any screaming children, demanding parents or overworked counsellors. There were just three cats sitting like royalty in a room built just for them. I peeked in the cages. A black one, a white one and a mulit-coloured tabby blinked back at me. Black and white gamboled and entertained but the tabby just stared. With a little huff she walked to the front of her cage. I held out my arms and then, with a jump, Black Eyed Lighting, formerly known as Heather, joined my family.
For two years Bel, as she has become known, has jumped on our laps, slept on our heads and purred like an overworked engine whenever we have done something to please her.
Last Wednesday night she didn't purr. She stared.
And with such disdain too.
For three days she ignored Root Beer unless the dog came too close and then she would puff her tail.
Root Beer would inch backward never taking her eyes off the cat with the humogous tail.
Just last night, though, I saw something that I believed wouldn't happen. I saw Root Beer and Bel kiss each other on the nose.
Bel ran around the house after she tasted dog cooties but Root Beer didn't run. She just plopped down on the rug with a satisfied doggy smile that said: Now we're a family.