My Life as a Pet Butler

A place where innocence is universal

I used to be a police chief in charge of a multi-million dollar budget.

I hired police officers and emergency dispatchers. I was responsible for the safety of an entire city. I reported to a city manager and city council and chaired both the County Police Chief’s Association and the Animal Services Administration. I even served as interim City Manager.

Now I’m a pet butler.

I used to wear a uniform some days, and a tailored suit other days. I carried a badge and a loaded gun. I wrestled with the politics and daily crises that all cities face. I gave speeches, met with concerned citizens, juggled personnel matters, and worried about the safety of my colleagues.

These days I wear T-shirts and jeans, the pockets stuffed with dog poop bags.

A place where innocence is universal

When my son was young, my wife took him to the local animal shelter to adopt a dog.

Every kid should have a dog. Every kid should know what it is to love and care for a dog, and to experience what is given in return. And what is given is pure, unconditional love.

Dogs also teach us what innocence is. What a soul devoid of artifice, selfishness, cruelty, and indifference looks like. Dogs show us what we should aspire to be.

They show us what our better selves can look like.

“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish — consciously or unconsciously — that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.”—Dean Koontz, A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog

The dog we adopted was a chihuahua and pug mix.

Some chihuahua and pug mixed breeds end up looking like lab accidents, but our dog has a cute little face and bottlenose. My son named him “Chug.”

I was a police Lieutenant at the time and soon found myself taking Chug for evening walks. One night a young patrolman was parked on my street. Chug and I approached the patrol car, and the driver’s side window rolled down. The young officer looked at the dog, and then at me. He didn’t say a word.

“Let’s keep this between us,” I said.

The officer silently rolled up his window. Two days later one of our K-9 officers strolled into my office with his imposing Belgian Malinois. He smiled and said to me, “This is what a real dog looks like, Lieutenant.”

So much for that young patrolman keeping quiet about my little dog.

However, Chug became a beloved member of our family. He’d rip around the house chasing after his toys, and he’s most happy on anyone’s lap. My son learned about poop duty, which involved picking up Chug’s droppings on the fake grass strip on our condo’s deck.

Back then, I was immersed in my career.

I interacted with Chug mostly after work and on weekends. And then, a few years later, my wife announced that she wanted an Alaskan Kleekai. “An Alaskan what?” I said.

She explained that Alaskan Kleekai’s are like miniature huskies. In short order, she found a breeder and flew to adopt our second dog, which she named “Nanuk.”

Thus Chug and Nanuk became the guardians and constant companions in our home. Even though I was busy with my police career, I lived in town and managed most days to come home and enjoy lunch with them.

“Such short little lives our pets have to spend with us, and they spend most of it waiting for us to come home each day. It is amazing how much love and laughter they bring into our lives and even how much closer we become with each other because of them.” — John Grogan, Marley and Me: Life and Love With the World’s Worst Dog

Of course, we had a cat as well.

When I first met my wife and we were dating, her cat “Einstein” informed me that he and Nicole were a package deal. And he didn’t care that I was allergic to cats.

And so, armed with allergy medication, I grew accustomed to life with two dogs and a cat. My son loves animals and enjoys all our pets, but as he grew older and matured, his time was taken up with martial arts lessons, school, and friends.

My wife and I were the main caretakers of our furry companions.

To be loved is to be the one destroyed

Fast forward a few years, and I became the Chief of Police.

My life became busier, and time with our animal companions was relegated mostly to evenings and weekends. Then, after serving ten years as Chief, I decided to retire early and become a writer.

My wife’s beloved cat, Einstein, had passed away.

We moved from California to Southern Nevada, and before long my wife missed the zen-like companionship of a cat. She always loved Main Coon cats, and before long she came home with a gray Main Coon kitten that she named “Skye.”

The dogs quickly learned that Skye was king of the house.

The dry climate of Southern Nevada doesn’t hold cat dander in the air like it did in the humid coastal climate of California, where we used to live. Thus, my cat allergy seemed to disappear, and I no longer required any medication.

My life changed.

Where once I was running a busy police department and racing to meetings, I now spend my days reading and writing in my study.

Writing can be a lonely craft.

It was a particularly monastic year in 2020 during the COVID shutdown. Skye kept me company every day on my writing desk. Despite his regal, serious-looking countenance, he was a deeply affectionate cat.

Of course, the dogs kept me company as well. But there was something inexplicable about Skye. A soulful presence that I felt deeply.

My childhood allergies kept me from having my own cat, so this relationship with a feline was new and magical to me. And Skye, despite his enormous size, was a sweet, gentle giant.

I grew to love him deeply.

But the thing about love is that sooner or later, it will break your heart. We barely had Skye for a year when one evening, he collapsed. We raced him to the Vet, but he was gone, having succumbed to an undiagnosed heart condition.

“Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.” — Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

I have lost pets in the past, but Skye’s death was devastating. In some ways, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

Then, after Skye died, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer.

They are gods

My son brought home a new, semi-feral kitten that his girlfriend’s family found.

He felt that my wife could use a “therapy cat” as she faced surgery and treatment for her breast cancer. And that’s how “Monkey” became a part of our family. Unlike Skye, Monkey is petite.

My wife wasn’t sure she was ready for another cat, but Monkey won her over one morning when he dropped a small, toy ball on the bed where she was recuperating. She threw the ball off the bed and Monkey fetched it.

He jumped back on the bed and dropped the ball on her lap.

“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” — Anatole France

Sometimes the universe doesn’t give you what you want, it gives you what you need. We may have wanted Skye forever, but his gift to us was short.

And then we got a cat who plays fetch.

Monkey and the dogs did a lot to help my wife during that difficult year of treatment. She fully recovered and remains cancer-free. Then one day, our pest control guy “Dean” told us his cat just had a litter of kittens.

Dean showed my wife the pictures.

“Don’t you think Monkey would like a kitten to play with? Someone to keep him company?” my wife suggested.

“Monkey has me and the dogs,” I meekly offered, sensing defeat.

Needless to say, we picked one of the kittens, and Dean delivered the little puff ball to us. We named the kitten “Itty Bitty.”

Itty Bitty grew into a sizeable cat, the opposite of his name. Which is why we also call him “Squish.” We discovered that, unlike Monkey’s aloof disposition, Itty Bitty is all about lap time and purring on my writing desk. He is sweet, loving, and soulful.

“I wonder if Skye came back to us in Itty Bitty?” my wife said.

“I often think that,” I told her.

I read somewhere that a cat becomes the soul of your house.

But two cats become something else. More like little demons running amuck in your house. And they’re not like dogs at all. They’re convinced that they’re in charge.

“Owners of dogs will have noticed that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they will think you are god. Whereas owners of cats are compelled to realize that, if you provide them with food and water and shelter and affection, they draw the conclusion that they are gods.”—Christopher Hitchens, The Portable Atheist: Essential Readings for the Nonbeliever

And so this is my life now.

I am an animal butler. I take the dogs for walks, pick up poop, change litter boxes, dispense treats, provide back rubs, and cater to their every whim. And in return, I receive unconditional love and affection.

It’s a good life.

(First published here)

Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essay about life, which pair nicely with a cup of coffee and quiet weekend reflection. Check out my free Saturday Letters here.