When Dwight and I left Sundance, he took the cat, Mandu, to live in a condominium at the base of Emigration Canyon. The dogs, Gorby and Midas, moved to Park City with me.

For three years, Mandu stayed in the condo with Dwight. With his LitterMaid, plenty of food, and run of the place, he never left. Literally. And, I do mean literally in the literal sense of the word.

But, after Dwight hooked up (again, literally), with a woman whose heart he broke almost sixty years earlier, I received the call.

“Honey. (I was “Honey” when something was amiss.) You need to take Mandu.”

“Huh? You love him.”

“I love him,” Dwight said. “But, he does not love Betty.”

“What?”

“When she walks into the room, he hisses at her. I can’t take him to Michigan.”

“Okay.” (I bit my tongue and did not say the obvious.)

Instead, I put a cat carrier in my car and drove to Salt Lake City. Having all of the security codes and a key, I let myself in.

I set the carrier by the door. Then, walked into the sitting area calling, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” I scooped up Mandu and held him, like a baby, in my arms. He was really fat. His long fur was matted. But, he purred in my arms.

Betty walked in the room. Mandu’s ears flattened and he hissed.

It took all three of us to wrestle Mandu into his carrier. He did not want to leave his condo, nor, did he want to leave Dwight.

I let the veterinarian know I was bringing Mandu home and arranged to stop for vaccinations and a quick checkup. The vet techs insisted on trimming his nails.

After one paw, he growled, hissed, spit, and urinated on them.

I scheduled an appointment to bring him back for his vaccinations and a groom.