The cat is a criminal.

It’s actually two nearly identical litter mates pretending to be one cat, which I suppose would make each of them only a half-time criminal if it weren’t for their long history of subterfuge and opportunism.

They are, of course, very charming.

When an adorable, clearly hungry adolescent kitten showed up in my parents’ shed several years ago, they named her Lizzy and adopted her as their own. It wasn’t until they gave her a collar and moved her into the house in preparation for a trip to the vet that it became clear there was more than one Lizzy living in the shed. Which explained how she had been able to eat such an astonishing amount and why no one had been able to agree on whether she was ever-so-slightly grayish or ever-so-slightly reddish. So they brought the second one in and named her Skeeter.

Mom was delighted. She has always been a magnet for strays, and over the years had softened my father’s official stance on multiple pets to a grumbling acceptance in public and outright soft-heartedness when no one was looking.

The dogs, however,  were not so ecstatic.

Sophie and Bubba were old when they moved to California with my parents. No one is really sure how old, but Bubba showed up in Cap Haitien almost 15 years ago, abandoned and hungry. Sophie showed up a year later in the same sorry state. Being intelligent dogs, they made a beeline for my mother and that was that. They had officially joined the family.

After a decade spent caring for 40 plus children at a church-run orphanage in Haiti, my parents brought both dogs back to the states with them. Shortly thereafter, Bubba and Sophie’s happy retired dog world was invaded by cats. They never really got over it.

She worries.

Now only Sophie is left and, frankly, the cats worry her. Lizzy loves Sophie and wants nothing more than to curl up next to her for a nice nap. Skeeter likes Sophie well enough but is prone to suddenly going wild and swatting at the nearest scratchable object – usually Sophie, by some strange coincidence. Poor Sophie can’t tell them apart any better than the rest of us. It keeps her on edge.

Today we need to find a dog ramp that will work in an RV because she’s arthritic. We also need to get her a supply of anti-inflammatory medication because she periodically throws her back out. And diphenhydramine, because she seems to have developed an allergy to her own skin.

Two weeks in an RV. I just know this is going to go well.