Katie Up and Down the Hall: The True Story of How One Dog Turned Five Neighbors Into a Family by Glenn Plaskin

prospective competitor for my affection
     and relieve herself.
    Such were her strong opinions.

C HAPTER N INE
A Real Pearl
    K atie idolized her mom down the hall and followed Pearl around incessantly, while she also continued her busybody walks at
     sunset—herding together the pack of seniors who had adopted her as their prized mascot.
    But outside of Manhattan, my dog’s favorite person was my grandmother, Essie. Each Thanksgiving when we went home to Buffalo,
     Nana fussed over Katie, and, later, actively kept tabs on her adventures in New York via the phone.
    I can still see Nana and Katie sitting together on the orange velvet couch in my mom’s living room—Nana combing out Katie’s
     ears as my dog snoozed in her lap, oblivious to being primped while deliciously comforted by my grandmother’s presence.
    Very sadly, my Nana died of bone cancer in 1990 at age ninety-one, her passing leaving a great hole in our family—and in my
     heart.
    Katie went to Nana’s funeral, sitting obediently at the graveside, her ears blowing in the brisk November wind. Later that
     day, she climbed into my mom’s lap to comfort her, licking her face.
    “I’ll never forget when Katie crawled up on top of me,” my mom later reflected, “put her head right under my chin, and laid
     her paw on my chest, hugging me all night long. She never let go.”
    Especially after Nana’s death, slowly, imperceptibly, Pearl became even more important to me, my all-in-one confidante, best
     neighborhood friend, surrogate grandmother, and comrade-in-arms.
    Being able to see her daily was a real luxury, a happy treat for me and Katie. There was Pearl at the door, standing with
     ramrod posture, a look of wry expectation on her face—a blend of affection, amusement, and genuine interest.
    Like the captain of a ship at the wheel, she was usually stationed at her dining table, peeling apples, shucking corn, or
     cutting up zucchini. I joined her there and we shot the breeze on pretty much everything—from my celebrity interviews to dating,
     from world headlines to healthy eating, though Katie was always topic number one.
    We had nicknamed Katie “the child,” jokingly pronounced “chaaa-aellll-d,” and when I’d walk in, I’d typically ask: “How’s
     my sweet little chaaa-aellll-d doin’ today?”
    “Your
child
stole my best napkin out of the linen closet—the one my mother embroidered—and turned it into this!” Pearl announced dramatically,
     holding up the shredded linen.
    “Bad girl!” I lectured Katie, showing her the decimated napkin as she sniffed it with disinterest, having had her way with
     it.
    “What are you going to do to make it up to me?” Pearl asked. Katie licked her hand in penance, the fastest way back into Pearl’s
     good graces. All was quickly forgiven as Pearl hugged her girl tightly.
    “Girlie,” Pearl would ask, “you want an
apple
?”
    Katie knew that word like her own name, and would leap on the dining room chair and wait for Pearl to pop one little chunk
     of a red delicious after another into her mouth.
    “What about a
cookie
?” Katie trotted over to the cookie jar, hitting it with her paw.
    “My girl want to
dance
?” Katie threw up her front paws at Pearl, prancing on her back legs as Pearl sang, “
I wanna be in pictures… I wanna be a star.
”
    I quickly discovered the many facets of our Pearl.
    She could be extremely girlish at times, and feisty at others.
    “She was a serious, plain woman, not a game player,” my mom once observed, “and she sometimes had a gruff look on her face.
     You had to get to know her. She was what she was—and made no bones about it.”
    But just underneath her no-nonsense exterior was a layer of kindness and pathos that reflected itself in her complete interest
     in others. Never one to reveal much about her emotions, she much preferred putting the focus on her guests during visits to
     her apartment.
    “She was a very good listener,” my mom noted.