Free If You Ask Me by Betty White Page A

animals—and, of course, it caught.
    Two years ago I lost Panda at sixteen and three-fourths, and my ten-year-old golden, Kitta, and my eleven-year-old Himalayan kitty, Bob Cat. (If you didn’t like cats you called him Mr. Cat.)
    I lost them all within two months, and I was just devastated.
    I work closely with the organization Guide Dogs for the Blind and sponsor a guide dog every Christmas. When they heard I lost Kitta, they called me and said they had a golden career-change dog if I would be interested.
    I explained, “I really am so distraught at this point, I need closure. I just absolutely can’t imagine adopting a dog right now”—pause—“but maybe I’ll come up and meet him.”
    The next morning, I got on a plane and flew to San Rafael and met him. And then I got back on the plane to go home and “think it over.”
    Did you ever hear anything more ridiculous? You meet a golden retriever and you’re going to go home and “think it over”? Who was I kidding? I couldn’t get my phone out of my purse fast enough when we landed.
    And that’s my Pontiac. He was already named. Guide dog puppies in a litter all have the same first initial. Since he was a P litter (no pun intended), they named him Pontiac. I like to think of it as the Indian chief, not the car. Matter of fact, when the car company folded, I sat him down and carefully explained it was not his fault. For which I got a kiss.
    Ponti went into career change because he had a bum leg. Some people say these dogs “flunked out” of school, but I absolutely refuse to use that expression. These dogs never “flunked” at anything .
    Ponti is my only pet right now.
    I want a kitty, and I want a little dog so bad. But I must be home to integrate them. I never took classes to learn how to integrate animals. I think I just learned it organically.
    I speak better animal language than human language. I can read them like a book—although not as well as they can read me.
    But with my schedule the way it is, I’m just waiting for time to supervise the introductions. That’s on my bucket list.
    Now, I also have an age problem. I’m eighty-nine years old. I’ve outgrown my last puppy, but I don’t want Ponti to be my last dog. My friends Tom and Patty Sullivan have arranged that whatever pets I leave, they will take. They won’t find homes for them, they will take them in and love them.
    I can’t imagine being without animals. And there are so many older dogs that need homes desperately. So that’s where I’ll look, and we can grow older together.
    And then there are cats. Cats are not remote. People who think cats are that way may never have lived with a cat. My Bob, for instance. If my knee was bent, he was on my lap or on my shoulder in a flash. He followed me around the house like a dog. In bed at night, I’d reach over to turn the light out and he’d be there. For eleven years I fell asleep with that purr on my shoulder. Cats love you very much—they are just more subtle about it.
    You’re never too old to adopt a pet if you look ahead and make arrangements for their future. Then relax and enjoy each other.

    With another “planted” pet.
    TONY DIMAIO/ABACAUSA. COM/NEWSCOM

STATE OF AFFAIRS

NAMES
    H aving spent so many years memorizing lines, I am pretty good at remembering names. (“Pretty good” is probably a euphemism.)
    My problem is faces . They just don’t seem to register. I have no memory for faces at all. Consequently, at those gatherings where you are introduced to several people at the same time, I wind up with a bunch of names I can remember but I don’t know where to put them. I try to make silent notes in my head: JohnSmithbluetie. JaneJonespearlearrings. Sometimes those notes can carry you through a whole evening before they evaporate.
    That game may work with total strangers but not with someone you’ve met before and should remember but don’t. You are off to a bad start when you say, “It’s nice meeting you.” And