Frank is just a fool when it comes to Bessie Anne. He simply adores her and ignores the fact that she is a dog and he is a cat. Disregarding that he is male, he cleans her face, lifts up her ears for a good wash, and grooms her as if she were a kitten, his kitten. Yesterday he came to the door and I went to let him in. Bessie thought that as long as I was opening the door anyway, she'd go out. "Oh, my friend! You're coming out to play with me!," and Frank greeted Bess with little mewling sounds, purrs, headbutts and rubs, and stayed to sit beside her in the sunshine. Bessie will lie just outside the fence while I'm in tending to the goats. From the milking room I can see Frank come to her from wherever he's been off doing cat things and rub and make figure-eights in front of her. Sometimes she'll move to get away from him, but he follows and finally flops down with her to wait. Our bedtime routine every night has been that Bessie Anne lies on my pillow until she gets a back and shoulder massage (I know, it's ridiculous) and then moves over to her pillow. Frank has waited at the foot of the bed until recently. Lately he's been "helping" me by kneading ("making muffins") her backside. I've warned him about using claws; so far, so good. Bessie seems to tolerate his ministrations, but once in awhile she'll give me a look that says, "Is it supposed to be like this?" I guess it's better than fighting like cats and dogs, but I don't know what to tell her.