The gathering of the clan for this Christmas was overdue – it had been three years since our small family celebrated together.

On Christmas Eve, my son and grand-dog, Walter, arrived from Annapolis. My daughter, son-in-law and two grandchildren drove all Christmas Day from Massachusetts.

My son needed to get back to business Monday, so Sunday, the 26th was our Christmas. Now that the grandchildren are teenagers, it was midmorning when we dug into our stockings along with coffee and blueberry muffins. The last ripped-open present was followed by the standard breakfast casserole.

We easily fell back into our holiday routine of catch-up yakking. Plus, the afternoon’s football games held mucho-macho interest for our crowd. My son, Bart, is a dyed-in-the-wool Steelers fan (tough loss, buddy). And the Massachusetts gang? Well, you know who they root for, which is a hard sell in this Buffalo Bills’ household. Good-natured kidding and touchdown roars filled the den for the afternoon accompanied by plentiful snacks and cookies.

Underneath all the noshing, frivolity and nostalgia, two other creatures were simply trying to negotiate the weekend. Finian, our resident Maine Coon cat, is used to reigning supreme in his household. But whenever Bart drives here, Walter, his Labrador Retriever, rides shotgun. Labs are high-energy dogs and Bart walks him at great length. But Finian is, on his busiest day, quiet and serene. It’s a challenging dynamic.

Finian’s wet and dry food dishes are in the laundry room, just off the kitchen. The first time puppy Walter arrived here, he was all aquiver. His four paws and tail in constant motion, he barged into the kitchen, and with his sniffer on high alert, turned directly into the laundry room. With two large licks, he instantly cleaned both of the cat’s dishes. Now when Walter arrives, a dining room chair is laying on its side, filling the entrance to the laundry. Finian either soars over it or crawls through. Neither option is available to a 95-pound Lab.

For the first few hours, Walter eagerly explores the whole house – sniff, jump, sniff, wag, sniff, jump, sniff, wag. Repeat. Any food placed on the coffee table is fair game. Non-edibles are a tail target. If a wagging tail means a dog is happy, then our Walter is perpetually delirious.

Labs, originally found frolicking in the waters off Labrador, are double coated. This also endows them with the ability to shed rolling tumbleweeds of hair. Walter’s coat color is English Cream, a lot like the Lab on Downton Abbey. The only saving grace is that our ground floor carpets are also cream-colored. It’s not so convenient for grey wool slacks or black velvet for the holidays.

Walter is a mega-playful fun machine. After he explores everything and settles in, Finian descends from his observer’s perch to check out the interloper. Walter follows Finian’s tall, plumed tail around our circular floorplan, trying to engage His Lordship in a game. Finian walks away – often curling up on the fourth stair in the front hall to observe the big white doofus jumping up and down, “C’mon, c’mon, let’s play. Let’s go!”

After a few minutes of disdaining this leaping clown at his feet, Finian stretches, turns, and heads upstairs – away from the noise and hysteria. I’m sure he’s thinking, “How much longer do I have to tolerate this invasion of my domain?”

After a while, they reach an arm’s length truce. They don’t shake paws on it, they just mostly ignore each other. But when Walter spreads out in the middle of the living room floor, Finian saunters by, flips his tail over Walter’s face and keeps on walking.

At one point, Finian lay down beside Walter and licked the dog’s paws. The big guy wasn’t sure what to make of it, so he just tolerated it. When Finian upped his licking into chewing between the paw pads, Walter leaped so quickly and aggressively that the cat vanished instantly. I didn’t see any white flags, but after this brief skirmish, a weekend truce was reached.

Bart and his beloved sidekick left for home before dawn on Monday. When the rest of us awoke, the house definitely seemed emptier.

Finian is back sleeping in HIS chair. Bart and Walter’s name stockings hang empty by the fireplace.

Walter’s water dish is still in the side entry hall. And I’m wearing my hair-coated, fur-cuffed slacks for the third day. No point in breaking out a fresh pair until we’ve thoroughly vacuumed EVERYTHING.

Despite, his shedding and being underfoot in my kitchen, I still miss Walter when he leaves. Our exuberant Lab has once again left his pawprint on my heart.

And Finian? He couldn’t care less.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com