Due to technical difficulties (batteries in camera = dead; number of AA batteries in house = 0) there will be no fantastically beautiful photos, or even crappy, out-of-focus-and-too-dark-to-see photos, in today's post. Bummer, huh? Instead I will regale you with Stoopid Cute Pet Stories.
I have always had a cat, ever since I was born and probably before, except for a couple-three years during college when I lived in a dorm*, or that horrible year when I lived in a no-pets apartment. Otherwise, I've always had at least one furry feline within easy ear-scratching distance.
One of our more famous pets was Pious, a neutered male gray tabby shorthair. He was literally an alley cat – a friend found two stray mother cats and their seven newborn kittens under her back steps. She and her roommates took in the little blended family, nurtured them until the babes were ready to be adopted, and found homes for [most of] the kittens. The mothers and other rest of the kittens were safely and responsibly delivered to the local humane society; we shall not speak of their fate.
I took two of the kittens, a long-haired female gray tabby and the aforementioned male shorthair. I was delighted to have feline companionship again, as this was shortly after moving out of the no-pets apartment. Unfortunately, when the kittens were a few months old they got very sick and nearly died. My boyfriend and I nursed them back to health with help from the vet, but the female – whom we had named Argyle – apparently suffered some brain damage from the high fever. She had been a happy gregarious kitten; now she was a shy and slightly retarded little kitty, but we loved her anyway.
I broke up with the boyfriend a year or so later, kept the kitties (it was an amicable split, and he knew they meant a lot to me), moved on to a couple different living situations, and eventually met my future husband. Pious (Argyle having gone to the Great Litter Box in the Sky) lived with us through three houses, until at age 16 he developed feline diabetes that didn't respond well to daily insulin testing. We had him put to sleep and his pancreas went to medical research in the continuing quest for cure/treatment/prevention of diabetes.
While he lived, though, Pious was the champion fly killer of all time. He could be sleeping anywhere in the (3-story) house and still hear a fly buzz anywhere else in the house, and maybe even in the house next door. He would wake up suddenly and run directly to the insect, which was usually buzzing against a window screen. He'd catch it, eat it (crunch, CRUNCH!), stroll back to his previous sleeping spot, and resume his nap. We never needed a flyswatter in all the years that Pious was with us. He took care of the little buggers (pun intended) for us.
Right now my husband and I have two dogs, three cats, and seven (7!) flying squirrels. (I know I said no pictures today but I meant no new pictures. These are all old.)
There is Bear, Best Dog in the World:
Look at those eyes. Who could resist those eyes?
That's Junior with her. Junior came to us as a foster kitten and decided at an early age that Bear was really her mother.
Lucy, The Intrepid:
I'll leave you to guess what that second image is. Suffice to say, it was one of the reasons Lucy acquired "intrepid" as part of her title.
The Senior Cat, Tabby:
Hannibal, The Brave:
Hannibal considers Lucy to be his dog. Lucy considers him to be her cat.
Lucy is not the only intrepid one around here.
En Esch (no title, except sometimes "the stupid"):
and the squirrels (seen one, seen 'em all):
That last photo is from the Washington Square News. Someday I'll tell you the story behind it. Yeah, I'd resort to a cheap tease to get readers. Ya got a problem with that?
One more story: with two large dogs, it was a hassle for us to keep their water dish(es) filled. Bear, especially, is one thirsty dog. So Smokey (that's my sweet husband; more on him another time) bought a self-waterer for them. It's a two- or three-gallon jar that sits upside-down on a special water dish. Fill it once or twice a week and forget it. Great. The dogs and cats loved it – free water, all the time.
However, the nature of water and air being what they are, after someone had taken a long drink from the dish, a large bubble or two of air would have to glug up into the air space in the top of the big bottle. It was hilarious to watch Lucy take a drink, then jump back at the sound of the glug. She was convinced the water dish was haunted. Soon she took to drinking, standing back to wait and listen, then drinking some more, wait/listen, until the glug happened. Eventually she stopped drinking from that water dish altogether. It was Just Too Scary.
We now have an ordinary (non-possessed) water dish right next to the self-waterer. It is impossible to explain the laws of physics and the non-existance of haunted waterers to a dog. Trust me on this one.
* I want to know who was the genius that decided that, right at the exact moment when a growing-up person is removed from their home environment, sent away to a new and stressful living situation (college), and stuck into a tiny box with a total stranger, that this was the perfect time to declare No Pets. Research has shown over and over that pets reduce stress in humans. Allergies, schmalergies. There should be pets allowed in college dorms, maybe like one dog/cat per floor, housed with the RA. That could be a qualification for the RA: “Must be able to live with and maintain a pet dog.” (Descending from soapbox now.)
