I promised a few months ago to do a chronology of my pets. This is by no means all-inclusive, but it’s the best I can do. We’ll call it the highlight reel of pets. It should be fun, and only slightly depressing.
I covered Rory in a previous entry so we’ll skip him other than an overview. Rory was an Irish Setter. He’s the first pet I remember. He lived to be about 12 despite getting hit by a car around 6-7 different times over his lifetime.
I think I wrote about this cat also, but here’s a recap. I don’t remember the cat’s name, or really even what he looked like. I only remember his death. We went to my grandparent’s house. I’m pretty sure it was Halloween night. While we were gone there was a thunderstorm. When we got home the cat was in the garage with his back arched and his tail pointing straight up. He was stiff as a board. We don’t know if he was struck by lightning or was scared to death. We only know he was alive when we left and dead stiff when we came home.
The next cat I remember was Max. Max was short for Maximillian, named for the evil robot in the movie The Black Hole. A few months after Max’s arrival we realized he was a she. Our first evidence? The kittens she bore. We kept one. He had no tail, so naturally we named him Bob. Bob turned out to be a girl also. Soon after Max gave birth a stray wandered up to our house. He became Willie (think “On the Road Again”). Willie and Bob both succumbed to Jackson Road. Max disappeared at some point; we never really knew what happened to her.
When I was around 8 or 9 we got a kitten for my mom for Mother’s Day. My dad went to get him. He was the runt of the litter. The owners discouraged my dad from taking him. They were sure he would not survive. This cat stole my Dad’s heart though.
He was probably the smallest cat I’d ever seen. He liked to hide under our couch then jump out onto your feet when you walked by or sat on the couch. His size and his habits won him the ironic name Killer. Killer grew into his name, which became the true irony. At his full adult size he weighed around 20 lbs. He also became quite the hunter. He often brought home birds, lizards, and other varmints of various sizes. He became especially fond of baby bunny rabbits. I guess he brought at least 10 home over the span of a couple of years. Finally he brought the Mom. I have no idea how he caught her, but he was a killer.
When I was around 15 a pack of dogs began roaming the neighborhood killing any cat the came across and a couple of small dogs. We didn’t really worry about Killer, because he was fast and smart. We knew he could defend himself. For example: A neighbor had a St. Bernard named Barney. One summer morning I heard an awful noise in front of our house. I ran to the window to see Barney running toward his house with Killer on his back digging his claws in then ripping them out over and over.
I think this lack of a healthy fear of dogs lead to his ultimate demise. The dogs eventually got him. I went out with a shotgun every night for a week looking for the dogs. I never saw them. Years later I found out my dad did find them. They didn’t terrorize the neighborhood cats any longer.
While Killer was still alive, My mom got a Lhasa Apso (it’s a dog, kind of like a Shih Tzu). Her name was Tibbie. A year or so later we got a male also. His name was George. I should warn you now. This story is… um… I guess icky is the best description. We got George for the purpose of breeding the dogs. I feel the need to be delicate here. From time to time when they would “do their thing,” George would get stuck. A few times one of us found them this way. George loved people, so when he saw us he would run over dragging Tibbie behind him. This happened more than once. George was not a smart dog.
Tibbie had one littler of puppies, which we sold one by one. They looked like little Ewoks. Cute, cute, cute. Not long after that George got out the front door and immediately ran in front of a car. Tibbie lived for quite a while after that. She eventually went blind. One day she got outside of the fence and never came back. She was old and sick by then.
This is getting long. And I still have about 20 years of pets to go. So I’ll make this a 2-parter. Plus this has turned out to be more depressing than I thought it would be. I think part 2 will be better. To lift the mood a little I’ll tell a joke. This is from Disciple Bible Study of all places. Some one gave the set up and the punch line just blurted out of me.
Two blind guys walked into a bar.
I guess they should’ve hung it higher.
*cue rimshot*
By the way, this is entry # 199 on MySpace I started posting here February 22, 2007. (There were 250 LiveJournal entries before I started the MySpace Simulpost). I’m just short of 6000 views. That’s around 30 views per entry. I just have 2 words: Thanks Mom!
More depressing pet stories tomorrow! (And that was a joke, my Mom does not read this.)
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