The Pets that Rule Our Days

The oaf.  Black mamba.  Moron.  Sometimes I call her Marcus just to see if she will still answer my call (she will).

Molly. Our black lab. 

Knowing we couldn’t afford an autism or therapy dog; we went with the breed.  A smart, dependable, trainable lab.

Yet it wasn’t until after we had Molly that I heard the truth around town – you have to wait five years (or more) for the “stupid” of labdom to wear off.

The digging of holes, the knocking over of trash cans.  The swiping food off the counter for consumption (I can’t tell you how many WHOLE pizzas this dog has downed in our absence).

The dog that wants in, then wants to go back out, then wants in.  ALL.  DAY.  LONG.

So much of an intelligent imbecile, that she recognizes her errors too.  Nightly, it feels, she asks me this one question.

She may not be an official therapy dog, but the big oaf is good for an autism house.  Declan can hug her, lay on her, pull her ear and (her favorite!) feed her all his leftovers.  She’s a good fit for us.

Then there’s my little Penny Poo Poo.  Penny has one of those faces that makes you look in wonder, a gait that makes you laugh listening to all the little grunts and a smell that – well – she’s a gassy dog.

Penny’s a rescue dog adopted for her sheer adorability.  A dog that enjoys her toys and a soft place to sleep. 

Penny Poo Poo needs a guardian when Declan is nearby.  Declan sees little Poo, or really, he sees all her squishy wrinkles.  And once he’s got a handful, he’s in sensory heaven.  Thankfully, she takes the squishings in stride.

As a kid, we were a dog family.  The only statement ever uttered about cats came from my mom: “I just don’t understand them.”  Inadvertently, I also developed this mindset.  If I were to ever visit a friend’s house that had a cat, I was never drawn to pet it, just watch it to try have the cat make sense.

Then, one bitterly cold day Catelyn walked outside and brought back in a sickly-looking cat with pleading eyes.  (The cat and Catelyn, both).  Deciding to teach the kids the right thing to do, we took the cat to the vet.  Also, being partly a push over, I let Catelyn keep the cat.

Turns out the cat and Catelyn have similar personalities, and they clashed.  Who could hiss at the other the loudest seemed to be a game they played.  Catelyn had enough, and one day when I went into my room, I saw the cat had been moved in.

With its litter box, food and water.  Great. 

Terrified of the dogs (and Catelyn), the cat lives under my bed while they are out of their cages.  On a sunny day, the cat will make an appearance.  From the top of under the bed, where she sleeps during the day, to the bottom.

I’ve learned when the cat is talking in the morning, she doesn’t want to be pet, she wants to be fed.  I’ve learned to not forget to feed the cat her wet food as she will “accidentally” miss her litter box, in the middle of the night, leaving you gagging into your pillow.  I’ve learned the cat does not enjoy you looking for things under the bed while she’s there.

I’ve learned the cat is looking at me, searching for comprehension as much as I am looking at it, trying not to upset her.

But not Declan.  Declan is allowed to pet the cat.  Declan can touch her belly.  Declan gets cat nose rubs.  The cat likes Declan.

It’s this connection that keeps the cat housed and fed, and not deposited back where we found it on a warmer day.  (Just kidding…. I would never do something like that….).

But to really solidify the cat’s home is here, someone had to post this for me to accept the cat on her terms and be thankful for her love of Declan.

These are the pets that bring us joy and rule our lives. In one way or another, perfect fits for our family.