Oscar's 1-100 are my earliest I can remember. Little guppies that, as I learned later, were all replaced in secrecy by my grandmother when they would kick the bucket. I thought Oscar was the longest living guppie in the history of the world, but it turns out, Oscar died about once a week. I only found out when my grandmother became absent-minded and took me to the fish store with her.
After Oscar, there was Tessa, a golden Chow. She was a puppy and from what I remember of the brief time we had together, she was very loving. My mom was a single mother and worked all the time so my grandmother lived with us. She took care of myself and my older sister. And Tessa. That part was apparently intolerable. Tessa was allegedly stolen from our back yard one day when we were at school and Mom was at work. Allegedly. I think she left the gate open "on accident" and Tessa ran off. Or she drove her out to a grape vineyard and left. Or she killed her and cooked her to hide the evidence. Grandma, if you're reading this, I know.
Long after Mom had remarried and Grandma moved to Idaho, we got Ringo. He was a terrier mix and also a puppy. Super cute but very hyper. For some reason or another, he went to live with my Mexican (and slightly racist) Step-grandmother Pauline. She knew for damn sure that dog's name was Ringo but called him Gringo until the day she died. My Aunt Shirley got Gringo when Pauline died and took to calling him Gringy. On a recent mini-reunion she was informed of the dog's real name and I have never seen someone look more embarrassed. It's too late though, he only answers to Gringo or Gringy.
There were several birds over the years. Either two finches or two parakeets. Always named Bonnie and Clyde, even if they were two Bonnie's or two Clyde's. I thought I was a bird whisperer and tried to train them once. Those little beaks hurt like hell when the nip at you. Lesson learned, as I will never own another bird.
We lived in Idaho for a spell when I was in middle-school and I acquired a hamster. These girls I went to church with had bought him at the mall (four hours away...no joke) and when they realized they wouldn't be able to keep him, tried to kill it. Yes, I went to church with sociopaths. So it didn't die and it got pawned off on me. I think my mom took pity on me since we lived in a canyon in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and I was hated by all the rednecks...thus I had no friends. I named him G. Gordon Liddy after that G. Gordon Liddy. He was great. He ran around in his ball, ate carrots, listened when I would come home from school crying about how evil a certain CUNT named Sarah was to me; he was the best friend I would never have in Idaho. Until I came home from school one day to find him curiously still in his cage. He was laying on the wheel on his back. I scooped him up and said "Time to play in your ball!" before realizing he was dead. Bits of carrots were still stuck in his teeth. I let out a sob as I screamed "He's dead!' I was inconsolable for a week or so. I buried him in the back yard under a failed attempt of a cross made of sticks. He'd still lie there today if my baby sister didn't go and dig him up to examine the decay. True story.
When we moved back to the Golden State, my dad had promised my baby sis that she could get a cat if she made the honor-roll. She did and after many attempts to back out of his promise, we went to the animal shelter and adopted Simon. He was a main-coon but had been abused and was the runt of his litter. His legs were so short, his belly rubbed on the ground. He was scared of everything, wouldn't cuddle, hid in dark spaces and had a fierce hiss. Around the same time we got Simon, my newly married older sister took in a stray kitten she named Otis Theodore Redding. He was orange and tiny and playful, the exact opposite of Simon. Well, she lived in an apartment and her landlord told her she couldn't keep him so she bawled her eyes out and we took him in. Simon HATED him at first, but I think once he realized that it kept us from him, he began to tolerate him.
Simon and Otis came to Texas with us and our furry family of two turned into three when Rumsfeld was acquired. The neighbor boys' grandmother's cat had kittens and my baby sister fell in love with the only one no one else wanted. Dad said we could keep him if we named him Kobe. We agreed but then Kobe raped that broad in Colorado and we named him after the motha fuckin' MAN, Donald Rumsfeld. Unfortunately, he didn't have the smarts of his namesake. He would walk into walls, pester the other two until they would be ready to kill him, and cried like a bitch. He still does all of that, come to think about it.
Rumsfeld
After Rumsfeld, Zeke was added. He was orange like Otis, but not fixed. His balls were the size of half-dollars. It was pretty creepy. He got out one night and never came back. I later learned that the sociopaths across the street, in cahoots with this psycho Asian guy, tortured poor Zeke and then threw him out of a car window. Oh, as the car was moving. And driving on the Sun City's Mountain road. RIP Zeke. Know there is a special place in hell for people like that.
Graciella Elishaba, aka Gracie, was added next. She is, without a doubt, the Naomi Campbell of cats. Fierce and gorgeous, she walks the house like it's her runway. But then she'll spot a bird and snatch it out of the sky, ripping it's head off, and then leaving it as a present by the door. If she were human, I would not let her posses a cell phone.
Gracie
When I lived in Germany, my pet skills were equally as awful. Hubby and I decided we wanted a dog. He really wanted a black lab. I scanned the American classifieds and found an ad for a black lab mix. I took Hubby to the woman's house and what we saw before us was not a black lab. It was a beast of a dog, who knows what breed(s), but what was more disconcerting was the condition of this woman's house. It was hoarders before the show existed. Filth is not even the tip of the iceberg. I wanted to take the woman's child along with the dog. We took the dog out of pity and guilt and after a trip to a German groomer and a LOT of Euros, Mazzy (did not pick name) was looking better. We put Mazzy on a strict diet and he even started losing weight. But one day, Mazzy licked Little Bug and she got this odd rash on her hand. The doctor said it was probably an allergy, so we thought about it long and hard. After careful deliberation, we chose our human over our pet. I'm pretty confident we made the right choice.
Speaking of our human, she is bonded for life with a dog that is still in Germany. His name is Oscar and he's a Dachshund. He was our neighbor/boss/friend's dog and he was (and is) all kinds of cute. We doggy sat him a few times and he was always a pleasure to have over. Well, except one time. Right after Little Bug was born (or sometime after) we were watching Oscar and he was great the whole time. But when his daddy came to get him, he noticed a Ziploc baggie on the ground and in Oscar's mouth. It was the bag that contained Little Bug's umbilical cord. Yeah. Ew. It had just fallen off and I was planning on saving it, but Oscar needed it more I guess. It still makes me want to puke.
Oscar with his feline broham Rooney
When we PCSed to California, Hubby fell in love with a deer chihuahua named Samson that my older sister had...and hated. She told Hubby that if he didn't take Samson, she would have to take him to the pound where he would be murdered. Little Bug and Hubby couldn't allow this and now we love him like he's our son. Well, Hubby does. I tolerate his tiny ass.
Samson
When we came back to Texas, he turned into a cat. Otis, Gracie, and Rumsfeld all hated him, as did Nixon, an ugly orange bastard the baby sister had brought home while I was gone. Nixon hated everyone though. He and Little Bug used to go round for round. He'd scratch her, she'd pull his hair. He'd bite her, she'd choke him. I call her Elmira (from Tiny Toons) every time I think about it. The only cat who loved Samson was Cali. Another main-coon, but not a runt this time. She was also brought home by the baby sis and when she was a kitten, her and Samson would chase each other, wrestle, and cuddle for hours on end. Now she's grown and (thankfully) de-clawed but the meanest bitch you've ever met.
Cali
Otis and Nixon were recently given to the Humane society. In their advanced years they have taken to peeing on everything in sight. If it was left on the floor, it was getting pissed on. I had to throw out so many purses. When we went to the Humane Society, they were cuddling with each other in the cage like they were comforting one another. All of the workers kept gushing over how loving they were. Those bastards HATED each other. One last guilt trip for the road. Such Jews they were.
Otis and Nixon at the Humane Society
We had a few Suicide Beta Fish over the years. No exaggeration, every Beta we had met a violent demise as they smashed there heads against the glass of their bowl. Creepy, yet expected as they were mine. I even had some goldfish that I oh-so-cleverly named Thing 1 and Thing 2. I think they lived a week.
I guess the oldest pet is actually my baby sister. She is the definition of a crazy cat lady. Not just keeping them like Gollum's ring, but actually pretending to be one. She's almost 21, a proud AF member, and will answer the phone with a "Meow" every time. She's trusted with the nations safety, but would sell us out to Russia in an instant for a Calico. She used to crawl around for hours (as a child AND grown up) pretending to groom herself and play like a kitten...a trait she has shared with my Little Bug. The two of them together is either super entertaining or migraine inducing. It's contagious as the rest of us tend to meow when someone calls for us. My youngest nephew pretends to be a cat too. Maybe it's a genetic flaw?
Little Bug as Tinkerbell and Baby Sis the Cat
Anyway, this blog was supposed to be for Saturday. A dear friend of mine had to give up his two Jack Russell Terrier's today and requested a blog about happier memories with pets. I had to oblige. Anything for you Kind Sir.
I hope this brought a smile to someones face. Now comment on here or my fancy new Blog FB page. Still looking for a Saturday (or Friday) theme. I may just keep taking requests, let me know!
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