I started my fur family small and within my own means.
I got a harmless little cat.
Ripley was rescued from an unusual mommy - an orange female tabby who was a stray and got impregnated by a wild giganta-cat. Her kittens seemed like normal domesticated cats with the exception of Ripley, who was the largest of the bunch. Upon entering the room to meet him, he shot out from under the bed leaving his siblings behind, and thoroughly examined my feet while talking in his short quack-like meows. At the time I assumed he was saying, "take me, I'm cute!" Had I known what he was really saying, I may have reconsidered.
After spending many hours contemplating where I went wrong with Ripley, I accepted that I simply adopted the Tony Soprano of cats. After a number of attempted hits on the neighbor's cat's, dog's, children, and anything else foreign and funny smelling to him, it became clear to me that Ripley needed to learn to share. I hoped to at least socialize him to a point where I would not have to wrap visitors in protective gear before allowing them to enter the apartment, so I rescued a six week old gray and apricot colored ball of attitude, hoping their personalities would mesh.
It was a little scary at first, but Ripley took surprisingly well to Olive. Almost maternal, he would let her nurse on his belly while he meticulously groomed her ears and butt. They had an understanding with each other: she could tackle, bite and growl at him, but when cleaning time came, she held still for the Godfather.
When Ripley met my husband, I became old news. It was no big deal though, as Olive had already parked her pear-shaped body on my shoulder and had no intention of moving for anyone, not even me. Now this is a place where she literally puts herself when she is in need of cuddles. About five times a day she jumps into the bathtub, "meers" at me until I give her a drink, "meers" again because she does not like the splash it gives her when it hits the tub, gives up, jumps onto the bathroom counter, drinks from the faucet, and then crawls up my chest to claim her shoulder seat. Whoever said cats are not loyal never met Olive.
A few years of kitty bliss went by before we bought a house and decided it was finally time for the dog we had waited so long for. Upon passing Lyla's cage at the Humane Society, we both immediately recognized the look on her face, which said quite simply: I DO NOT BELONG HERE.
Lyla was afraid and distant the day I picked her up to go home. I expected a bouncy six month old puppy in the car, but Lyla found a corner in the back seat and froze there for the entire hour drive home. The true puppy slowly surfaced in Lyla over the next few months however, and it was a relief to see her start doing normal destructive puppy things, indicating that she had finally become comfortable in her new home. Eventually she started making eye contact with us and trusting us to ride in the car again.
In four short months Lyla also proved that she is quite the over-achiever. Within a day she learned that ringing the bells on the door would get her outside - especially at 6pm for some quality frogging time. She also mastered her obedience skills in record time, except for the less practical tricks that she feels are silly. Upon teaching her to rollover, she made it clear to me that this trick was better suited for circus acts, and looked at me as if to say, "does it look like I'm wearing a red nose and clown shoes, lady?" But with all of her practical and sophisticated tendencies aside, she will still allow me to put stupid hats on her and balance treats on her nose. Not her favorite trick, but it's her way of allowing me to have my silly fun.
Jack, on the other hand, looks like this to everyone meeting him for the first, fifth or 978th time. In fact, I don't think I even knew he had eyes when we first brought him home. It seemed as though we had adopted a big wet nose and tongue. The only thing tipping us off that there was more to him than a head was the pain his paws were causing as he climbed up our bodies to get to our faces.
Unlike Lyla, personal space is a lost concept to Jack. He is all affection, in your face, on you, licking, snarfing and licking some more. An athletic 37 pound blur of squirrel chasing black and white spots and freckles; Jack is energy. I have often considered running a cord to his butt, as I'm sure he puts off enough energy to power our house.
Jack likes to challenge us. We've tried very hard to communicate to Jack that his lust for attention and constant face washing may be teetering on the delicate edge of coo-coo. But he remains relentless in his efforts, insistent that we need his face licks and spotted little body in our laps as often as possible. He is so persistent, we are even beginning to believe he might be right.
The next edition to our family would come in a very confused package. At four weeks old, Titus was found in a woman's front yard screaming full blast after a nasty storm. The woman brought him to me, milk face and all and I crumbled under his foofy charm.
We're not sure if it is her maternal nature or love for cat poop, but Lyla claimed Titus immediately. And like a mean joke being played on the new kid, Ripley and Olive laughed from a distance as the new cat grew to believe himself to be...
a dog.
Nowadays Titus wakes up with the dogs, goes outside in the morning with the dogs, tries to eat dog food, rings the bells on the back door, poops in the backyard, and lays around on the floor on his back just like the dogs. He even joins the training circle to sit and wait for his treats, offering a paw when prompted for a shake.
Although he is the smallest dog in the group, and his freakishly long tail is always in the way, no amount of tail squashing or chewing on his head will deter him from taking part in his pack. He is truly a dog's cat, or a cat's dog - or something... We don't really know what he is anymore, but he's cute.
With five animals total, Jason and I were of the opinion that we no longer had any vacancies. At this point we recognized that if the animals were to form a coo against us, we would have good reason to be frightened. We were already knee deep in yard poop, which is what we tried to explain to Mo when he followed us home on a walk one day.
Mo(hawk), as we dubbed him in a less than witty moment, is undeniably one of the coolest dogs in the world. First off, thanks to his Ridgeback roots, he has a full blown mohawk that sticks up about an inch off of his back. Secondly, his big square head has summoned more pity from strangers than I care to count. Thirdly, much like Winnie the Pooh, he is a big, golden, cuddly bear made entirely out of honey. Fortunately Mo is the persistent type and barked at our window until we let him in...
Whereupon he immediately did this on our floor.
Weeks of discussing permanent homes for Mo passed before we finally realized that no home for Mo would be good enough. Our previously "full" home was indeed missing something. It was missing a big, lazy, square head, which is what he was trying to tell us from the start. Luckily he knew we'd come around.
Through the years there have been many changes to our little family combining the old and young, big and small. Some were surprisingly smooth transitions, while others have taken a considerable amount of effort and resulted in temporary relocations to the top of our fridge. Explaining change to a being that does not speak your language can be tricky, but time and patience have been on our side, resulting in a sometimes chaotic, but surprisingly harmonic existence.
Rarely a day passes when we are not cleaning up a surprise; rarely a month goes by without the added expense of a vet visit. But, with freshly licked faces, we witness dreams of squirrels on a daily basis. Olive is always there in the morning, purring and waiting for one of her shoulder rides. Lyla knows just how to sleep on you without causing discomfort. Ripley is always surveying and quacking from his roost on the fridge. And Mo is always there to remind us that, no matter how full our hearts may feel, there's always room for one more friend.
I got a harmless little cat.
Ripley was rescued from an unusual mommy - an orange female tabby who was a stray and got impregnated by a wild giganta-cat. Her kittens seemed like normal domesticated cats with the exception of Ripley, who was the largest of the bunch. Upon entering the room to meet him, he shot out from under the bed leaving his siblings behind, and thoroughly examined my feet while talking in his short quack-like meows. At the time I assumed he was saying, "take me, I'm cute!" Had I known what he was really saying, I may have reconsidered.Ripley's playful, yet slightly fierce personality bloomed shortly after we brought him home. What at first seemed to be cute kitten play, turned into the ferocious ankle biting of all strangers. In his first year he hit 17 lbs; having grown so fast that he constantly bonked his head on low lying tables in the living room. He was incredibly intelligent too, and began fetching hair ties and anything that we agreed to throw for him. When alone he would use his enormous paws to open every cabinet and drawer within reach to find more hair ties and toys, then leaving the cabinets gaping open. It was a lot like sharing your bathrooms and kitchen with a poltergeist.
Considering his enormous size, eventually topping out at 24 pounds, his protective nature, and his propensity for games like fetch and "I'm going to lick your eyelids until you wake up," I realized that I probably should have just gotten a dog to start with.
After spending many hours contemplating where I went wrong with Ripley, I accepted that I simply adopted the Tony Soprano of cats. After a number of attempted hits on the neighbor's cat's, dog's, children, and anything else foreign and funny smelling to him, it became clear to me that Ripley needed to learn to share. I hoped to at least socialize him to a point where I would not have to wrap visitors in protective gear before allowing them to enter the apartment, so I rescued a six week old gray and apricot colored ball of attitude, hoping their personalities would mesh.
It was a little scary at first, but Ripley took surprisingly well to Olive. Almost maternal, he would let her nurse on his belly while he meticulously groomed her ears and butt. They had an understanding with each other: she could tackle, bite and growl at him, but when cleaning time came, she held still for the Godfather.
When Ripley met my husband, I became old news. It was no big deal though, as Olive had already parked her pear-shaped body on my shoulder and had no intention of moving for anyone, not even me. Now this is a place where she literally puts herself when she is in need of cuddles. About five times a day she jumps into the bathtub, "meers" at me until I give her a drink, "meers" again because she does not like the splash it gives her when it hits the tub, gives up, jumps onto the bathroom counter, drinks from the faucet, and then crawls up my chest to claim her shoulder seat. Whoever said cats are not loyal never met Olive.
A few years of kitty bliss went by before we bought a house and decided it was finally time for the dog we had waited so long for. Upon passing Lyla's cage at the Humane Society, we both immediately recognized the look on her face, which said quite simply: I DO NOT BELONG HERE.Lyla was afraid and distant the day I picked her up to go home. I expected a bouncy six month old puppy in the car, but Lyla found a corner in the back seat and froze there for the entire hour drive home. The true puppy slowly surfaced in Lyla over the next few months however, and it was a relief to see her start doing normal destructive puppy things, indicating that she had finally become comfortable in her new home. Eventually she started making eye contact with us and trusting us to ride in the car again.
In four short months Lyla also proved that she is quite the over-achiever. Within a day she learned that ringing the bells on the door would get her outside - especially at 6pm for some quality frogging time. She also mastered her obedience skills in record time, except for the less practical tricks that she feels are silly. Upon teaching her to rollover, she made it clear to me that this trick was better suited for circus acts, and looked at me as if to say, "does it look like I'm wearing a red nose and clown shoes, lady?" But with all of her practical and sophisticated tendencies aside, she will still allow me to put stupid hats on her and balance treats on her nose. Not her favorite trick, but it's her way of allowing me to have my silly fun.
Jack, on the other hand, looks like this to everyone meeting him for the first, fifth or 978th time. In fact, I don't think I even knew he had eyes when we first brought him home. It seemed as though we had adopted a big wet nose and tongue. The only thing tipping us off that there was more to him than a head was the pain his paws were causing as he climbed up our bodies to get to our faces.
Unlike Lyla, personal space is a lost concept to Jack. He is all affection, in your face, on you, licking, snarfing and licking some more. An athletic 37 pound blur of squirrel chasing black and white spots and freckles; Jack is energy. I have often considered running a cord to his butt, as I'm sure he puts off enough energy to power our house.
Jack likes to challenge us. We've tried very hard to communicate to Jack that his lust for attention and constant face washing may be teetering on the delicate edge of coo-coo. But he remains relentless in his efforts, insistent that we need his face licks and spotted little body in our laps as often as possible. He is so persistent, we are even beginning to believe he might be right.
The next edition to our family would come in a very confused package. At four weeks old, Titus was found in a woman's front yard screaming full blast after a nasty storm. The woman brought him to me, milk face and all and I crumbled under his foofy charm.
We're not sure if it is her maternal nature or love for cat poop, but Lyla claimed Titus immediately. And like a mean joke being played on the new kid, Ripley and Olive laughed from a distance as the new cat grew to believe himself to be...a dog.
Nowadays Titus wakes up with the dogs, goes outside in the morning with the dogs, tries to eat dog food, rings the bells on the back door, poops in the backyard, and lays around on the floor on his back just like the dogs. He even joins the training circle to sit and wait for his treats, offering a paw when prompted for a shake.
Although he is the smallest dog in the group, and his freakishly long tail is always in the way, no amount of tail squashing or chewing on his head will deter him from taking part in his pack. He is truly a dog's cat, or a cat's dog - or something... We don't really know what he is anymore, but he's cute.
With five animals total, Jason and I were of the opinion that we no longer had any vacancies. At this point we recognized that if the animals were to form a coo against us, we would have good reason to be frightened. We were already knee deep in yard poop, which is what we tried to explain to Mo when he followed us home on a walk one day.
Mo(hawk), as we dubbed him in a less than witty moment, is undeniably one of the coolest dogs in the world. First off, thanks to his Ridgeback roots, he has a full blown mohawk that sticks up about an inch off of his back. Secondly, his big square head has summoned more pity from strangers than I care to count. Thirdly, much like Winnie the Pooh, he is a big, golden, cuddly bear made entirely out of honey. Fortunately Mo is the persistent type and barked at our window until we let him in...
Whereupon he immediately did this on our floor.Weeks of discussing permanent homes for Mo passed before we finally realized that no home for Mo would be good enough. Our previously "full" home was indeed missing something. It was missing a big, lazy, square head, which is what he was trying to tell us from the start. Luckily he knew we'd come around.
Through the years there have been many changes to our little family combining the old and young, big and small. Some were surprisingly smooth transitions, while others have taken a considerable amount of effort and resulted in temporary relocations to the top of our fridge. Explaining change to a being that does not speak your language can be tricky, but time and patience have been on our side, resulting in a sometimes chaotic, but surprisingly harmonic existence.
Rarely a day passes when we are not cleaning up a surprise; rarely a month goes by without the added expense of a vet visit. But, with freshly licked faces, we witness dreams of squirrels on a daily basis. Olive is always there in the morning, purring and waiting for one of her shoulder rides. Lyla knows just how to sleep on you without causing discomfort. Ripley is always surveying and quacking from his roost on the fridge. And Mo is always there to remind us that, no matter how full our hearts may feel, there's always room for one more friend.
