How many pets have you owned in your lifetime? Tell us about them.
Submitted by jennajellopy.vox.com.
When I was little, my parents had a black cockapoo named Pepper. They had to give it away when I was two because I kept trying to play in the little doghouse (which looked just like a house, window and all) that my father made for him. He hated me and my mom was worried that he would bite me. I suppose he wasn't actually my pet...
Later, when I was about 8 or so, we were visiting my grandparents in Burley, ID when a stray corgi/cocker spaniel mutt
started hanging around the house. Papa kept trying to shoo her away but she wouldn't go. We left for a week and went down to Salt Lake City Lagoon (which I'm hoping is totally different now--that they changed up the rideds at least--but we LOVED that place when we were kids). Anyway, my grandparents' next-door neighbors thought that it was our dog that had gotten out of the garage or something and they fed it on the back porch. She warmed up to us and I named her Cocoa because she looked like hot chocolate with marshmallows in it. Somehow we convinced my parents to let us take her home. I loved that dog. She was really more of my dog than the rest of the family. Every morning my parents would let her out into the yard (we lived in a really rural area...no leashes needed) and she would come to my ground-floor window and whine until I got up to see her. When we first got her she was still sort of a puppy and she would chew on EVERYTHING. That first Christmas, my father had put up the lights and she decided to chew on one of the cords that went around the door and down to the outlet. I've never heard anything like that horrible horrible scream/yelp she let out. She hid in her little house in the garage for 3 hours--wouldn't let us see if she was okay, which of course, she was. She stopped chewing on things after that! She died when I had left for college. Just got old...cataracts, deaf, couldn't move very well. One day my father and brother came home and found her paralyzed in the backyard, in a lot of pain. I was so so glad I was thousands of miles away. I couldn't bear being there. I had goldfish in both high school and college but don't remember their names. And later, during my first marriage, we had a HUGE tank of cool fish but it was such a massive pain in upkeep. And it was loud.
After college I had cats, the first of which was, coincidentally, Vox, a black and white siamese variety. She was named Vox for the pure and simple fact that it was more elegant than the other possibilities--Screamer, Noisy, Fire Siren. She was difficult and moody because she was part feral when we got her. She died after two years, from a blood clot that travelled down and lodged at the base of her tail and paralyzed her (sigh). I have a nightmare vet story from all that which would bore you.
I also had Puck for a little bit, a big huge orange Manx cat that used to fetch like a dog, come when you called and was generally a total ham. He thought he was a dog. Manx cats often have digestive or urinary problems since to breed a stub tail you are essentially breeding a defect...and well, eventually that did him in. I had him for about three years. I was so sad to put him down.
During the time that I had Vox and Puck, I've had Romeo, my little loverkitty (except at 16.5 lbs he's not terribly little), who is my dearest friend and confidant. When I was dating after seperating from my ex, that was my one rule--that Romeo would win. I met Joe and he casually mentioned on our first date that he was allergic. My heart sank but in the end, he had no problem with Romeo and the loverkitty even decided that Joe was pretty cool, often deciding he is more fun to hang out with than I am. I could gush about Romeo forever. I've had him for 13 years now--his birthday is next month. He's good, sweet and is the best lap cat ever. He loves people and loves his belly rubbed. He'll lie on the floor like a whore on crack, waiting for someone to pay attention to him. He's so lazy that he plays with his toys only on the rarest occasion and then only for a few minutes. He talks all the time, telling us how we don't pay enough attention to him, how he wants another cat treat, how he thinks I shouldn't be on the phone, how I'm wearing black so he needs to make me white again and that's why he's rubbing all over my legs. He's terribly helpful like that. If I'm sad, he'll come and comfort me--even the rare times over the past 13 years when I've cried in the shower--he'll try to get in and help me, even though he wants nothing to do with the water. He hates to see me upset. He's such a very very good kitty.
Okay I'll shut up the annoying cutesy gushing about my cat now.
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