Growing up, we had a dog...for a day. After that, we had these bizarre-o pets. Let's see, frogs (Hermie, Herman, Frank and King), spiders (don't ask), grasshoppers (Goldie, Marcus and Copper) and fish. I had goldfish (Sunny, Goldie, Pepper and a slew of others). My brother, Bob, had oscars and piranhas (not at the same time). The oscars were pretty cool, but the piranhas were a real spectacle.
Bob had bought four of them. One died after about a week. Upon our full surgical inspection, he'd died from asphyxiation from a guppy head.
Now there were three. Of the three, one was much larger, making his SEEM like the bad-ass. The truth was, by the end of month two, there were only two. Seems like the two smaller ones had an appetite for Biggie-small...
After a year, there were two. They battled, they fought. We fed them small fish and watched in fascination as they tore the little critters apart. Then one day, one battled the other and bam, there was one.
The one left went from the size of a 50 cent piece to the size of a 1/2 a loaf of bread...wide, too with teeth you could see. The tank got too small and Bro Bob decided to give him up to his best friend who had the proper tank. His buddy lived at the top of our block. Bob put the fish in a garbage bag and into a bucket. Halfway up the street, "Cujo the Piranha" had managed to eat through the bag and was like his own horror movie. He lived with my brothers friend until they had their falling out...then his friend threw it in our pool. (just kidding. they are still friends and we did not have a pool).
Anyway.
After that, I had a parakeet named Sugar, whom at that point, was the smartest animal on the planet, until her untimely dive into water that suddenly made her ... slow. Gone were the days of calling her and her flying to me. I would call her, she'd fly halfway and land on someone else. Whatever.
Then there was Smokey. Ahhhh. Good ole Smokey. I received Smokey as a gift from my brother Bob and his then girlfriend, now wife, Colleen. Smokey lived to ripe old age of 21 and sadly, passed away last year. She was the sweetest cat and even to anti-cat folks, she was a love-bug. (BTW, this is NOT Smokey, just a replica.)
Smokey stayed with my parents when I moved out. Mostly because, she was used to their house and the company,etc.
When I moved to Chicago, I adopted Spike. Spike was a whole other ball of 10 inch wax. You see, he was my guardian cockatiel. A friend of mine had him, but ignored him and was essentially mean (my friend lived in a house with 6 guys that smoked, drank and had NO business owning a bird). I would visit him. He was withered and when he saw me, he would go crazy. took him. For six months, he did not look at me. One day, he turned around, crawled out of his cage, climbed to my shoulder and put his head against my cheek. After that, we were practically a couple.
Spike HATED men (except for my Dad). He wolf-called ALL day long at me and when any of my girlfriends would come over, he would wolf-call and be sassy. If my boyfriend, at that time, would come over, he would bang his head in seizure-like bangs against the bars of his cage. Sometimes, he would come full-throttle, claws first and think he was an eagle and try to poke my boyfriend's eyes out. Good bird.
When I moved, I had to give him up. It was a hard decision, but I had no idea what my life would be like, so I gave him to my friend M, who'd loved him the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Some months after moving, I got this picture via e-mail...it scares me to this day.
After a few years in L.A., I teetered with the idea of having a pet. A dog sounded SO awesome, and after spending time with KV's dogs and Bunnie's bevy of dogs, I wanted one so badly. But lo and behold, last February (2004), this beautiful, LARGE creature came crawling out of her cage and right into my heart.
Skye, aka, Miss Kitty was at a shelter in Sherman Oaks. I was just looking. There were cats everywhere. I was sneezing. They were crawling all over. I was getting hives. The ladies who ran the shelter saw me and KNEW I was a sucker. They tried to introduce me to every cat. I said no. I was fighting them off when they looked at each other with that "look" of, "oh yes, SHE'S the one," and said, "How about this girl." I looked into this cage and saw the BIGGEST cat I had seen to date and the furriest. I took one look and said, "no way." They KNEW I would be "the one" for this amazing creature. Just to make matters worse, they let her out so she could "bond" with me. But after I met her, I left. I ran out. I went to breakfast. Sat with the guy I was dating and could not erase her out of my head. I kept talking about her saying, "No. She's too furry. She's too big." But what clinched it for me was when he said, "Yes, YOU should NOT get that cat. You are just not responsible enough." Wha??? Nuff said.
I went back for a second look. The shelter ladies perked up and brought her out. I just could not justify between allergies and large-ness of kitty that I could take her in. They said, "How about fostering her." I said, "No." They put up such a good fight, that I walked out with her.
A week and half later, after being hissed at, clawed at and a myriad of other scary cat things, we bonded. The shelter called to say they'd found her the "perfect" home. I listened. I pondered. They said I had to give them an answer.
And I suppose, seeing she is still with me, the answer rang clear.
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