I want to see your furbabies. Or scalebabies. Or finbabies. Whatever form your pet takes, I want to see a picture of it/them and hear the story of how it/they came to be a part of your family.UPDATE: Don't have pets? Share your skin-babies!!! (For a list of participants, scroll down to the bottom of this post.)
I have had pets for as long as I can remember. And they truly are a part of my family. Each has their own personality, their own quirks, and their own place in my heart.
There's usually a story that goes along with how I got my pets - and they are nearly all unplanned, accidental additions to my family!
He is the pet we've had the longest at this point. He's about 5 years old, right in the prime of his life. Lucky for cats, "prime" lasts a long time. He won't start being an old guy until he's about 12 - if he makes it that long. I think French has probably run through about 7 of his nine lives already.
French came into our lives performing a death-defying act at the age of 6 weeks. His mother was one of Ray's cats (our engineer at the TV station). One day, Ray went out to his car at lunchtime and discovered this wee bundle of fur underneath. French had apparently hopped up on the little shelf behind the front grill of the car and ridden all the way across town in there. After finally coaxing French out, Ray brought him into the station. Knowing I was a cat-person, he brought French to me and I immediately fell in love. French went home with me that afternoon.
He was an adventuresome little guy. He got stuck in a tree about 40 feet up and couldn't get down. Darling Man had to build a platform on the back of his truck and take an extension ladder to get French down. He'd been missing for a few days at that point.
He also nearly drowned. We had one of those easy-set pools and somehow, French got into it. But he couldn't get back out. I was working at home that day and Beryl (the dog we had then) would NOT stop barking. I yelled at her to quiet down, but she wouldn't. When I finally went out on the front deck, she stopped - and I heard the splashing. There was a shredded noodle in the pool, and French went down for the last time, having worn himself out trying to climb up on that noodle. I went and pulled him off the bottom of the pool, massaged him until the water came out, then wrapped him in a towel and held him all afternoon. Poor baby.
I'm sure French has had many more adventures, testified to by his ratty ears. They look a bit like the fringe on a cowboy jacket. He's a fully alive cat - he gives his all to whatever it is he's doing...
A year later, I was passing by Ray's office and found him trying to feed a very tiny kitten. His eyes were barely open and he was having a hard time with the bottle. I asked Ray what he was doing, and he explained that this kitten had been abandoned by its mother. It was way too little to be weaned and was very weak. Of course, I fell in love with him. I asked if I could have him and of course, Ray said yes.
I took him home and we dubbed him Xena (thought he was a girl). When I took him in to the vet's office at six weeks, we discovered that Xena was a Xeno. However, Xeno didn't quite take. It didn't seem like the right name at all. So we studied this little cat, with the funny, bent ears and the wise face and decided that his name was actually Yoda. As he grew, the bend came out of his ears, but he has been and always will be Yoda.
He's rather skittish and somewhat unsure of himself, but he's a very snuggly cat and he is totally and completely MY cat.
About three years ago, my cousin was going through a divorce and had to move. She is also a cat lady and had several cats. The house she moved to only allowed her to have two cats, so she had a couple of extra ones she had to find new homes for. Tottie and Misha were the last to arrive, having been rescued from a house that caught on fire, and so were the first to be found homes for. They are sisters and were almost a year old when they came to live with us.
Misha is the "smart" one. You can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She thinks about everything, and consequently is affected by everything. Shortly after moving in with us, she developed an eating disorder. See food, eat food. As it turns out, tortoise-shell cats are quite susceptible to this. All you can do is try to limit what is available to eat. Misha is quite hefty and when you pick her up, it feels exactly like a furry baby.
She does have her quirks. She loves to sleep - in whatever position is most comfortable. Her normal sleeping position is on her back, belly exposed with legs stretched out. But apparently, sometimes on her head feels better.
And this is Misha's sister, Tottie.
In England, a tottie is what the soccer players' wives are called - arm candy. Tottie actually fits her name quite well. She is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but she's very sweet, very flirty and is a champion purr-er. She usually takes horrible pictures because as soon as the camera is pointed in her direction, she squints (kind of like my Grandma Lois used to do). However, just like with Grandma, sometimes you get lucky.
First up is Kida.