Friday, February 19, 2010

Pet Cemetery

I've never been good with the animals. It's the truth. I mean I like them fine/ but I don't baby talk, I don't have weird cat voices (yup, I'm talking to you, B), I definitely don't stall in the streets or want to forward around cute baby animal emails. It just doesn't do it for me.

See 1:58 and 2:12.



Maybe that's why most animals hate me. Growing up, I wouldn't say we had a zoo - but we had our fair share of pets. None of their stories really ended well, more like pet cemetery.

We had a parakeet. I forget it's name. It flew into the wall one day - kamikaze style. It was never the same again. Failed suicide, permanent damage as a result. TBI - traumatic brain injury, for sure and not our last pet falling victim to this terrible condition.

We had a hamster. We came home from a long weekend trip and it basically tripped on the 2nd floor of it's hamster palace got it's toes stuck and when we got home he was hanging there. Still as a doornail. Suicide or accidental death, I'm not sure.

I had newts. I didn't realize when you touch or hold them you hurt their skin? The salt on your skin eats away at their skin.
Criminally negligent manslaughter.

I had an iguana. I took that bastard everywhere, George was his name. I tried to do the whole take the iguana everywhere... fall and winter on Strong Island, not really a good idea for that.
Involuntary manslaughter.

We had a Guinea pig, another return trip from a weekend away or vacation I came home to find he hung himself with his Guinea pig water bottle holder. Suicide.

Cats here and there led normal lives, a few runaways through out my childhood but nothing as crazy as
Quasirover. Well, in his first life, he was Quasimoto. He was an outdoor neighborhood cat. On a fateful day someone came running out of our side door, stepped on the cat's tail. The cat jumped, fell down the stairs and hit it's head on the banister. My dad took said bleeding & excreting cat to the vet. Probably hundreds or more dollars later the cat came home and became an indoor cat. Homeboy didn't come out of the situation unscathed. He never was quite the same and was brain damaged. He thought he was a dog, thus the new name. Seriously - thought he was a dog, when we wasn't zoning out due to TMI. True story. One day he went outside, likely got lost due to memory lost and hopefully found a nice home. I just hope he didn't run out of lives, as the fall took more than 1 from his 9 lives tally.

In high school, I had a dog named Scout. He kicked ass. He jumped high, came with me everywhere. No skin issues or temperature controls to worry about. He was a
pomeranian and while I'm not a cat/lap dog kind of girl, he looked more like a fox than anything. I didn't he's hair and puff him out. I loved that bastard. He would roam the neighborhood sometimes and everyone loved him. One weirdo down the street loved him a bit too much. Sometimes he would call my mom and ask if Scout to sleep over. It was weird. We'd say no of course, but every once in awhile he would escape the weirdo's grip dressed up. Clothes for pets freak me out. I moved to college and then after, and no dogs allowed. A few months before he could move in with me I got a phone call. Apparently he made a run for it, not to be found. Runaway. It's probably for the best, who knows how he would have faired.

I lived with a Beagle named Bailey, and really too many stories to tell about that crazy bastard. Love her as I may. I will say when we lived in Alston you had to place a pair of sneakers next to your bed. If you heard the cry of Bailey - meaning someone left the damn door open and home girl made a run for it - you had to go and run after her. That sucked, especially since I don't run unless I am getting chased. Nothing bad happened to her... with the exception of her overdose on birth control pills (story for another time)- until she was later killed by a drive by. God rest her soul.

After Scout ran, for some reason I needed to fill the void. My roommate & I went to the local shelter and for some godforsaken reason they gave us cats. 2 cats - a mom and daughter. They were already named, Susan & something else. Since the something else was the daughter and still a kitten I renamed her Lola. Susan and Lola. The thing is, I hate cats now and I don't know how long I liked them either. After moving out I took the cats, and moved in with a boyfriend and thanks be to Jesus the major thing that came out of that relationship was a good home for those two orphans. Word on the street they are still alive and kicking.

Finally, there is Abelle. I love her as much as I can when she isn't underfoot and playing chicken with the vacuum. L loves her so and even though I curse her from time to time she's a good dog and seems to stay out of trouble. I'd say she is coming on the longest tenure with me, so hopefully we're out of the woods and the curse has been lifted.

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