My Pets.

I was born into a family with pets. My father had dogs and my mother had a bevy of pets including three flying sqirrels!

My first pet may well have been the dumbest of the lot. I can't remember this floppy-eared beagle's name, but he just could NOT be house-trained. So at the age of four I lost my first pet. I remember lying in the back of the station wagon (back when there were station wagons, car seats didn't exist, and seat belts were mostly for decoration) holding my dog and crying my eyes out, begging my mom to let him stay. Little did I know that this initial loss would be a trend for years to come.

I also had a turtle and a fish-or-two.

My next furry pet I shared with my brother, a seal-point Siamese cat whose name I can't remember, either (it's been 45 years - give an old guy a break). He lived and endured us for a few years in Des Moines, Iowa. He loved affection, a bit odd for a Siamese, and would actually crawl into bed with me every night, creep under the blankets or sheet, and curl up next to me. We lost him when we went on vacation one winter to visit family over Christmas. Left with friends, he got out of the house and was later found frozen to death under their house.

Dad located another Siamese cat that we named Petey. Petey was a bit more aloof, but was still a great cat. We sent him away when we moved into a new home in Council Bluffs, Iowa, and he decided that he would rather mark the territory with his feces, especially on Mom's shoes. Dad found him a home with a major dog breeder. That scared me, but Dad assured me everything would be fine. I didn't ever find out for sure if it was fine because soon afterward Dad went off to Vietnam and Mom insisted that we move closer to 'home.'

We soon found ourselves in Mississippi, in the same town as my Dad's father and stepmother, and just 45 minutes away from my Mom's closest sister who lived in Alabama. It was in Mississippi that we adopted a kitten that will likely be the most unique cat that I've ever called a pet.

Rosie was a slight, black-and-white, female cat that we later found had nearly died when she and her mother had been chased into a stream by a dog. Rosie nearly drowned but made it out to became the single greatest feline dog hunter I've ever known, as well as perhaps the smartest cat I've ever seen. We named her for her bright-red nose.

Small, about five pounds, she made the move with us to a large wooded lot in South Carolina. We lived way out in the woods, the daily bus ride to school took an hour-and-half one way. She would follow us every morning to the bus stop along US Highway 601 and wait until we were on the bus. Then she would go home, into the woods, or on a few occasions, stand or sit beside the road till traffic passed, and stroll across the highway. In the afternoon, she would go to the door to be let out by Mom, and would go up to the bus stop to meet us and walk us home.

We would hunt rabbits and birds, my brother and I, and wherever we went, Rosie followed along, much as a dog would. She had a hatred of dogs, though. I watched transfixed one day as I saw a lost deer-hunting dog walk up to the edge of the woods at our yard. He quickly spied Rosie lying still in the middle of the yard, sunning herself. Dogs being dogs, the poor pooch charged. Rosie didn't move. The dog very quickly closed and just when he thought his prey was his, Rosie sprang on him with all twenty claws! The dog quickly turned tail and ran as Rosie took chase, fur flying from the dog's haunches! It was amazing to watch as this 60-to-80-pound dog ran yelping through the woods as this miniscule cat took chase, hissing and growling till the dog was gone. And I saw her do this on at least two other occasions, too.

Rosie moved with us again to a brand-new home just off US Highway 1. She stayed with us many more years, but was later killed alongside the highway, apparently by a car.

After moving into our new home we got a beautiful, black Labrador Retriever pup. Before his first birthday we learned that he had a fast moving form of arthritis that was quickly destrying his hips. Dad and I took him to the vet to be put down. We buried him beside Rosie in the yard.

After that, we got a wonderful Golden Lab puppy we named Princess. One of the smartest dogs I've ever known, she was an amazingly protective animal who knew absolutely the limits of our yard. And she protected that yard and the house from anyone she didn't know. A wonderful dog, she and Cyclops, our one-eyed cat (he apparently lost it in a fight - we got him at the pound)lived at our home for years, well after I had left for college, bought my own home and gotten married.

In the new home of Darlene and I, we got a dog I named Frodo, and a beautiful, gray, female cat named Natasha. The dog we soon had to give away, but Natasha stayed. She even provided my parents and sister a new cat to replaced the recently-deceased Cyclops with one of her first litter, a black male named Brando. His identical brother I named Jet.

Natasha moved with us to Hawaii, but disappeared one day. She would occasionally show up, but eventually she never returned. We kept one of her second litter, a very affectionate, but very dim male I named Gimpel, after a short story of the same title named after the mentally-challenged hero. He also died early. Our move to Colorado saw us take along yet another cat from Hawaii. That cat was there for our daughter Samantha's birth, followed us back to South Carolina, then accompanied us to Washington. It was on our way home from Washington that he was lost in a car accident that destroyed our van and his cat carrier. I went back to the accident scene on a couple of occasions, but we never found him, dead or alive.

Upon our return home to South Carolina, we bought a home and soon took in Mudge, a very large Golden Lab-Chow mix, and Sami, a cat our daughter named after herself ("Sami-cat"). Sami cat met a quick and untimely death. She is buried in the front yard. Petrie came next, a large, long-haired, black female. She was a very happy and affectionate cat, who loved to groom herself and whoever happened to be around. I have short hair, and Petrie would like to crawl into bed and onto my pillow at night and groom me. Darlene hated it, but it didn't bother me in the least.

Mudge grew into a 100-pound dog who was an incredible hunter. He brought home over the years mocking birds, blue jays, moles, muskrats, possums, raccoons, a deer, snakes, squirrels and rabbits. He loves guns and fireworks, chasing rockets and Roman candles, and jumping all around in the midst of popping fire crackers. He kept strays out of the neighborhood for years and loved little children, being a fixture during the years of my wife's home daycare as children, beat, pulled, tugged, and jumped on him. He would just lie there with his tail just wagging.

Our other cat is Lola, a gray stray we found one day. She became my cat and can be quite aloof, though she has a hunger for affection.

Mudge is old now, and I have instructed Ian, our son, to fire off fireworks and then take Mudge out to the woods to hunt squirrels on his last day. Mudge's last thought will be a happy one as he hears the gun go off. I don't want him at the vet's, a place he hates. That, I believe, would be too cruel.

Petrie, though, is the reason for this. My daughter called tonight to say that Ian had found her under the house, dead. She was old for a cat, about 14 years. A wonderful pet, she is the first pet I ever have kept from birth to death. I'll miss her and her careful grooming of my occasionally sunburned head.