It is my firm belief that a house is not a home without at least one critter of some sort to share it with. Here, we've taken that idea and run wild with it, sharing our home with five beasties who do their best to live up to that name. So, without further ado, bring on the beasties!
This is Murphy, named for Peter Murphy, naturally. He was adopted from the Animal Defense League in February 2011. We were looking for a smaller dog for Mum, but he perked up his ears when he saw us and it was so adorable that we had to hold him. As soon as we did, he licked everyone on the cheek and that was the end of our search.
The last dog we'd all had was a spaniel named Paws, who loved car rides, never bothered the cats, and never ever barked unless there was a stranger at the door. Murphy becomes ill on even short car rides, constantly attempts to play with the cats despite their protests, and barks at everything. And nothing. He's spoiled, he's defiant, and sometimes it seems he never learns. He's also the most loyal and loving dog one could ever ask for. He's the best nurse dog when I'm sick, he gives the best hugs and I would not trade him for all the well-behaved, quiet dogs on earth.
Murphy looking at the rain clouds, thinking deep thoughts.
As best we can recall, Suki is thirteen years old. She was born of a stray at my grandmother's house just before it was sold and my Aunt Beverly, having long wanted a white cat, decided to keep her. Now you might. be thinking, "White cat? But this cat is some sort of Siamese-calico hybrid." Yes, yes she is. She was indeed a white kitten when my aunt first brought her home. But over the first year of her life, dark spots started to appear on her fur until she was transformed into the calico-white-Siamese she is today.
Suki was anti-social and disliked nearly everyone except my aunt, so when we would come to visit, she'd run and hide. When my aunt died, my parents inherited Suki and her "sister" Mischa by default, as no one else was able or willing to take them both on. She's become much more social over the years though she can still be a bit of a snob. Unless there are table scraps involved. She loves scraps.
Mischa has been through a lot in her eight or nine years. Mischa came to live with my aunt through a series of odd events. While my aunt was out of town, her catsitter let one of her cats, a raggedy old man named Mr. B, outside for a bit and when he had not returned after an entire day, she assumed the worst. Overwhelmed with guilt, she decided to adopt another cat for my aunt, a "consolidation cat", if you will. And thus, Mischa was brought into my aunt's home.
Before her adoption, Mischa was in no fewer than four other homes, each of them having returned her for behaviour unbecoming of.a cat, or any creature living with other living beings. Indeed, she was a poorly socialised cat with a penchant for chewing on things. Things like walls. Whole chunks of walls. But my aunt never gave up on her. And neither did my parents when they took her in upon my aunt's passing. When I first moved home, bringing my cats along with me, I thought for certain Mischa and Wednesday would kill each other. But everyone survived and these days Mischa is a much more mellow cat who prefers sleeping and purring to starting brawls and eating walls.
Oh my sweet little Jasper who was rescued from the clutches of death! My cousin, seeing that a truck was about to back over this tiny little kitten, dove to the ground to rescue him. Once she had him in her hands, she knew she couldn't turn him loose on the streets, but she couldn't keep him either. Thankfully my the-fiance and I were looking for another kitten at the time. I made immediate plans to pick him up from San Antonio. From the moment we met, he was my little baby. He let me hold him for long periods of time without fussing. He would sit on my shoulder while I watched television or used the computer and would curl up right beside me for long naps. He's five now and much more independent, but he is still a sweetheart and will always be my little ginger baby.
My precious Wednesday is often referred to as a "bear trap with fur" due to the above pose, which only seems harmless. In February 2005 on a cold and rainy night in Austin, as my ex and I were leaving our apartment, we heard from above the very loud cries of a kitten. I looked up and there was a tiny grey ball of fluff looking down at me. We took her in immediately and though I put up fliers in case she did belong to someone and had gotten loose, I was relieved when no one responded. She has always been fiesty, bordering on feral, but that is what I love most about her. Age has mellowed her only slightly. She is my little warrior princess, with a loud, shrill scream to match. When Wednesday is the one meowing, you will not mistake her for any of the other cats!
All of our beasties have quite a bit of personality and they keep things in this house interesting. There is always someone making noise or running or jumping off of something. There is always fur on everything. And I for one would not have it any other way.
How about you, darklings? Any pets?
Jasper and Wednesday nap on the window seat.
Feeding time
What were they looking at? Not a clue. Cats do the oddest thing.
