wilf was a warrior, a solemn old man who found his solace dozing on the grass soaking in the hot rays of sun. a cat blacker than tar with a soul softer than the wet soil he laid upon. during those long summer days wilfred was seldom seen anywhere but rested on those freshly cut blades of grass. now it's ten years later and each time I pass the lawn which he cherished so dearly, I rest easy knowing my soulful old man of a cat rests peacefully, buried under the spot in which he loved more than anything. even more than me. r.i.p wilf.
...was an odd duck. I guessed she was last in the litter and came out with the umbilical cord around her neck. At first we did not notice how strange she was. She and her sister M- loved palling around and cuddling in the sunlight. Within weeks, however, that changed.
Our apartment had no knobs, it had door handles. One night, about 2:00 AM, she jumped up onto one of these handles. My wife turned the lights of our pitch black bedroom on, and there she sat as if engaged in normal cat behavior. But wait, our story does not end there!
Within days, this Tesla of a cat was opening any closed doors, even the front door. Which was bad.
As the cats grew, M- developed into the kind of cat one sees when looking up 'cat' in the dictionary. Shakes grew to be...a freak.
They had a hierarchy: M- always ate 1st. Shakes sat outside the kitchen door, leaning forward every now and then to see how M- was coming along, doing so until her sister had left the kitchen.
One day, a ladybug landed on her whiskers. She wrinkled her nose left and right, but otherwise did not react. M- showed up and paraded by, and Shakes leaned forward to show respect. The ladybug jumped ship for greener pastures, landing on M-'s butt, who then took off – the way a cat should – as if it were on fire.
Shakes was a special one all right.
We adopted our first dog when I was in junior high school.
Some family friends had found her tied outside of a gas station and, when no one claimed her, offered her to us.
They named her Smokey not because of her long, black fur, but because that first week after they took her home, she stole a pack of cigarettes from the living room table and carried them around in her mouth until they finally managed to corner her.
The first time we met her she got so excited she peed all over the floor.
She was afraid of sewer grates and water in general, but when I took her for walks in the wooded area by our house, I couldn't keep her away from the marsh.
She did this thing where she'd throw her entire body weight against the back of the couch and grunt to try to get your attention.
We called her: our Little Masochist, P.I.T.A., Smokey Baby, Smokes.
I say she was our dog, but really she was my mom's. She followed my mom around the house incessantly, demanding to be let into her bedroom at night and waiting for her outside of the bathroom door.
I was away at college when it happened. She'd tried to follow my mom to bed that night but couldn't make it up the stairs, so she laid down at the foot of the steps instead. That's where they found her the next morning.
She was a good girl.
It was my rat who passed. The one who was seen as ugly and gross, but to me she was my savior. I would be crying in my room (most of the time suicidal lol) and she would come up to her door and look at me until I picked her up. Then, she would curl up on my shoulder and sleep. She probably died of a respitory disease, and when I found her dead, I cried and screamed. It seemed stupid to me. There was worse things happening in the world, but even the smallest of deaths can make you ponder the point of life.
He was much more than my pet. Actually he was my trained service dog.
I got him from a breeder when he was 4 months old and had a trainer work with us three days a week for fifteen months.
During his gangly puppy stages, Tigger survived the most severe case of puppy mouth warts the vets had ever seen! They were so bad he couldn’t eat his food and I had to spoon feed him canned food until the vet surgically removed them! Then two months later Tigger got a huge knot on a toe. I thought it was a bug bite. Nope it was cancer and he had to have that toe removed. They said it wouldn’t come back. It came back on two other toes and they also had to be removed.
All before he turned three years old!
He was a trooper though, and I made sure that since he took very good care of me, he had a very comfortable life. He had his own couch, and blanket and his own little Tigger toy.
Tigger helped me for 12 years.
Its been two years now, I had to have him put down because he had a mass in his chest. I had him cremated and his ashes sit in a special spot.
Ive never gotten over him.
Tigger. Gentle giant. Great Dane.
40 inches at the shoulder
i'm crying on main street
all by myself in the fog
my tears not yet obsolete
because they put down my dog
it happened seven years ago
but i'm crying all over again
i should be over it, i know
but i'm reminded of you old friend
i'm doing nothing
all by myself in my room
just mindlessly scrolling
until i see a picture of you
you held onto my mom
when you were going home
tears are not what you'd want
i should be over it, i know
oh daisy, i still miss you
i don't know what to do
one of the best girls i've known
and would you look at me, i'm growing old
i wish i could see you one last time
not through a video or in my mind
i'd give anything to know that you are alright
i wish i could see you again in broad daylight
oh daisy, i still miss you
there's nothing i can do
i should stop crying, i know
but would you look at me, i'm growing old
Ode to SugarSnap- Our Silent Love.
During a tumultuous patch in my last relationship, I was faced with an ultimatum. I could keep you, or move out. In a flash of clarity, I knew the relationship was over. Nobody who knows and loves me would try to take you from me. Needless to say, we were taking your first ferry ride to the mainland forthwith.
You were born bilaterally deaf. It had to do with your lack of pigmentation. That made you unsaleable product to the prestigious breeders from whence you came. It was you who first caught my attention. Your atypical behavior set you apart from your frolicsome littermates. While they bouncily played with each other in groups, you walked the fenceline of the yard alone, collecting olfactory clues, 3 fluffy white pounds of lone wolf.
I had visited your breeder ready to spend $1,500 for my perfect puppy. Upon declaring that it was you I wanted, the breeder shook her head. "That one isn't for sale." Her words impregnated with reticence. "Already spoken for?" I queried. Sighing, she replied "She's deaf. As registered AKC breeders, we cannot accept monetary compensation for a defective puppy." What nerve, to label you defective!
I insisted, I must have you. You were given to me, for free. That day, I ended a bad relationship, saved $1500, and gained a uniquely communicative companionion. To you, your name was two bangs on the floor. Vibration was understandable. We learned together. Our conversations were textural, inaudible. Truly, a love beyond words.
Deeply and Terribly
I'm ashamed to admit that you got on my nerves. And I didn't always do my best. I tried to make up for it in the end though I suppose it didn't matter. I'm still here, missing you deeply and terribly.
I never set out
to be a collector
stashed in jars, boxes and tins
given out by pet crematoriums.
15 at last count.
I try to put them where that kitty most liked to sit:
on my bed stand
near the food bowl
Each a painful decision
where I had to put to death
that which I most loved
for their own good.
of pure trust
what haunts me