geminigirl | Some animal stories for sivart

So I'm sitting at my desk writing this, and Betakitty gets out of the chair where he's been sleeping all day, slips under the desk and pulls the blanket I've got in my lap off of me so that he can be all wrapped up and hiding underneath it. When I go to untuck his head he starts nipping at me. And he's purring.

Siggy was a Keeshond. If I were to get a purebread dog at this point, a keeshond would be high on my list. Her actual name registered with the AKC was "Dad Said No"-a tribute to the fact that my grandfather (mom's dad) said exactly that when my parents said they were getting another dog. Siggy was the dog that we had when I was born. My parents also had a black and white tuxedo cat named Samantha (called Sam.) Mom and Dad moved from their apartment in Mineola, to the house in Setauket that I grew up in with Sam, and Siggy. Sam had never been allowed outdoors before, but she took to it after a while, although her teeth never stopped chattering as she stalked the yard animals...birds, squirrels, moles. She also happened to get pregnant. The pregnancy was uneventful, but then came time for her to give birth. For some reason, known only to cats, she decided that the middle of my parents bed was a good place to do this. Siggy rather obediently follwed Sam upstairs to the bedroom for this event to happen. Sam took her place in the middle of the bed, leaning against Siggy, who played midwife to the cat, licking her head and encouraging her through the birth, helping to clean the kittens as they came out and so on. As they grew, Siggy even began to produce milk. When the kittens were old enough that Sam would leave them alone, she would call for Siggy to come "babysit" them. Siggy was devastated when the kittens had to go...and even more distraught several years later when my brother started having near fatal reactions to the cat and we had to give her away. I was too...I asked "Why can't we keep the cat and get rid of Z.?"

RJ was also a keeshond. We got her when I was about six...in first grade. RJ was short for "Argenta"-named for the silvery coat. My parents have always had a soft spot for animals in need...that's why, between the two of them there were ten dogs at times. (Before I was born. Before they were married. When they both lived in NYC in apartments. Yes, insane. This is also why they have eight or nine cats now.) So, this black and white tuxedo cat came around, and my brother ceased having allergic reactions to cats, and Frisky Bob Cat came to live with us. RJ had never had a cat before. Most cats, one would expect would be a bit nervous about a dog. Especially one as rambunctious as RJ. Frisky took it quite in stride. He'd come into the house and RJ would pounce on him, pinning him under her paw. Then he would take off and she would chase him through the house. Often this game would end with Frisky diving under the chair in my sister's bedroom, with the dog barking right behind him. Frisky would stick his tail out from under the chair, and swish it at the dog, but the minute the dog came towards him, he would pull it right in, under the chair. Big tease that he was.

Sadly, Frisky Bob disappeared shortly after Happy came to live with us. (Happy was my grandfather's puppy. When they moved permanently to Florida, she couldn't go with them, and she came to live with us. She was a beautiful and sweet German Shepard and Collie mix.) There's a happy ending of sorts though. I went away to college when I was 18. During my second semester of my first year, a black and white tuxedo cat began hanging around my parents house. He wouldn't go into the house, but he stayed in the garage. He was kind and friendly, and in very bad shape...very beat up, elderly and decrepit. My family fed him and cared for him, kept him warm and pet him. Mom thought he looked awfully familiar, and might be Frisky. He stayed through the winter, and I came home at the end of the spring semester. We unloaded the car, and I talked to and pet the cat, certain that it was Frisky Bob. That night, the night I came home, Frisky Bob passed away. He'd disappeared for years, we were convinced he'd died or something...and yet he came home, like the elephants do to see his family one more time before he died.

Happy was the dog we inherited from my grandparents, when they moved to Florida permanently, instead of spending winters there and summers in New York. She was a shepard/collie mix. Over time, my parents acquired many more cats. Humphrey is the son of Smear, who has been my cat since day one. She's about 18 years old now, elderly and deaf. Humphrey and his brother Ajax are a pair of long haired cats-Humphrey is black and white, and Ajax is grey and white. So Humphrey and Happy...Humphrey would go outside, and when he came back in would start yowling, until Happy came running to him, whereupon Happy would proceed to lick and chew on Humphrey. Happy and Humphrey would play together, with Happy walking around the kitchen table in circles, while Humphrey chased her tail. Happy had to be put down a few years back...Humphrey was devastated. He still gets confused and calls for the dog sometimes when he comes in.

How's that?