In books of fiction I really enjoy it when there's a house pet in the story. Robert Crais's character, Elvis Cole, has a cat with no name who bites pretty much everyone but him and Joe Pike and drinks beer out of his bowl. Makes for some amusing scenes and dialogue. From an author standpoint it's fun to integrate a pet's personality and behavior into a story.
Thinking about house pets this week churned up childhood memories of family pets or rather, pets that became family. From the time I left my parent's home to today, only twice---nine months as a freshman in college and three months on a summer job at the Grand Canyon---have I not had a house pet.
In addition to common pet classifications - furred, feathered and scaly - I grew up with some interesting critters, thanks to my dad whose taste in pets were....unique.
Arnold, Rainbow Boa; Blanche, an Indigo.
We had the normal variety of pets too.
- Kiska, a beloved Samoyed
- Speedy, Kitty, Tom (cats with carefully selected names)
- Mona - angel fish
- Melissa - rabbit
- Goldie, Andrew, Timothy and too many other hamsters to list here
- Same with gerbils
- Suzette - skunk
Wait. That last one shouldn't be in the Normal Pets category. We did have one, however, she had a very limited engagement. Suzette's foray beneath the kitchen sink (in USAF base housing), to make a meal of the insulation behind the wall wrote her a 'You're Outahere!" ticket back to from whence she came.
These days my family lives with two dogs, one cat, a parakeet who thinks he's a mockingbird and two fish, Melvin and Cory.
Pepperoni, aka Chunky Kitty, Chunkamunka, Pumpkin Butt and Bowling-Pin-A-Roni, tolerates us sharing an abode with her. I tease her about getting her own place, or at the very least her own bedroom because she takes up so much space in mine.