Pets (April A2Z ~ Misty Memories)

Peppy and me, around 1973

Welcome to my April A2Z posts! This time, I am officially signed up on the challenge sheet and will be visiting other bloggers on the list. My theme is "misty memories," which will include a bunch of rambling about old stuff in my life, and hopefully some of it will be accurate, but if not, there's no one around to contradict me. Today we continue with P for Pets. 

We adopted Peppy at 8 weeks when we moved to our house in Middletown, New Jersey. She was a cockapoo ~ part cocker spaniel and part poodle. Her coloring was salt and pepper… hence her name. Sadly, she was from a “puppy mill,” but at least she was relatively healthy after a few weeks of meds and care. My mom, despite being a farm girl, did not know how to train a dog nor did we get help with that, so as a result Peppy had some behavioral issues. I loved her bunches, of course.

She had such adorable habits, and one of my favorite memories is when I would come home from dining out with a soft mint in my pocket. Peppy loved those! She knew I would always bring one home for her. She slept in my room, but she preferred the cozy armchair to my bed. Peppy absolutely loved spaghetti and meatballs, so we would give her some whenever we had it, she’d dive right in, and then she needed a bath afterwards. 

Peppy was with us until we moved to Chicago, so she would have been about 8 years old. My mom decided that she should be euthanized because she was “old” and badly behaved. I was horrified! Peppy was a family member as far as I was concerned, and I didn’t care about new furniture or spotless carpeting because I was a teenager and going away to college besides. I told them that I would find a new home for Peppy since they were so heartless. That turned out to be a disaster. Peppy did not adapt to the home I had found, and she bit people, so they kept her outside. We had already moved to the city when I discovered this, and my friend went to pick her up. Peppy ended up at the pound, and it broke my heart. I still feel terrible ~ instead of passing peacefully as my mom would have done for her, she was alone and terrified at the end. The fact that I had good intentions means nothing to me.

Years later, I adopted a stray cat that had been hanging around our office building in Burbank, CA. He was a black and silver kitty, and we named him Henry, for John Henry, the racehorse; my boyfriend at the time was super into horse racing. Henry stayed with us for around a year before succumbing to liver cancer. By that time, we had adopted a second kitty, Tasha, a gold Abyssinian. When Henry passed, we adopted Cyndi, a red Aby. We were dumb and had impulsively bought them from a pet store, which isn’t much better than a puppy mill. Tasha was fine, but Cyndi was chronically sick. She never grew to adult size and stayed around five pounds, though she was cute and not too skinny. She could tolerate only (human) baby food lamb and rice, which Tasha had to eat as well. Cyndi lived about three years.

By this time I had divorced, remarried, and had a baby. I adopted Oscar, a sweet orange kitten who had been picked up at the Burbank studios. He grew to be a very hardy and muscular 18 pounds, but always gentle and sweet. Tasha was sweet too, but super hyper and crazy. She wouldn’t stop escaping, which brought in fleas no matter what we did. My daughter was horribly allergic to flea bites, so I gave Tasha and Oscar away. This also broke my heart, but my baby came first.

She grew out of her allergy, my younger daughter didn't have allergies to animals, and 10 years later Cocoa showed up, waltzed in, and decided she would live with us. It turned out that I really needed a kitty to love, so this was just perfect, and we soon adopted another stray and named her Tiki. (It’s nice for kitties to have a feline friend in the house.) They were both darling, and we all loved them a lot. My ex got custody of Tiki, and she ran away from his new place after a while. Cocoa lived another several years until her arthritis became too hard for her to bear and she quit eating. My daughter and I were with her at the end, when she passed peacefully at the vet’s office via euthanasia.

I took another kitty break after Cocoa, especially because my new boyfriend didn’t like pets (red flag!), and after we broke up in the fall of 2011, my daughter and I adopted Gatsby from the Orange County Humane Society. He was my soulmate kitty and graced me with his cuteness for 13.5 years, until his kidneys failed. I loved him so much. I have a zillion memories of all the funny things he used to do. I even have a little "shrine" set up on my bookcase for him, plus his face in a heart charm necklace. OK, I am a bit extra, yes. Even though pets break my heart when they pass, they also bring so much joy and love into my life. A home isn’t complete without a kitty or doggo, in my view.

Now I have Inky, who is a little doll, black with silver sprinkles, emerald eyes, and the sweetest disposition. I totally adore her!