Furry Karma

Growing up, every fur baby who lived with us, had me as their number 1 person. They loved us all, BUT I was the one. Bubba took it so far that if anyone got a little too close to me, he’d go into protect mode. He was a dogs dog. His best friend Daisy lived across the street and she would come over and bark at the front door for him. We’d let him out and they were off. When they played, he was just short enough to run right underneath her legs. He was a low rider. He’d do the army crawl if he saw a cat down the road or a hot air balloon drifting by. He was on it.

Vastly different was Tug, T for short, and then Max, Mac for short. T was our first Sheltie. Got him from a Sheltie farm in Lincoln Il. For some reason, my parents decided they wanted a Sheltie and found that farm. Nobody cared about papers and that farm didn’t have any. They just had a shitload of cuties up for adoption. If you don’t know herding dogs, they’re smart and ….like to herd anything they can. As high schoolers, we all ran to get in shape, stay in shape, you name it, we were not a thin people, so we ran for our prospective sports. T then Mackie ran with us. We lost T too soon. If you can believe this, he was hit by a UPS truck, the driver got out, picked him up and moved him so it looked like he got hit on another road. Here’s the kicker. A friend’s mom saw the whole thing and didn’t tell us. I found out after the fact. I was aghast. I NEVER! Ever. Would do something like that. Ever. 

We went back to the same farm and picked out Max. He barfed on the floor of the car on the way home. I had to clean it up. Poor guy was probably too young, and now I think it’s a crime to separate families of animals like people do, but that’s just me.

Max became my shadow. We paper trained him to start and he got so good at it, he’d come inside to pee on the papers. It took some doin but he finally figured it out. That dog was such a non dog, that he’d be chillin in the yard and a rabbit would stroll by, and I mean within a foot of his nose, and he would not blink. Not even shift his gaze in the slightest. The rabbits loved him. For obvious reasons. 

He loved my dad but I was his number 1. If I was home, he was with me. When I went off to college, he’d honey up to Dad but when I got home, he would very literally ignore him. Seriously, Dad would call him, and he would run to me.

When Dad left us, Max was so depressed that even my brother’s friends were worried.

Max wouldn’t play, nothin. Just drooped around the house, looking for Dad. It’s hard enough to lose a parent too young but this was so tough, that my brother told me I had to bring him to live with me. I did and we healed each other. He gave me purpose and I gave him all the love and attention possible. One year after my dad died. Mackie picked up his red shoe to play. A year! Don’t tell me animals don’t feel what we do. They absolutely do. It goes both ways. We feel their loss for eons as well.  I was devastated when it was Mackie’s time. He was my family. End of story.

Since Mackie, I’ve had cats and they have been immensely loved by myself and my husband. Although, Sammy, our beautiful and stately tuxedo kitty did love to dance with me. He was so relaxed, his head would bob up and down as we waltzed. Wherever I was, Sammy, Violet and Mow were surrounding me. I was their alpha. They were truly my pack. Violet was my meditation partner, Sammy kept the grounds safe and Mow added fluff and supreme cuteness. They all slept with us. I miss them daily.

 But, I would be remiss here if I did not mention Kitty Dukes, my first and most formidable Lion of a cat. In her prime, she gave birth in the attic of the garage and when the Great Dane who lived down the street sauntered in, she leapt onto his back from the open ceiling, riding him out of our lives forever. Dad was pleased. Very pleased. Joyful in fact. No more dog poo in our yard. We took those kittens door to door to get them adopted and finally, a farm kid my dad worked with took them all and slept in a pile of hay with them when they arrived. Last but not least, Cookie, my heart kitty, saved from the streets of NYC, found near Lincoln Center. The sweetest kitty you ever met. Slept on my head and invaded my dreams. I believe she was sent by Max.

All of these amazing felines had something in common. They all slept with us, taking up the whole bed, pillow, really, whatever they wanted to take up. They were mush melons of love and affection. 

Presently, enter, EUGENE and EDNA. Our current rescues who are truly adorable and Rubenesque in stature. We call them The Boteros. They’ve overcome such trauma in their lives. They hit paydirt when I came around. Black gold and Texas Tea. They moved on UP. Eugene is a stocky orange boy, cute as a button and his name, I mean, Eugene after all. I had to bust him outta the clink. He needed a partner in crime and Edna was a super shy cutie who was not gregarious enough to get herself adopted, (and she had herself most of the time) so I thought, perfect match. Two souls stuck in the limbo of a huge rescue facility. Decision made.

They came home with us. Hid under the bed upstairs for a month. Eugene marked all over like crazy. They were both scared but, eventually, came out to investigate. We couldn’t believe how long it took them to venture downstairs but finally they went. When they found that freedom, they didn’t go back up for MONTHS. When we got our beautiful Persian rug back from the Rug Doctor, you woulda thought it was birthdays and Christmas all at once. They stayed on that rug unless they had to move to eat or poo. That made their lives complete. They have everything they could have dreamed of….

BUT they prefer my husband. IF he is not here, Eugene will consent to a belly rub. If he had any wits about him, he’d get a lot more belly rubs if he cozied up to me. But like I said, karma’s a bitch.