When Doug and I were first married, we had a cat. I begged Doug for a cat. I was very very lonely in Atlanta, he was in Graduate School, I was depressed... we got a cat. His name was Linus, named for the first Pope (we're not Catholic but Doug knows a lot of church history so he thought that'd be a great cat name). Linus was a southern rebel, to the core. He was pissed to hell when we moved north, and he hated Doug. I think he blamed Doug for everything. Stupid Cobb County Animal Shelter attitude filled southern cat.
So when he'd get mad at either of us, he'd go into the bedroom closet and poop all over anything that was on the floor. I'd usually discover it a few days later.
He also would attack Doug without provocation. Doug hated that cat.
We traded the cat for a Rottweiler (My Missy). I loved Linus. He was such a good cat to me, but he and Doug definitely didn't ever bond. To this day -- Doug HATES CATS. My kids want one in the worst way. Doug's all about the big NO.
I miss Linus sometimes. He was a super cat (to me). He would curl up beside me and do this kitty kneeding thing into my inner arm and put his kitty lips up against my skin, and in a half asleep way, purring his head off, would be transported back to life in the barn in some backwoods Cobb County town with his Mamma kitty and all his brothers and sisters, before they boxed him up and gave him to us.
I loved when he'd go wild and run all over the house like a complete mental patient. We had no furniture, so he'd crash into walls, skidding all over the place. It was a riot.
Kinger ate a duck once. Not a live one, but a partially consumed roasted Thai duck that was left unattended. It was on the counter at Dan and Honey's house. Honey left it there, not thinking that Kinger, with the mindset of a stray, would eat the whole thing once she left the house to run to the market. Her dogs don't ever eat off the counter.
Dan warned us that it happened when we picked him up that night. He predicted the worst.
And the worst did happen.
Doug and I were asleep, and suddenly Doug woke up thinking, "What is that smell???" He got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. Kinger was cowering in the corner, the entire room was covered with both vomit and shit. Kinger was terrified. So was Doug.
To this day I'm so proud of what he did next. He didn't wake me up saying "Honey? There's some puke in the kitchen, and some shit. Can you go clean it up?"
He was wide awake -- his body shocked into response and literally unable to just walk away from it and ignore it. He took the dog outside, cleaned the house, cleaned the dog, cleaned himself, prayed it wouldn't happen again that night (after all that effort)...
When I got up in the morning there wasn't a trace of stink. He did an amazing job. A round of applause for the responsible dog owner.
We don't leave food unattended, not even a loaf of bread. All our pets for some reason have had this "thing" for bread loaves. Linus used to pull them off the counter and wrestle with them, fighting them until they were naught but crumbs and plastic shredded remains. Missy and Kinger both would take entire loaves and eat them. On our bed.
Not good.
Jack is proving himself to be kind of a food thief. I'm hoping he learns a lesson some way before we have a Thai roast duck incident.
Alright -- I'm off to shower. More tomorrow.
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