Both our dogs were rescues. Our second dog, Fey, was rescued from the streets of South Central Los Angeles and never forgot it. She was loyal, well-behaved, and obedient.
And then there was Woofie. Our first dog ran away repeatedly. He went to science class at the local school. He created bizarre insurance claims. He dug up the yard. He snuck up on the furniture, curling up in Andy’s preferred recliner.
But worst of all? He was an unrepentant thief. Continue reading The Ultimate Thief (#298)
Our new cat didn’t just come with attitude. She also came with a serious weight problem. Boss Cat was big for a female cat, with large feet, a long body, and a very long tail. But you couldn’t say she was merely “big boned.” Like Garfield, her belly bulged over her feet. She could only play with a string for about 2 minutes before she got winded, even though she was only 2 years old.
We promised the rescue group we would put her on a diet. We bought special “Fat Cat” food and doled it out by an eighth of a cup. At the time, I wondered why her foster dad had let Boss get so fat.
After 2 days, I no longer wondered. Continue reading The Extortionist (#281)
When my husband mellowed on the subject of a new cat, I contacted the group that had rescued our dog Fey from the streets of Los Angeles.
“We have a big dog who tries to play with everyone and everything,” I explained. “We mostly trained him out of chasing our old cats, but Woofie’s not totally reliable. Do you have a cat that’s okay with dogs?”
The volunteer said, “Oh, do we have a cat for you!” Continue reading New Cat (#278)
The first thing I did when I moved off the college campus in LA was get a cat. Continue reading We Have a Jumper (#15)