Question of the day #7: What was your first pet?

One day, when I was about nine years old, I was standing on the sidewalk in front of our house, and a cat accosted me. The cat rubbed around my legs, and (probably frustrated by my lack of reaction) occasionally leaped up toward my face. I was just petrified.

However, my father happened to see this happening, and thought I was enjoying my interaction with the cat. He decided we should get a kitten.

And I was not opposed to it. We went to some place where kittens were available, and I picked a black and white one. I named her Kathy, after a girl in school that I liked.

This was before the ethic of keeping cats indoors. So eventually Kathy grew up, went into heat, and had two kittens in a linen drawer. Subsequently, she was spayed, and it must have been done brutally, because she was never the same after that. She became fearful and moved like she was always in pain.

But starting with those two kittens, and their offspring, we always had a lot of cats around, and my father was not diligent enough to keep up with all the spaying that was needed.

We also had an unrelated cat named Toulouse, a mostly-black tuxedo cat, who belonged to a student of my father's. She was going overseas and asked us to take care of Toulouse while she was gone. For whatever reason, she never showed up to reclaim her cat. Toulouse was the last survivor of all those cats, and lived some 20 years in good health.

 

My first pet was a little dog named Pluto. He was a cockapoo. My mom said we got home when I was 2.
My daughter's first pet was my black lab Madison. We had her before we had my daughter.

 

We had a bunch of cats when I was a kid but the one I remember most clearly was a black and white badass tomcat named Rorschach.
Even after we got him fixed he would kick all the male cats asses and take on the ladies.

 

Our family had a pet cat called "Socks". Black cat with white feet. She (and the neighbour's dog) got run over together (dog chasing cat). The neighbour was upset about it, that she replaced our cat. The second one was Duchess, but pretty much answered to "Puss".

 

Im partial to dogs myself

 

My parents had three cats when I was born... Jet ran away when I was really young. Token (siamese mix) was about four years older than me and died when I was in middle school. His death and the other cat's, Glenna (black alleycat mix), really traumatized me and have kinda overshadowed my memories of them. Token crawled under the house and died, my dad found him and it was the second time I'd ever seen him cry. Some other animal had gotten to him. Glenna was attacked by two dogs in our front yard and I went with my mom to the vet afterwards... She heard my mom's voice and kept trying to get up and get to her as she was being sedated. It was terrible. I always felt bad because we preferred Tokie to her and never petted her quite the same.
Think about it now, it's probably a miracle we kept having pets!
Isaac was my first cat on my own. He was my crazy Old Man. He was 15 when I had to let him go two years ago due to hyperthyroidism.

 

I don't remember. Too long ago.

 

There was always some kind of animal around when I was small...we had a goldfish when I was around 1 or 2, but I don't remember much about him. A stray cat had kittens under our porch, and I adored them, though they weren't really "ours." We had a little beagle-ish dog when I was around 7 or so, but my stepfather-at-the-time wasn't a dog person, so the poor little pup wasn't in the house much, and there wasn't much opportunity to bond with him. We also had parakeets at some point.


Shortly before I turned 9, I met the Best Dog in The World. Her name was Polly, and she was an English pointer. My stepdad originally got her to be a hunting dog, and she was a good one...very obedient, enthusiastic, and eager-to-please. After he and my mom got married, though, we spoiled the heck out of her, and she became a very content house dog. She slept with either me or my brother, alternating nights. When one of us was sick, she stayed by our side until we got better. My mom watched several kids during the day, and she was so patient with all of them (I remember one time in particular, when one of the toddlers was learning to walk, he fell over on her, and she just raised her head, looked at him warily, and sighed.) Since my parents were divorced, we went to dad's every other weekend, and Mom said every Sunday we were gone, at about 5:30 (we got back at 6), Polly would be at the front window, watching and waiting for us. We gave her pancakes on Sundays, and smuggled all the vegetables we didn't like to her under the table.

I was out of the county when she died...she had a good run at 14 years old, but I was heartbroken that I couldn't be with her that last day. She went peacefully, though, and I was thankful for that.

Here she is in one of my senior pictures (some of you have probably seen this before.) I was 17, which means she would've been around 9.

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I begged and noodged my parents for a cat for years. As a kid, I had zero interest in dogs, I loved cats and wanted one. They finally gave in when I turned nine, and let me get a cat. We looked through classified ads listing kittens for sale, most were sold before I got there, a couple of times there were a couple left, but I just didn't click with any of them. Finally, we went to this one house, they had a big box full of kittens, and a couple sprawled elsewhere, all cute, but none clicked. I asked if there were any other kittens, and at first, the women started to shake her head, but then said, "Wait! There is one missing. He might be in the other room with the mama cat." I looked, and sure enough, in an orange canvas chair (it was the turn of the 80s), there was a big black cat curled up, and next to her was a little black copy of her. I fell in love with the kitten at first glance. They had already named him Noah, and for some reason, the name seemed to fit. So we took him home. His official name was Noah The Cat (capital letters), but also was sometimes called Reb Noach Katz, because he proved to be a devoutly Jewish cat. He was a terrific cat, and unfortunately, after my parents divorced a few years later, and my mom moved us away for her work, I had to give him up. The people to whom we gave him we kind-hearted, but knew nothing about cats, and attempted to tie him up in the way one would tie up a dog, and he died. I was heartbroken, and cried for days, even though I was a teenager by then.

They got no choice in the matter: we had the dog before we had the kids. And don't think the dog doesn't know that, and remind us of it with pointed glances during loud and unruly child moments. She is, on the whole, though, a remarkably tolerant little dog.

 

The first pet I remember was a ginger cat named, Frank. I don't remember much but I do remember that my Mom gave him away (not sure why). This became a thing with her. She would get us a pet and we'd have it for a year or so and then she'd get rid of it.

It sucked.