Critters I Have Loved

Don't ask me why I am posting this. I have no clue!

I have always been an animal lover. Because we were military nomads in my younger life, we didn't have pets...but when we settled in Danville, IL, for a whole couple of years, my dad brought home a dog. She was a young dog, but not a puppy. She was a blonde cocker spaniel, and her name was Taffy. Wow! A pet! We'd never had a dog before. I was a kid and knew nothing about what to do. We didn't play with Taffy...never took her on walks. She was just supposed to exist, I guess...and exist, she did. When we were sent to Japan, she went to live with my grandparents on the farm. When we returned, Taffy was almost unrecognizable. She had become fat! My grandparents apparently had fed her from the table.

Taffy moved with us to the Chicago suburbs and continued to live her seemingly-unloved existance. Then, one day, she was gone. Was I away at college? I don't remember. I do remember my parents telling me that Taffy had "gone down in the back" and they had her put to sleep. I think she was 10 at the time. I accepted it then, but all of these years later, when I think about poor Taffy, I feel bad. She didn't get a fair shake in life.

Fast forward to my relationship with my then-husband. He had an Irish Setter named Ann, and before we were married, he gave her to me. Ann was not what I would call a show-quality setter, but she was a very good dog. We could take her everywhere without a leash. She just wasn't very bright. Sometimes, she would flush out birds in the field and would be jumping as if to catch one, when there were rabbits running practically right under her feet and she didn't see them! She could never have been a hunting dog. She hated guns. I suspect some were fired around her and it scared her to death. Ann was my child. I loved her and she loved me.

The first Memorial Day weekend after my husband and I were married, we were packed and ready to leave for Indiana for the Indianapolis 500. Joe took Ann to work with him because we didn't want to have to return home to get her before departing from Illinois to Indy. (He had a library to keep her in during the day.) He had a luncheon date planned with other faculty members. The very last thing I said to him that day as we left for work was, "It's supposed to be hot today. Don't leave Ann in the car."

At the end of the workday, Joe came to pick me up for our trip to Indiana...but he took me into my office. I immediately knew something was wrong. "Where is Ann?" Joe was forced to tell me that he had left Ann in the car while he went to lunch with friends for "just a little bit"...and Ann was dead due to the heat. He had realized the gravity of the situation when he got back to the car and had driven her to a vet--or so he said--but she could not be revived.

In a second, I went nuts. I screamed and cried and beat on his chest. My teacher's aides heard me and left in a hurry. I shocked myself with the strength and insanity of my reaction. (I have only experienced one other event that did the same thing to me...just two years ago.) I was sick for weeks...could not eat or sleep. There was no joy in life. All I could think of was that my baby dog had died at the hands of someone who was supposed to care for her. It was awful.

Instead of leaving for Indy, we detoured to the family farm in order to bury Ann. My parents didn't know we were coming, so when we showed up, there were questions. I sent Joe to the pasture to begin digging Ann's grave while I explained to my mother. She was so angry. I think she said something like, "I want to shoot him!"

My daughter was born the next year. God took away my dog but gave me the love of my life! As Megan grew, she became a critter lover like me. We always lived in rental homes so couldn't have pets, but when we moved to a rental home in Indiana in 1988, we requested permission to have a cat for her. The landlord said "no problem". We were totally new to the area, so I called a local veterinarian's office to ask about places to find a pet. They referred me to a lady in Eminence, IN, who took in strays. The woman there could only catch one cat--an orange tabby that scratched the hell out of my arms in the process of trying to put her in a carrier. We took her home and opened the carrier, and that was the last we saw of the cat for a week!!!

The very next day, I was outside. Out of the bushes running straight to me was a 4-5 month old kitten who was very dirty and very loud, just begging for food and love. She was a mostly white cat with some black and a tiny bit of brown. I sent Megan around the neighborhood with the kitten to see if anyone knew where she belonged. (She SAID she did. True or not, I don't know.) No...we can't have two cats! No way! You can guess the rest...

We named the orange cat Butterscotch, aka Sputterbutt, Butter Buds, but mostly known as Butter...or simply "Buds". In the beginning, we only knew she was there because the food would disappear. One evening, in an effort to play with the white cat, we were using a string...and the orange cat came out from under the couch to catch it.

The white cat was named Puddy Tat (from Tweetie-bird's attempt to say "Pussy Cat"). Puddy Tat became Puddy, and then simply "Puds". (My then-husband called her Shithead.) The two felines became fast friends, in time. We would often find them wrapped in each other's arms in slumber...in laundry baskets, beds...you name it.

When my ex and I split up, he made it clear that I was to take the cats with me. Unfortunately, Meg and I were moving to a rental place that specified no pets. What to do? They stayed with us for a couple of weeks until Megan said she was afraid we'd be kicked out if they were discovered...so I asked my brother in the Chicago area if he could take them and find homes for them. He said he would. They were locked in his bedroom in Oak Park, IL, with six other cats in his apartment. Seven months later, when I bought a house in Plainfield, IN, the cats were still with him. Megan and I drove up to retrieve them. When we arrived at our home and opened the cat carrier, the cats blinked and looked around a bit, but it was as if we had never been separated!

Buds was a scaredy-cat all of her life. If she came to your lap to be petted, she always placed herself facing out so that if you made one false move, she would launch to another room. She was street-smart. Puddy was just a common thug, too dumb to know that she could be frightened. Puds was the dominant cat--the licker/groomer. I have a blind friend who had a yellow Labrador service dog that came to visit one day. Puddy was 1/8th that dog's size, but she had him cornered in fear with her swagger. She did the same thing to a dog I had a few years later. If I had a ladder put up for a household project, I'd find Puddy on top of it. If there was an open suitcase somewhere, Puddy slept in it. The usual human response to Puddy was "You stupid cat!"

One day in 2000, I noticed that Butter was sitting on the arm of a chair near the bay window and hadn't moved for hours. Very strange behavior for her. I took her to the vet--always stressful. He heard a heart murmur and noticed that her gums were quite pale--an indication of a big-time heart problem. As she gyrated on the exam table trying to get away from him, he thought she could have a heart attack right then and there. I broke down because I understood the decision that would soon face me. I cried and cried in the vet's office, then brought Butter home.

Over the next week, things got worse. Buds could hardly move, but she exhibited a desire to be outside--something that hadn't happened since the day we got her many years before. She had scratched a spot on the back of her neck totally bald. I put a piece of gauze over it so it wouldn't sunburn and let her go outside on the patio. I checked on her every few minutes. Mostly, she just sat in one spot. Then, on one check, she was gone! I started calling for her. She responded. Somehow, she had found her way through a hole in the fence and was in the neighbor's yard but totally scared. I retrieved her. Butter had an adventure!

Then, one day, Butter could no longer hold up her head. I knew I couldn't leave her home alone in that condition, so I took her to school with me. The vet's office was practically on the school campus, and I had second period free. That morning, I could put Butter over my shoulder and carry her around--something she never would have tolerated before. I had to say good-bye to my Butter Buds that day, then go home to Puddy Tat without her.

Megan moved to her own apartment that week...so Puddy lost two of her best friends in the same week. She was never the same again. Over the next two years, she became very thin--had stopped eating but was drinking a lot and urinating a lot. I took her to the vet. They checked her for diabetes but couldn't find that. They did an ultrasound and found spots on her liver. I took her home to be comfortable. One evening, she simply couldn't stand anymore. I had brought her food and water to the living room near her. She would stand up to go to them but would fall over. I called the emergency vet near the airport for her final trip. Puddy and Buds are buried near each other in a flower garden in my yard. I loved those stupid cats!

There is one more pet to discuss, but it is late. You will have to hear about Frodo the Wonder Dog later!