March of last year a skinny black cat started following and talking to me. I had seen him around as part of a group, the black cat, a white cat, and a huge red cat. After a several days he started sleeping on our front porch. He would not leave me. Because he had a very tattered collar we ran ads but no one claimed him. We had him fixed and Kitty moved in. He loves me, likes my girlfriend and hides from all others and lives for tummy rubs.

As soon as Kitty moved in the white cat started following him. Kitty never goes out so the white cat went from window ledge to window ledge as Kitty moved from room to room. After a few days we realized the white cat was not going to leave and tried to talk to him. We discovered he was feral and wanted nothing to do with people. We gave him food each evening.

After a couple of months of this I got out of the shower one morning and there was Kitty stretched out in the hall with the white cat behind him with his arms around Kitty’s neck. After some WTF moments I eventually discovered a neat three-inch door cut into the screen of one of the master bedroom windows. Whitey Ford had moved in.

We had him fixed and while it has been a slow process he has turned into a cuddler. We have to teach him one thing at a time and it’s slow work but he is now part of the family. Kitty is still skinny and Whitey is a zaftig 17 Ibs. Sadly I think their red hunter/protector died in the winter.

Wonderful story, arse_hat.

Among the crew at the moment in my house is the fabulous cat Isabella Mousallini. She was rescued from a parking lot grocery store. She'd been shot in the face with BB's. The shelter who took her in got her patched up and put her online for adoption. The second I saw her picture, I knew she was my cat. I didn't notice that she was 100 miles away, but it wouldn't have mattered.

Cat #2 is LucyFurr. You don't want to know. 7 pounds of fluffy white hell.

The dog is Ozzie. He was given to me by a lovely patient who could no longer take care of him. I talk to him about her a lot so that her name is significant to him, since she loved him a lot and she would be so proud of the sunglass wearing Hawaiian shirted handsome boy he grew to be. I've never been in love with a dog before. We have deep talks. He takes good care of me.

I have one dog, Annie, a terrier/shepherd/lab mix of some sort. She's going to be thirteen this year. She's very sweet to most everyone although she gets nervous around small children. But so do I. She is extremely adorable. She's got a lab head, terrier hair, and long skinny legs like a deer. She used to be the fastest runner around but she's starting to slow down now. She's the perfect apartment dog: medium-sized (around thirty pounds), calm and quiet most of the time and low maintenance.

I got her when I was seventeen from a neighbor. She had black puppies and tan ones. I wanted a black pup. I showed up at the neighbor's door and she answered with a little tan baby in her arms. She handed the puppy to me and we walked around the yard to look at the black puppies. As I looked them over I continued to pat the little one in my arms. There was one black male that caught my eye but by the time I had played a a little with each one I felt guilty just handing the tan baby back. She had been nuzzling my neck the entire time. So I gave up on the black pups and drove off with her instead. While we were on our way home Annie Get Your Gun by Squeeze came on the radio and she got a name.

She very nearly died last year. She became very ill and had to go to the vet. She needed emergency surgery, which would have cost a lot more than I had at the time. I had just moved and was very nearly completely broke. I went home that night thinking I was going to have to have her put down and hating myself for it. I said my goodbyes and even wrote a little goodbye entry on my old blog. The next morning I was on the phone with a dear friend of mine and told her the story and out of the blue she offered to pay for the whole thing. Annie got her surgery and came home the following week.

Since then she's been the picture of health and happiness and I thank God for a great vet and a great friend.

My eulogy for D.C.

My blog used to look much nicer, but it went dormant for several months and I lost the template. I also lost all the nice comments I originally got on that post. I put the pictures back, though.

She'd been shot in the face with BB's. The shelter who took her in got her patched up and put her online for adoption. The second I saw her picture, I knew she was my cat. I didn't notice that she was 100 miles away, but it wouldn't have mattered.

puddinghead, that is the sweetest thing.

Oh god, yhbc. I am crying my eyes out here. D.C. seemed like a very special cat. Thanks for sharing that with us.

You may have seen Mel in the guitar case photo in another thread. Here is my eulogy for him.

That post made me sad too, arse_hat. Thanks for starting this thread to cheer us all up. I love this sort of thing.

I have two cats, a 5-year-old boy called Mushi Mushi Gila Monster and a 7-year-old pudgy love sponge called The Big Delicious. Both belonged to my husband before we met, so I am a stepmother, so to speak.

Mushi was a feral barn cat before my husband adopted him, and because he is so remarkably attractive (long, silky hair with maine coon cat type striations and a beautful face dominated by huge turquoise green eyes) people always wanted to touch him. As often as not, they would find themselves drawing back a bloody stump. He was still mean as hell when I moved in, so I made it one of my projects to seduce him. All the talking and petting and babying finally worked, and it's funny when old friends who haven't seen him for a while come in flinching on tiptoes only to find him transformed into an affectionate attention slut. And now here he is, having curled up by the monitor as I was writing this -- he has this odd talent of entering a room as I'm thinking of him. He's a brilliant athlete, too -- just amazing leaps (he can get to the top of any door in the house). Obviously, I am totally in love with him and I'm glad he's learned to return the favor.

Big D is lovely in an entirely different way -- she looks like a shmoo with legs. She's got this habit of peering very seachingly up at us with her yellow eyes and squeaking very loudly, as if to say "You are going to love me, aren't you?" We used to keep her out of our bedroom at night, but she'd dig at it like a miner on speed for hours, so we relented and now she permanently sleeps exactly between us, happy as hell. She's one of the talkiest cats I've ever known, and most various: she coos, trills, beeps, yowls, screams as her mood dictates. We wrote a song about her that she sings on, if you want to hear.

(And no, I'm not one of those cat ladies at work that go yammering about them unasked -- but ask and hoo boy, you're going to get an earful, complete with sound files.)

Oh yhbc, you posted that while I was in the midst of posting my own -- you really so wonderfully described DC and your love for her, I'm thankful you linked to it here.

yhbc, I'm glad you had such a great friend. My Kitty also likes onions and Thai and Indian food. I am not sure if he really likes it or just eats it because he knows I love it.

Well, I'm crying like a baby. Damn, that was sweet and sad and good, yhbc.

I have had plans for some time to have a Poppy cam. Here's Poppy:
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I really should get back to doing that.

Anyway, she's a russian blue and in case you don't know Russkies have the most amazing fur because while they have short hair their fur is incredibly thick and luxurious - great for dealing with the Siberian cold. They make pretty good gloves too apparently.

Me and my wife decided we would get a russian blue and luckily found a breader really quickly who had a few kittens to sell. My wife is better at describing the day we picked her up than me - but needless to say the kittens were incredibly cute, even the boy who was all claws.

Breeders have to name the kittens they sell for the paperwork and mostly people ignore that and call their cat Tiddles or whatever. Breeders of russian blues usually name their kitties something suitably russian - Tolstoy or Pushkin or god knows what else - but not our one. She would look through the horse racing form for the day and pick out any names she thought were appropriate and she gave us a choice of three names. We chose Iggy Pop. From there I suggested Poppy but we both immediately dismissed it as a crap name. The thing was that the name gradually grew on us as it became obvious it suited her, because she's full of beans and curious about everything and very lively.

Anyway she's very talkative and makes sounds I've never heard a cat make in my life. She likes cheese - particularly cheddar. Most people who see her think she's a kitten because she's so tiny. Not really a lap cat and when she does sit on your lap it's just so she can have her ears rubbed. She makes us laugh all the time.

Aw. I'm so jealous. We had to leave our Quaz when we moved from the U.S. - But don't worry! She got a wonderful, wonderful home with one of our best friends (and probably even more attention that she got previously, if that's even possible). She was already at least 15, so suffering the rigors of cat immigration was not the best choice for us to make for her.

Anyway, I've been yearning for another cat, but mr. t. has dissuaded me so far, because of all these spur-of-the-moment trips we are supposed to be making, but never do. He has said now, though, that after our next trip to the U.S. (sometime in the next six months), we can get one.

The funny thing is that after years and years of having a cat, when you suddenly don't have one, you still see these small movements out of the corner of your eye that you know is the cat just turning the corner, or jumping up on a piece of furniture behind you - until you remember that you don't have a cat anymore. This lasts for years.

Oh, and as a point of complete silly coincidence, mr. t. is at this very moment doing the sound editing on a Greek short film called "Da Cat" (Delta epsilon, Kappa alpha taf), with a loose metaphoric Schroedinger's Cat theme.

I have a Welsh Terrier named Barney. He's nine years old, going on puppy. I adopted him from a local shelter in August 2002. He has the fastest-wagging tail on earth and an amazing vertical leap. (He's been known to jump as high as my head when there's a treat involved!) He has a very big bark...when people come to my house and don't know what he looks like, they'll often be backed halfway down the sidewalk when I open the door because they think I've got Cujo inside. Then they see this little guy jumping up and down and feel silly. : ) He's all about his toys and he cheers for the Cubs. (really!) He's a great dog!

When I was growing up, we had a female Welsh Terrier named Winnie and before her, an Airedale named Myshkin.

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Satchel, king of the monkeydogs and moopyschmoops. aka Schmoopy, monkey, The Wiggler, Satchel T, bean, the mad recycler, and The Sun Whore.

He's 7.5 (that pic is from when he was 2 or so--little greyer around the snout these days). He's from a rescue called People for Pit Bulls here in Toronto. Had him since he was about 12 weeks (and 18 lbs--weighs 76 now). He was the perfect dog till he was about 1.5 and then... well, he ate or drank something in a dog park that was (so 4 vets say) probably poison. As a result his insides are pretty fucked up and he has to take steroids every day and eat a really shitty, bland, kibble food. He's pretty happy though as I work from home and he gets like 10 walks a day. He's smart as a whip, knows lots of tricks. I had him turning off the lights on command but he missed the switch once and took a nasty scratch out of the paint so we stopped that.

I've had dogs most of my life (Pit Bulls, Bull Dogs, Maltese, Labs, mutts) and they've all been cool. I'm not much of a cat person but my sisters always had them growing up. I only ever met one cat I really fell for and he ended up being mine. His name was Ingmar and he was a Siamese.

A guy I know has a couple of Siamese and he's taught them to fetch. If I tried that with my cat she'd piss in my slippers.

When my kids were little we had a sheep dog named Hairy, a three-legged cat named Tripod and her four offspring. Add in a flightless pigeon, a couple of rats, three guinea pigs and a tank full of crayfish and our place was rather a zoo.

he's adorable, dobbs. (i'm so much more a dog person than a cat, but cats always like me)

When my dog Toby died in April I had no plans to get another dog - I still had Theo, after all, who had enlivened Toby's last 3 years with his annoying puppy antics. My cat Fred, who was only 7, had a sudden heart attack & died in February 2004 and I had no plans to get any more cats, ever. So much for plans.

Toby and Fred were great, great people. Now, instead, I have
Barbieri and Mr. Bill who drive me crazy by constantly bringing me lovely little gifts like half dead baby rabbits and live sparrows who dive bomb me in the living room and Jackson the blind Treeing Walker Coonhound I adopted on my birthday in a fit of complete & utter madness. I don't quite know what to do about Jackson actually. He is an impossible dog now - gets up on the kitchen counters, chews and shreds everything (he's accounted so far for my glasses, my alarm clock, a cel phone, several rental DVD covers and a Bob Marley CD), chases & trees the cats, has food aggression and snaps at people . . . you name it. But he's also adorable in many ways and I keep thinking he'll be a good dog someday with enough love and time. Then he does something else incredibly heinous and I say, that's it, he's going, I don't have time for this. I took him to obedience and he was the worst dog by so much in the class that we had to give up - he can sit now though, after weeks and weeks of work. So I put an ad in the paper and I put ads all over the internet & then today a nice lady, the first one, called - a perfect lady, with a blind St. Bernard and a big farm in Hot Springs and no kids or cats. And I heard myself discouraging her because I am an idiot sucker for this crazy dog. I can't quite give up.

And, driven by the success of the sound post, here's what Jackson sounds like!

All these animals are awesome.

Kallisti and Susan B. Cat.

Susan B. looks a bit miffed about being bothered at work. ;)

My childhood kitty was bought at a shelter just when my brother and I were old enough to love and care for animals. He was named Max and that's what we called him - that or Maximillion or Maxi Pad or Mad Max or... Anyway he moved around with us and grew very big and very ornery, loved to lie on my face as I was sleeping, and was the terror of the neighborhood (there was no dog who could stand up to him). He developed diabetes at an old age (and so became a Garage Cat), but he lived very very happily until he was 14 or so, when he died while I was away at college. I still miss my Maximillion, and look out for him every time I visit my parents (isn't that weird) even though I know he won't be there.

We got Chewie from some family friends, whose 3 cats had large litters within a week of each other. She was the runt of the litter, but very very affectionate. We named her Chewbacca because she is quite possibly the furriest cat I've ever seen. Her mother was a mouser, and Chewie picked it up quickly, too, to the delight of my mother, who loved waking up to the sight of Chewie proudly mewing over a dead bird or lizard. During the summer, we have to shave her down when it gets to be 105 degrees, and she becomes quite feral. During the winter, her body is too small to handle the cold and rain, so she becomes an affectionate and protective house cat.

My parent's newest cat thinks it's a dog. It follows my mom to the mailbox and drinks out of the toilet. It's larger than most small dogs. Rather cute.

Well, y'all met Oliver before and here's a photo of him with his sister Abigail (Oliver is on the left).

Oliver is truly insane. He is curiosity personified. Loves to eat just about anything (all sorts of veggies, cheese, popcorn). Don't leave booze open or he'll be slurping it down, oh, and flat root beer as well. I used to be able to use a squirt bottle to keep him from doing things. Well, now he likes to be squirted with water. *sigh*

Abigail is a sweetheart. If I sit up in bed to read, I use a pillow to prop my book on it. Well, until Abigail gets there, that is. She loves to snuggle up against my chest. She also likes to sit next to her papi (my husband) and do this little paws-in-the-air thingie.

They both love to chitter at crows. Not squirrels, or other birds, or cats, or dogs - crows only.

As much as I love them, Sancho was the best cat ever. He was as devoted as most people think only dogs can be. If I ever got "lost" he meowed til I spoke up and he could locate me. If I sat down to read or watch TV he was right next to me. Mum used to call him my boyfriend because he'd lay one foreleg over my thigh like he was claiming me. I had to leave him with my Mum when I moved to Seattle. She flew him out to me about five months later. I peaked into his cage at the airport while we were waiting for Mum's luggage. He was doped to the gills on kitty valium, but he hadn't forgotten me. I'd never heard him purr so loud. He was quite skittish around strangers, but he took to my husband (then my boyfriend) as if he'd known him all his life. Sancho developed kidney disease and had to be euthanized in December 2001.

Thanks to you all for sharing your stories and pictures.

I forgot to mention: they both love to go outside (they're indoor beasties) on leashes and harnesses. Abigail is happy to stay in our own little yard, but Oliver wants to explore. He's never met a stranger and loves meeting other cats and dogs as well. He's made more than a few dogs nervous with the way he just trots up to say hello.

I grew up with many wonderful animal friends but currently I just have a Siberian husky bitch. I fell in love with her while I was studying abroad, adopted her, and brought her home with me. Nine years later, still in love. There's a pic on my mefi user page, and of course that's where my nick derives from. (She has one blue and one brown eye. I was walking her around my hometown one day, and a random street guy came up and said, "Heyyyyy, where'dja git thet one-eyed woofdog?" It kind of stuck, and by association I've been wolfdog or one-eyed wolfdog ever since.)

10 month old mini jack russell terrier. Extra-cute. Mixed short and rough coat, so that his head, ears (especially) and tail are all long and shaggy but his body not as much. Very attractive facial colouring, and mostly white, with some brown spots and a perfect big black spot on his lower back. People freak out when they see him.

Completely unintentional adoption. Went to the market to buy a staple gun. Saw a guy selling furniture, surrounded by people. Must be nice furniture, we thought. It was, but the crowd was because of his puppies. Walked home with a lovely wooden bench, inside of which we'd stuffed the staple gun, a dog dish, and some food. My sig other carried the puppy.

Still miss Tasha, my old miniature purebred daschund. A particular memory of her is the saddest single thing I can think of, but I won't get into that here. Devilish sense of humour and intelligence.