Goodmorning readers! It’s a rare thing for me to post twice within one week… much less one month, these days. However, I felt like expounding upon a subject today. So, get out your medication and let’s begin.

Today’s subject matter is entitled; “Pets”. Now, before I begin, I must explain that my house is a veritable zoo of animals. I have 4 fish… 3 cats… and 2 dogs. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop and for my wife to bring home a partridge-in-a-pear-tree. That’d be the topper.

My beagle, named Oliver, stays outside. For the most part, he’s a very loving, content, docile and happy pup. He plays with anyone who will come into his yard, and he has the strength of 4 Oxen. I kid you not. I could pull a Yukon out of a ditch with that dog. Never seen anything like it. My other dog is an AKC registered, pure-blood, Alaskan Malamute. Her name is Spirit, and she’s 60lbs of puppy…at 4 months old. She's primarily an inside-dog, since the high heat of summer would not be pleasant for anyone to endure whilst wearing a thick fur coat. She loves to play and chase the cats…(two of which take great delight in hooking her nose with a claw or two when she gets too close). She enjoys her chewtoy monkey, pouncing grasshoppers, Pringles and peeing 5-gallons at a time.

Now we come to the three stooges. Sassy is our siamese/russian-blue mix, and the oldest of the three. She’s very dignified, bossy, spoiled and a bit on the cranky side now and then. She’s frustratingly finicky about the condition of the catbox, and will just as readily utilize a rug, article of clothing or a fuzzy slipper when the litter doesn’t quite meet up to her level of freshness. She does not tolerate a cold dog nose in close proximity to her at any time.

Callie is our overweight, mentally-challenged, spoiled-rotten, domestic long-haired calico. This cat gets a bite of anything in a bowl, spoon, box or can if it’s in my wife’s hands. She’s the biggest talker of the bunch, laying down a seemingly endless barrage of “Myeeaah” at you everywhere you walk. She has lost much of her grace, much to the delight of my warped sense of humor, and I’m scolded constantly for laughing at her. Missed leaps, fumbles, and the hilariously retarded need for her to paw at anything (and I do mean anything) after taking a dump, really highlights this cat. Oh yes, her pawwing will dumbfound you. Any cat knows that when they squat to do their business, they need to turn around…sniff… and cover it with gravel/sand/litter.

Callie, on the other hand, seems perplexed by this simple action. She, on the other hand, decides that pawing and picking at the plastic sidewalls of the catbox….the plastic door flap….and sometimes the clean lenolium floor outside the catbox… is the more effective way to cover over the beast she’s just given birth to. This typically goes on for at least a minute-and-a-half. Yes… that long. ~scrape scrape pick pick pick pick…..scraaaaape scrape scrape….pick pick~

Eventually, I suppose the undeniable realization that the odor isn’t getting any weaker takes over and she just leaves. The other cats have actually come in behind her just to cover up the smell. Now that’s bonafide mental damage. We won’t even begin to discuss the debate my wife and I have over the coin-purse sized sagging paunch beneath this poor cat. The wife merely calls it “fluff”. I call it “way too many dang treats”. Whatever the case may be… it isn’t attractive. But, then again, I have a pooch around my middle…so I’m in no position to point fingers or paws.

The youngest of the bunch would be our male kitten… Boots. He’s considered to be a “tuxedo” kitty. Sporting a black coat with white booties for his paws, a white mark on his chest and a bit of white on his face, he’s a very handsome young man. With his red collar on, he’s the talk of the town. However… as with all mischevious boys… Boots takes great delight in the nightly destruction of anything green and potted. Plants must have attacked him in a former life or something. I’m not quite sure of the history between him and greenery, but he seems to have a knack for putting it in its place.

Boots also likes to sit at our glass outter door and watch birds. He has a funny way of “trilling” nearly everywhere he goes. He actually can meow like any other cat… but just a few “Brrrr?” sounds is what he typically has to say. He has begun to cat-call at night a bit… but, thankfully, has taken no notion to marking anything. With the two ladies having been fixed and taking no interest in anything remotely related to procreation, I think Boots would be at a loss on exactly how to go about those duties. The ladies are quick to let him know that they’re not up for any hanky-panky.

There are two very large South American Cichlids (Oscars) in a 50-gal aquarium, located in my living room. Their names are Bruce and Chuck. Bruce (after Bruce Lee) and Chuck (after Chuck Norris) spend most of their time looking around… gliding here and yon… picking small dominance fights with each other… and pooping. It is for this last talent of theirs that we have employed the services of Spike, our spotted Plecostomus. He’s the janitor of the bunch, and keeps the tank rather clean. He’s grown exponentially, as a result of….uhm… a plentiful food supply. Lastly, we have Ang. Yes, my youngest son named our red/blue Beta after a cartoon about some oriental “air bender”. The character’s name is Ang…The Avatar. Don’t ask.

So, there you have my zoo of family pets. I feed most of them or they wouldn’t eat. The funny thing is… I didn’t buy or bring home a single one of them. They were either a gift from a family member, or bought from a store. Spirit (malamute) was my birthday present this year. So, I suppose I can take credit for her addition.

Anyway… enough about my pets. Just thought you’d be amused to hear about them. More later.