My dad, I would say, is an animal person; especially cats. I don't think he had pets growing up, but I could be wrong. But he loves pets. He said if he didn't always out live them, he'd have a cat. It's too hard (emotionally), he said. My mom is not really an animal person. She likes animals, but wouldn't seek out any of her own (especially now that she's retired and likes to travel).
When I was little (and before I was born) my dad (the family) had a cat called drummer. He was a smooth black cat. He wasn't overly friendly, but not mean either. Just a normal cat. After he died (I think I was 7, maybe), Jessica and I each got a kitten. Two grey tiger cats. I named mine Tiger (how unoriginal). Jessica called hers Smokey. Smokey was especially anti-social, though, to be fair, we were very enthusiastic pet owners. They were meant to be inside cats, but gradually became indoor/outdoor. And back then, the flea medicines weren't great. They became outdoor cats, and then semi-feral cats. I think they lived to be 17ish. We had a cat that adopted us, we called him BooBoo. He was a super skinny, mangy, black and white tuxedo cat. He had been de-clawed, which I assume means he was abandoned, since de-claws cats can't do well outside. We tried to bring him in, as he was a very lovey cat. But he was either incontinent, or too dumb to use a little box, and peed in the heat vents. So then he only came in if he was under direct surveillance. He disappeared (died) a few years later.
We also had hamsters, and a few birds in those years.
In college, my friend Anna adopted a cat named Lilac (We renamed her Phantom, aka Phantos Mantos, because she was super sneaky). She was going away on a trip, and brought the cat to my house. Then the cat never left. I think my friend's mom didn't like the cat. This isn't surprising, as she was a mean cat. She loved to claw at people and news papers. When Aaron and I moved out, we left her with my dad. But as he became increasingly ill, the cat wasn't doing well either. And he couldn't take care of her well. She died one day before we came home for Christmas break. (We couldn't take her to Utah, no apartments there allow pets. Seriously, it's impossible to find a place that takes pets). We both still feel bad about that.
When we were in Utah we got two rats, Winston and Dexter. They were good guys. It's funny, but they had distinct, and unique personalities. Winston died on the fourth of July, after being sick. (We took them to the vet for various issues, as one would with any animal). We got a dumbo rat called Floyd shortly there after, and moved back to California. After a year or so, Dex died. So we got Stanley (because rats are social). One night while we were asleep, Stanley attacked Floyd so badly, we thought Floyd died. Aaron rushed him to an exotics vet, where we paid $500 to put a rat back together. (Stupid decisions made highly emotional moments). Stanley had essentially castrated Floyd. Then they were separated, and we got no more rats.
This is getting too long, but I think I've written about the current round of pets more recently.
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