I originally titled this blog imagining that I would end up writing about the zoo that I currently live in, so I guess I should give quick bios on each of the main characters.
Jaala (that's me):
My last post gave a lot of background on my childhood and hopefully some insight into who I am. What I didn’t tell will probably come out in future posts, so I won’t bore you now with how fantastic I am. (Sometimes I wonder if I overcompensate for a lack of self-esteem by filling my own head with my superiority and come off to others as arrogant, but then I realize that I truly am exceptional in many ways and it’s not my fault if others recognize their own shortcomings when they compare themselves to me.)
Tad:
Tad is not a dog, cat, fish or even a frog; he’s my husband. It’s hard to tell that from his name, but it actually suits him well. Tad is a hunter, fisherman, and NASCAR fan. Yes, I realize I just described every white, southern redneck on the planet, but I think he’s got potential. We got married about six months ago and he’s already moved out of his double-wide, sold his bass-boat, and helped paint our home “honey beige.” He’s really coming along!
Haley:
This is my husband’s 10 year-old daughter. She spends half her time with us and the other half with her mother and TOM. TOM is not her name, it's an acronym for “the other mother.” Don't worry, I wasn't in-the-know about these things either, until recently .
Haley seems to be pretty well-adjusted to the arrangement with all of her “parents.” I spend a lot of apparently unnecessary time worrying about that, but all indications seem to indicate she is developing in a normal, healthy way. Well, as normally as any child can! I just hope that being surrounded by all these adoring adults doesn't end up spoiling her...
Nash:
Nash is my red-headed, miniature poodle. He’s around 3 years-old and weighs 16 lbs, so he’s not one of those tiny, yippy dogs. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a poodle, but not your stereotypical one. He likes to eat kitty treats (not treats “for” cats, rather “from” cats – another important distinction) and roll in stinky stuff like a real dog. Nash learns to do tricks pretty quickly, so I guess most people would consider him a smart dog. However, the fact that he eats cat poop makes me skeptical.
Yeah... that's kitty litter caked up his nose.
I have to admit, he is a momma’s boy, but all my animals are. I am the pack-leader.
Rocky:
Rocky is the family beagle, who actually pre-dates me. He was found chasing rabbits around a campground where Tad used to go on weekends. After a couple weeks of no one claiming him, he went ahead and brought him home. I’m still not sure why. I’m trying to think of something nice and pleasant to write about Rocky, but I’m really drawing a blank. Oh wait, he does have nice soft ears! But if you start petting him, he’ll either piddle on the floor or start trying to lick every square inch of your exposed skin. If he’s not trying to lick you, he’s licking himself – and very noisily I might add – or scratching himself, or chewing on himself. Thank goodness for you that I don’t know how to add sound to a post, otherwise I would subject you to the beagle howling and whining that I must endure daily.
Rolly:
Rolly was Tad and Haley’s albino, deaf Dalmatian. I say “was” because he is now buried in a Rubbermaid container out back, behind the double-wide. Can you believe this dog lived to be almost 16 years-old? I’m introducing Rolly, even though he’s no longer with us, because I’m sure he’ll make some future posts. He is Tad and Haley’s beloved, never to be replaced in their hearts. I don’t get the attachment honestly. I guess I only knew him in his elderly, grumpy-man condition. But he was always deaf, born that way, so I don’t see how you’d get attached to a dog that won’t follow any commands or respond to you other than when you have a treat in your hand (very much like Rocky... but he's not deaf... hmm).
I swear it is a Dalmatian... an albino one.
Spike:
Spike is a tough, vicious bulldog! Just kidding, he’s a cat. Yes, a grey and white, tiger striped cat named Spike. I guess I thought a tough name might affect his personality accordingly - not so. I got him my last year of college, so Spike is the most “worldly” of our animals. He’s lived in 5 different homes in his 7 years of life. Maybe all that moving is what made him so timid? Spike can be very loving when he wants to be though. Giving head-butts is how he expresses his general affection, and is also the reason he is not allowed in the bedroom at night. My slight allergy to cats only really flares up when Spike wants to show me his affection, over and over and over again.
He looks tough, right?
Chili:
This little kitty girl was the second addition to my zoo, the year after college. She got her name by taking a trek through a bowl of chili the night I brought her home. Her snow white paws were stained orange for a while. Not surprisingly Chili has dominated Spike from day one. She’s a predominately grey calico cat with white and orange markings. She always looks pissed-off. Even when she’s purring and rubbing up on you with love, you get the impression that she’s plotting your death. I think I’ve gotten used to this evil look of hers, knowing what a lover she really is, but every now and again I catch an especially pissed-off look on her face that makes me wonder…
"I kill you with my laser death stare"
Lew:
No, really, I don’t want to spell it L-O-U, it's L-E-W. This kitten is the newest member of our zoo, my husband’s idea of a thoughtful birthday gift. I’m still trying to decide if a “free-to-a-good-home” kitten should count as a birthday gift for your wife. I guess it’s on par with a home-made card, and those are considered thoughtful... when they're from a five year-old.
Anyway, Lew is a very uniquely marked grey and white guy, currently about 2.5 lbs. I don’t know why, but I’ve been letting him sleep on my pillow at night. He’s like a little vibrating night cap. I should probably put a stop to this before he gets big and smothers me in my sleep. Lew has only been with us three weeks now and has two distinct modes: crazy-hyper-ball-of-fuzz and passed-out-like-a-drunk.
A rare moment... holding still, yet not passed-out.
Tom:
Not to be confused with TOM, this was Haley’s cat. She was only seven when she named him, but it actually turned out to be the perfect name for him. Other than the fact that I had him neutered right away, he was the ultimate tomcat.
Haley brought him home as a stray the same day we got Nash. Kind of like giving birth to twins when only expecting one. Ok, maybe not like that exactly, but Nash was planned and Tom was a surprise. Spike and Chili never met Tom, as my ex had "custody" of them at that time, so he was an only-cat. I keep referring to Tom in the past tense because he didn’t come home one day. We really don’t know what happened to him, but it’s a 50/50 chance that either he tried to catch an opossum or the neighbor guy shot him. I guess it’s for the best anyway since Tom was black and white. He wouldn’t have fit it in with my grey-cat theme.
The twins
Henry and Rose:
These are Haley’s turtles. Henry is one of those illegal red-ear sliders that aren’t supposed to be sold as pets. Nana bought it for Haley when she was seven. Haley brought Rose home from the lake about a year later and I still don’t know what kind of turtle it is. You may have noticed that I am not calling them by gender. This is because one morning while I was passing by their tank, I shouted out in alarm thinking that Rose was dead. It looked like Henry had Rose backed up against their little sunning bridge and that Rose was unconscious. After taking a quick look Tad politely informed me that Rose was just fine. He also pointed out that we had been mistaken when naming the turtles, as Rose is obviously a boy turtle and Henry is a girl turtle. Once the shock wore off, I became concerned about being over-run with little, baby turtles. My research informed me that I didn’t have to worry since there was no dry land for laying eggs. I also became very proud of myself because my sources also said that turtles that were not content and happy would not "get horizontal" (Well, Henry was horizontal, but Rose was more vertical). I apparently am a master of turtle tank Feng Shui!
We did think about switching their names around, but that got too confusing. So Henry is still Henry and Rose is still Rose.
Henry and Rose in their happy home
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