Most wholesome American families have their requisite goofy dog – like that lovable scamp Marley. Or the obligatory fat lazy housecat. These normal dogs do normal dog stuff, like eat shitty diapers or bark at the air and wake the sick baby that took 2 hours to finally get to sleep. And the normal cats, sleep in the clean clothes basket and hair-it-all up or cough up hairballs on the new rug.
Mine do all that – but they are also “special” in many other ways. Let’s just say none of them are making the cover of “Dog World” or “Cat Fancy” anytime soon.
I won’t bore you the details of how they got here. They’re here, and not even the most creative “Adopt Me!” ad in the world make any difference. They are here to stay.
3 Cats and 2 Dogs.
Stinky has a tumor. It hangs from her tail and is the size of a walnut. It’s gross, but she looks OK from the front. (I warn you, when your vet says it not life-threatening and if/when it seems to bother her bring her in DO NOT GOOGLE – “cat tumor pictures” to just “make sure”).
Igor* was born with a neck injury that prevents him from turning his head to the left. He can’t walk straight and can only clean the right side of his body. So if you don’t keep up with it you are forced to shave off baseball sized mats of his fur. But only on the left side, because of this he is my favorite.
Custard is deaf and as such meows like, well, a deaf cat – and incessantly. You’d be surprised how often you yell “SHUP UP!!” at deaf cat.
Anytime the dog Spaz is in the same room as us I think the baby pooped. The term “Dog Breath” is too kind.
Wiggum is the type of dog those concerned people put on Prozac. When I finally had it with her sleeping in our room and kicked her out, she ate through the door. “Doors? Aisle 28 Ma’am. Doing some renovation?”….Awkward.
So in addition to long blissful days of catering to my 3 little ones, I also get the daily luxury of dealing with our “Family Pet Freakshow.”
*None of the names have been changed to protect the mongrels.