How special is your cats/dogs? Share your story here.

[Supreme Admiral]

In the wake of Sandy the cat's death, I thought that it's time to share the story here to warm our hearts. How do you find your four-furred friends so special? What are they to you?

As you already know that I posted my earlier post about my late eldest cat, TT, who passed away in the past decade when it come to my estranged mother's cruel decision to put him to sleep without ever saying good-bye to him. He was very special in my heart.

He didn't live that long, I got him like in 1993. He passed away in 1998, to be honest with you, my friends, I don't know the real story of what happening to my late eldest cat, but wouldn't never bothered to asking my estranged mother about it. She was the one who wanted to put my cats out of the pictures for good.

Shit, I'm trying to stop myself from dove in that pool of tears, cats are so special that hold so dear in my heart. They sure knows how to grip the good heart of mine.

I want to share my story with you about my three current cats and telling you how special they are to me.

(Bryan): He's my eldest cat that I adopted him back in year fall of 2000. He's tabby cat with big beautiful eyes, but his eyes looks very worried to me, he loves to lick all over my face. For years, our bonds has grown so strong where no one else could break our bonds, but it was nearly broken in 2007. My estranged mother saw her chance again to plow my eldest cat back to animal control to putting him to sleep.

I've fought and punched her to hand off my eldest cat, she was control my life and trying to shed that bonds that we had for nine years, thankfully, my grandmother came in to save me and took us all the way down here in North Carolina. That's where we came to meet new family members.

(Rovin): His name is very special to me, because he's VERY big cat, his name means "top leader; strong". I learned that he might be Maine Coon, because his tail looks very big and continues to grow very big. In all fairness, Rovin is the grandbrother of Bryan, because he looked like him in same way they are.

(Goldie/Simba): Soon to be Simba once we're moving to our new apartment coming next year. He's the descendant of my late eldest cat, TT. He's had gold eyes, but very small cat. He's orange/white cat. He loves to follows me a lot when I took the trash out.

All three cats are very special to me that hold so dear in my heart. Now my job is to ensure that my two new cats gets to live a healthy lives as I can be. I want two of them to live up to ripe age of 20, that's my goal. Or even pass past the ripe age of 20...

 

[CaptainCanada]

(Goldie/Simba)

Heh. When we got Sandy (he was a six-month-old second-hand cat), Dad wanted to rename him Simba (it being 1994, The Lion King was fresh and new). For reasons I don't quite recall, I said I wanted to name the dog I eventually got that, so Sandy kept his old name. Worked out for the best, I think; given how fat he was, naming him after the king of the jungle would just have been setting a standard he could never have lived up to.

My still-living dog is Marco, and English cocker, who's about 13 now (arrived about two years after the cat). His primary characteristics are being very amiable and not especially smart (as far as dogs go). The intelligence thing is mainly our fault, I suppose, since we never got him properly trained (the local dog-training place closed down before we could take him there, and nobody around the house put much time into it otherwise), but he's always been extremely pleasant. His most notable adventure could easily have been a horror story, but it turned out okay; namely, the time he fell down a post-hole while we were building out cottage (Dad: "Do you know how stupid a dog would have to be to fall down a post-hole? We're talking really stupid."). For whatever reason he backed into it, and fell in; the "potential horror" part is that he had his collar on and was on a chain, which meant he could have hung himself, but it slipped off, so he just fell to the bottom. Being about two metres down, we had to wider and slope the hole to get him out. But he was quite cheery through the whole thing, didn't make a sound, and when we got him out he just shook the dirt off and went on about his business like nothing had happened. The photo we took of him down in the hole looking up at us and acting like there's absolutely nothing wrong is framed on the wall of the cottage.