Post #1
My friend Ryan sent me this beautiful poem that I thought would set a great tone for the theme. This is what he had to say (the enjambment was not fucked with!):
Here is a little poem I just wrote on the fly and i think its pretty great...
when you post it, don't fuck with the enjambment!
Pet ownership demeans both parties,
Encourages condescension
Towards nature both human and non, and results in
Shit, that must be cleaned.
kisses,
ry
True that yo! Is emjambment a word?
Post #2
This is from my wonderful mother, whom I love long time. The site doesn't need strength mama, just heart. And you got lots of that. I didn't edit any of it, so the lack of the word "it" in the "I dont think..." sentence makes her sound a lot more foreign then she is. Aww shucks.
Hello Darling,
I'm gonna make Dad write up the story.
Here's something from me. I dont think strong enough for your site, but I'll keep trying.
Love you. Mum
Tortoise moving
I am the middle child of 5.
When I was a young girl the only pet we had was a tortoise.
There is a distant, dusty memory of some of us kids at an upstairs window, and some of us in the back garden outside that window.
A rope. And a tortoise in a box.
The Pet List
Pushkin (the cat that deserves her own place on the cat list)
Goldfish (at least 6)
Parakeets (5 total, including “the bird that would not die”)
The dwarf hamster (lived for a day)
Hamster (got lost at school)
Cats (8)
· Dandelion
· Honey
· Rainbow
· Friskers
· Oreo
· Bogey
· Cher (still going strong)
Man, we used to beg for pets all the freakin' time! I remember one of the parakeets that died was my little sisters and I vaguely recall putting it in a box and telling her she had a present. I vaguely recall getting in trouble. Sister or mother, can you confirm any of this?
Post #3
Tis' time for some visuals and audios. Gorgeous beautiful couple of epic proportions! My darling friend Shanna and her husband sent me these photos from their current life in the country (well, a place that's not New York City and has nature around it, so the country right?), I believe that everyone deserves a Swami to marry them. He looked like Jerry too. And he doused us with sage and wore a pink sari. Amazing. Also, am having a really frustrating time trying to get an MP3 file from my I-tunes into the blog, cannot find a way to transfer it! They sent a really beautiful song that I have been trying to insert, but it's not working; if anyone can help please send me da info-mation!! Here's her message:
Hey lady,
So here is some stuffs for you.
One of the items is a version of our song Keep In Mind that we have recorded up here. What does this have to do with Pets you ask? Well one of the joys of recording an album in a makeshift studio in your house is that your cats like to chime in uninvited and unannounced. But as always they know better than us and their contributions have made the song better. See if you can hear them!
There's also a picture of Patrick looming over Buddha.
And also...we were goat sitting for a friend(the swami that married us actually) and many of the goats have had kids. So here is an adorable picture of a baby goat looking like a unicorn!
Hope you are well my dear and that new york is being kind.
the invitation is still very much open for a visit if you feel so inclined!
Cheers,
Shanna
Their cat (s?, I'm pretty sure they have two of them) are those beautiful regal looking blue/grey ones. Though I'm partial to overweight dandruff ridden black cats with legs that are way too short for their bodies and who attack randomly and viciously.....for those of you who know the reference.
Post #4
Now a movie from my sister. These pets are both dead and they didn't last long. The song makes it super cute, but I have a feeling that the pets didn't really like being so close together like that. Sorry Ailsa, it's just how I feel and like mom says "you can't help the way you feel...."
Post #5
This is a story that Jennifer sent to me, one of my faves, beautiful memories of a loved pet. I think it really taps into a lot of peoples feelings about pets and how much a part of your lives they become.
I recently got to have lunch with this lovely lady while she was in the city and it was so nice to see her. Thanks for the piece Jen!
I’ve always been a dog person, never much cared for cats. Dogs will love you unconditionally (as long as you keep the liver-snaps and belly rubs coming). I didn’t have a lot of trust for people as a kid, but I knew I could depend on the Grande Dame of our household: a Golden Retriever appropriately named, Golden Lady the First.
My dad brought Lady home when I was nine, my sister, Ellen, was thirteen and my brother, Rob, was six. Our household revolved around this docile mass of fur and toenails who spelled vaguely of peas and Fritos for some inexplicable reason. We kids would fight over whose bed she slept on at night and whom she loved best. When it was my turn to share my twin bed with flowered sheets and ruffled quilt, I would wedge myself against the wall, barely breathing. I didn’t dare disturb Her Majesty, who was usually lounged spread Eagle on her back, snoring away.
I wouldn’t sleep, but lie awake relishing the feeling of protection that this golden barricade provided from the dark-seeking monsters shuffling around under the bed. After about an hour, Lady would inevitably jump ship and wander off to her own corner of the house⎯the cozy laundry room behind the kitchen. A wave of sadness, abandonment, washed over me before I drifted off to sleep.
Lady was often the guest of honor at the exclusive “No Cats Allowed Club” that Rob and I held on Sunday mornings. We’d convene on my bed, lining up Barry the sock monkey, Raj, the smiling tiger with the plastic face, and Snakey the electric green reptile. The canine contingency was headed up by Old Gold, who despite little styrofoam pebbles seeping out of his head still protected me at night after Lady left.
Kitty Carlisle, my pink Siamese cat with knowing gray glass eyes had to be blind-folded, for her own good. We compassionately stuffed her in my closet so she wouldn’t be offended by the off-color cat jokes we’d share. How many cats does it take to open a refrigerator? None, they don’t have thumbs. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!! We’d laugh so hard and pound the bed, jostling the rest of the club members until they fell over with our shared merriment. Lady would stand up on the bed and swat at us with her big gentle paws, panting and wagging her tail, as if playfully admonishing us for making fun of those less fortunate. (Never mind that she didn’t have opposable units capable of opening the fridge either!)
Rob was Lady’s knight in shining armor. One morning when he was playing tetherball at recess, he heard a familiar bark and looked up to see that Lady had followed him to school. She was running across the grassy field, and Rob’s face lit up with joy. Until he saw something else that made his 10-year-old heart sink: Mrs. Zastro, the strictest and meanest teacher alive, was heading straight towards the love of his life. It was like a slow-motion movie as the squat, blue-haired disciplinarian lifted her heavy black orthopedic shoe and kicked Lady square in the behind as she shooed her home. Rob mustered all his courage, looked his nemesis right in the eyes and told her in a quivery voice that he would have to kick her if she ever did that again. To this day, I have never been prouder of him.
When Lady died, I had just left for my freshman year in college. My dad promised to bury her in the backyard. I came home that Thanksgiving; she was gone and there was no grave. Lady had simply disappeared, without any explanation or marker that she had been a part of our family. My father was the only one in the family who truly got to grieve. I never forgave him for that, and I never forgot how I’d felt.
I still dream about Lady sometimes: I’m wandering through the house where I grew up and, out of nowhere, she appears. She has that same smile, the same smell of peas and Fritos. She is still my Golden Lady.
Post #6
Awww shucks. Daddy is always sending me such sweet things. He tried to get away with just sending a silly song again, but I wasn't having it. So he sent this really candid story about how he has become the sole disciplinarian of the animals and that it's strange that all the pets love him the most as well as our old cat Pushkin who was like older then me (17 or 18) when she died........it's beautiful dad. And the song totally reminded me of Bonzo Dog Band, wow, great stuff! Here it is:
The pressure's too great! Between you and your mom I cry uncle!!! Trouble is, I really don't have any clue as to how I'm going to get started.
Here goes.....
Why have our cats always liked me? I'm not particularly deferential to them. I get cross when they scratch at the furniture and I'm not particularly good at keeping the litter box scooped out on a regular basis. I chase them off the kitchen table with loud claps or squirt guns and I'm never a soft touch when they come begging for food off my dinner plate. I'm not a "precious kitty' type of guy, in fact my attitude often is,"What's the fuss, it's just a cat". I'm so sick of litter boxes that the last time I went to the vet to pick up the 'special, expensive, diet cat food' I asked was it possible to train an older cat to use the toilet. Answer..,probably not. (Rats!!)
Yet the fact remains that no matter how many choices of laps are available, mine is picked. If there is a piece of clothing left on the floor to be marked 'this human is mine' by a kitty, guess who gets the honor. Right again, it's me. Why???
Now I don't mean to suggest that I don't like cats. I like them fine. I can deal with cat hair on the furniture, I can forgive the occasional dead prize on the doorstep and even chuckle as our present insane feline attacks any guest that's foolish enough to try pet her. I actually like having a purring cat warming my legs on a chilly winter evening. This said however, there is nothing like the death of a pet to put certain things in perspective. I sat up late as Pushkin, our first family cat was in the last hours of her life. She was old, had been declining rapidly and our vet had suggested a quick end but we decided to have her finish her life at home. She could no longer walk and was curled up on some blankets. I frequently checked in on her and when doing so, stroked her fur. She immediately began to purr. I couldn't believe it, she still purred at my touch. In my great ignorance I had treated Pushkin very badly. Before taking her to the vet I hadn't know how incapacitated she was. I got cross with her for not finding her litter box and peeing on my shoes. I had tried to banish her outdoors until I saw what danger she faced from raccoons and here she was, still purring. I felt completely unworthy. I began to remember every slight and every cruelty. real or imagined. As she lay there, her purring growing louder, I grew smaller.
She died sometime after I went to bed. I woke to find her in the same position as the night before except she was no longer breathing.
I'd like to say that now I am a wonderfully compassionate and understanding pet owner but the truth is I'm only marginally better. I don't mistreat any animal, but I still chase our present feline off the dining room table and toss her outside when she pesters me for food portions that exceed her dietary limit. Oh, and by the way, my lap is still the cat magnet.
Okay, Catherine. I think that's the best I can do right now. You can edit anything you feel needs to be changed.
Love,
Dad
I changed nothin'. And here's the song he sent (he didn't make the video though):
Post #7
A buddy named Kent sent some pictures in again, beautiful pets. I love the dog with the ball and the way his character really translates, almost makes me want one again, but no. Now I want some pictures of awkward pets please.......
Here's a couple photos I took of my best friend's pets. Vinnie aka Vincent the cat is one of the most charming, sophisticated animals I've ever encountered. Hope you can use these!
Sincerely,
Kent
