Those little smooshed faces are hard to resist. So are the little eyes peering out from behind bars. This is how I got roped in...again.
I should really have my head examined. We were actually at a point of no pets. Granted, this was not by choice. We had a pug that we absolutely adored but sadly lost when he ate a penny. This is ironic because whenever I need loose change I can't find any, but he managed to find a penny somewhere and ingested it, resulting in iron poisoning. Within five days his major organs shut down and we lost him. Not that we didn't try to save him. We paid more for surgery on the dog than a mortgage payment. But he was family, so no regrets. After this tragedy, we said never again. Sincerely.
Then came the self-imposed Mom Guilt.
"Children really should have a pet to grow up with."
"We have a lot of love to share."
"Pets teach children responsibility." I know, I know...I'm laughing hysterically even as I write this...
It began about four years ago with the acquisition of our black cat, Sprout, so named because she has sprouted six "toes" on each paw. I adore Sprout...she looks like she walks about on high heels all day. I found her at the Humane Society antisocially hanging out behind bars. The day I brought her home she ran somewhere and hid - I could not find her anywhere. After 24 hours, I was certain she snuck out of the house and was hit by a car. Questioning my nurturing capabilities, I wondered when Social Services was coming for my children as I obviously couldn't even take care of a cat. In what should have been my first sign an exorcism may be necessary, she crawled out of I still don't know where about midnight the next night, scared me out of my wits, and threw up on my bedroom floor. We were off to a great start.
Since that time Sprout has become quite the lovey. However, she sleeps all day. At night, she is raring to go and is quite put out if I deign to fall asleep. Her remedy? She head butts me until I wake up. No kidding...she is evil incarnate. And when she is not in a head-butting-let's-wake-Mom mood, she can be found barfing up hair balls and last night's dinner in the hallway. And on the stairs. And in the dining room. I must have been out of my mind...
As if the cat was not enough evidence for my commitment hearing, we went and adopted not one pug - but two! They are brothers and I justified this madness by pleading with my husband that we could not possibly split them up. These two dogs are like little old men. They lay around smacking their gums all day, have lost enough hair to make another dog entirely, and pass gas to extremes that could melt paint off the wall. No kidding...it is so bad that they leave the room. You know it is bad when you can't stand your own stink.
Lemme tell you...if the rescue tells you they are housebroken - don't believe it. I have gates up all over my house and have to run an obstacle course just to get the laundry done. If they tell you they need a "special" diet - don't believe it. I watch these two feast on rabbit droppings (a.k.a. - cocoa puffs) like it's their last supper. They wake up every morning at 5:30 for breakfast - even on weekends. Sleeping-in holds no mystique for them. I tell them all the time they should thank their lucky stars for Buster's Law.
But for all of my griping, they all offer unconditional love and never fail to greet me when I return home. They are always happy to see me and have become part of the family.
But I am NEVER doing this again. Sincerely.