I originally joined TCS years ago, when I first befriended my cat Gypsy (a feral stray found living under my neighbor's porch), but so much in my life has changed, I'd better re-introduce myself.
I've been lurking off and on for years, but recent health scares on my eldest cat have brought me out of the woodwork.
Since I first joined, and inspired by Gypsy's (now 5 years old) near death experience with a bad URI and a trip to the emergency clinic, I've become a vet tech. The technicians there were sooooo sweet and up until that point, I'd never really thought of it as a career choice. As a kid, I wanted to be a vet, but gave that up because I didn't think I could handle it. Or afford the education.
I spent a few months of "boot camp" working at an animal shelter (if I can emotionally handle that, I figured I could handle anything) where I picked up a souvenier named Gracie. I was supposed to only foster Grace for two weeks since she was too young to to up for adoption and would have been put to sleep otherwise. But I named her. And I think once you name them, you're stuck. She's my little (Little? Ha! She's a chunker!) space heater, and spends every night sleeping next to me.
I've had my eldest, Sheba (18 years old) since I was sixteen. She's my buddy. She helped me realize my ex boyfriend was a turd (he didn't like cats, and that didn't become apparent until I got my own place and had Sheba come to live with me) and later realize my husband is a gem. How could you not love a guy who, the first time he stayed at my place (we had a long distance relationship, and he was in the process of job hunting for something local), called me up at work to find out why the cat kept meowing at him? Is there something wrong? (She just wanted her water changed.) Or another time he called me at work in a panic because he "saw something weird and white" on Sheba's rear end and I should come home right now because something's wrong with her. Turns out he just never noticed that a black cat doesn't always have a black rectum. "Uh... honey? That's just her butt."
He just dotes on her like you wouldn't believe. I've had her almost all her life, but he knew her six months before he was referring to her as "his cat."
Four months ago, we adopted a one-eyed Pekingese named Beavis. I originally wanted a Greyhound, but my hubby likes small dogs so we compromised. I couldn't have found anything less like a Greyhound. One has long legs, a long nose and a short coat, the other... well, you get the picture. Ok. So it wasn't so much a compromise as it was letting the husband get his way, but since he had no say in any of the cats (one I had, one I found, and one I brought home) he was past due.
Since I first joined, and inspired by Gypsy's (now 5 years old) near death experience with a bad URI and a trip to the emergency clinic, I've become a vet tech. The technicians there were sooooo sweet and up until that point, I'd never really thought of it as a career choice. As a kid, I wanted to be a vet, but gave that up because I didn't think I could handle it. Or afford the education.
I spent a few months of "boot camp" working at an animal shelter (if I can emotionally handle that, I figured I could handle anything) where I picked up a souvenier named Gracie. I was supposed to only foster Grace for two weeks since she was too young to to up for adoption and would have been put to sleep otherwise. But I named her. And I think once you name them, you're stuck. She's my little (Little? Ha! She's a chunker!) space heater, and spends every night sleeping next to me.
I've had my eldest, Sheba (18 years old) since I was sixteen. She's my buddy. She helped me realize my ex boyfriend was a turd (he didn't like cats, and that didn't become apparent until I got my own place and had Sheba come to live with me) and later realize my husband is a gem. How could you not love a guy who, the first time he stayed at my place (we had a long distance relationship, and he was in the process of job hunting for something local), called me up at work to find out why the cat kept meowing at him? Is there something wrong? (She just wanted her water changed.) Or another time he called me at work in a panic because he "saw something weird and white" on Sheba's rear end and I should come home right now because something's wrong with her. Turns out he just never noticed that a black cat doesn't always have a black rectum. "Uh... honey? That's just her butt."
Four months ago, we adopted a one-eyed Pekingese named Beavis. I originally wanted a Greyhound, but my hubby likes small dogs so we compromised. I couldn't have found anything less like a Greyhound. One has long legs, a long nose and a short coat, the other... well, you get the picture. Ok. So it wasn't so much a compromise as it was letting the husband get his way, but since he had no say in any of the cats (one I had, one I found, and one I brought home) he was past due.
