Contest: Pet Sitting - Share Your Stories

Let's get the creative juices flowing with a writing contest!

Do you have an interesting story to share involving pet sitting? We want to hear it!

Rules -

1. In a post to this thread, tell us about an interesting/funny/dramatic pet sitting experience that happened to you, either in the role of a pet sitter, or of someone receiving pet sitting services.

2. Your post should be 600-1200 words long.

3. Up to two submissions per member.

4. Last submission date: March 11th. On that day, the thread will be closed for further posts.

Posts will be judged by a special committee made of TCS team members. What we're looking for is an interesting story and good story telling. Have cat lovers as your audience and try to make this an entertaining tale. Obviously, decent grammar, punctuation and smelling spelling are required.

Throughout the month of March, all participants in this contest get this badge attached to their profile:



The winner gets:

• Your story gets published as an article on TCS!
• Winner badge added to your profile for a month -
• $25 in cash via Paypal
• A TCS Large Mug with the design of your choice from our CafePress store (worth $13.99)

Good Luck!

This exciting writing contest starts today!

Hmmm, I know I have a story but let me write it and spell check it lol (I feel like I'm applying for a job or back in college!)

Can we submit more than one?

And we submit it on this thread?

On edit: Oh, duh. Totally says yes in the first post. Duh. Never mind.

Yes, submit to this thread, please! I'm sorry, I should have specified in the first post - will edit now - up to two submissions per member, so choose your best two and post them here.

Good luck everyone!

A few years ago, a friend of mine, who cat-sits, asked me if she could hand off one of her jobs to me. I hadn't ever cat-sit as a job before, just for friends, so I saw no problem in that. When she told me about the cat, she gave me a warning: "This cat is really, and I mean really not sociable. In fact, Sylvester's the only mean cat I know."

I'm thinking, "Mean? I can get along with any cat, thank you."

My first visit was very interesting. There was this nice looking tuxedo, sitting in the corner, and he didn't move when I came in. I walked over, slowly, put my hand down, said "hi" to him in my friendliest, "I Love Cats" voice. I was met with a growl, and a hiss, and a swipe of the paw. Thankfully, I was quick enough to get my hand out of the way. i walked into the kitchen, he followed me, swiping at my legs. I kept talking to him in a soft voice, got some treats out of the refrigerator, per instructions, and put them on the floor. He started purring and eating the treats, and I thought I was victorious in winning him over. Then he retreated to his corner and continued to stare at me until I put his food down, and then cleaned out his litterbox.

I said goodbye to him, and walked out. All I was thinking was that he wasn't that friendly, but he certainly wasn't mean.

The next day, I unlocked the door, and as I walked in I saw him sitting at the end of the hallway, staring at me. I put on my nice, soft voice, greeting him, took off my jacket, and started walking down the hallway, to the kitchen. He growled. He prowled back and forth, growling, staring at me, as if he wanted to keep me in the hallway - that was all the further he wanted me to go. "How silly", I thought, and edged my way by him, all the while getting grabbed, claws out, around my legs. Thankfully, I was wearing jeans. I went for the treats, put them on the floor, and as he was chomping and purring I felt the time was right to do a little petting. Wow. Was he quick. I ended up with a big scratch on my wrist. Lesson learned.

I put his food down, cleaned the litterbox, and as I was leaving, I saw him sitting at the end of the hallway again, staring. "Goodbye, Human - we shall meet again."

I mentiioned this to his owner, when he got back, and he apologized, saying, "I think he was abused before I got him." This of course, warmed my heart, and I looked at this cat in a totally different way after that.

I got a call from his owner, a couple of years ago, just before I was supposed to start a feeding stint with Sylvester. He had died. His owner was devastated, as Sylvester was the first cat he had ever had, and he didn't know what to do. I told him what he should do, and we hung up. I felt so bad for him.

A few months later, he called and told me he had gotten another cat - another rescue - and was I available to take care of her. I said I was, and when I met her, I was astounded at the soft, cuddly, purring, friendly, adorable ball of fur he had gotten. His new kitty, Samantha, and I have become fast friends, but I still have visions of opening the door and seeing Sylvester the Tuxie guarding the hallway, determined to not let me pass.

Bumping this up.

Thank you for our very first submission, nanner! Quite the experience too, caring for a guard cat

ETA: your contestant badge is on now!

OK, I'll bite.

When I was about 13 years old, I had a friend who owned a cat. She was the only one I knew who had a cat in her home. At that time, I didn't like cats, and this one (Nicholes) was a true example of a cat in my mind then. She was very aloof, hated to be touched and always ran under the bed when people came into the house. I probably saw Nicholes once or twice in my years of knowing my friend. When I did see her, she was usually on the kitchen counter, eating her food. I thought this disgusting, thinking, "Ew, this cat used a litter box and is on the counter? Nasty!", but of course, I never said anything to my cat-lover friend. I had a hard time eating over her house for a long time after witnessing a cat on the counter, where food was prepared!

Anyway, my friend had asked me to cat-sit while she and her family went away on vacation. With no other plans that week, I agreed. Why not, it'll be easy. When it was time for me to go and take care of Nicholes, all I wanted to do was get in and get out. Each day, 3 times a day, I'd walk over to her house. First I'd take in the mail and paper. Then I walk around the house to make sure everything was in order, no surprise I didn't see Nicholes anywhere. I was sure she was under a bed and I wasn't going to look (for fear of being swiped at). In the kitchen I went next to dump a cup of kibbles in her bowl, freshen her water and took care of her two litter boxes. I remember how bad and how dusty the litter box was, another major turn-off of cats! After gagging from the smell, I'd do one more check around the house, and leave. I had probably spent 10 minutes each visit. This was my routine for the next 8 days, never seeing Nicholes once. I knew she was around since her food was always gone the next day and there were presents in the litter box each time.

My friend then came home and gifted me a small cat sculpture as a thank you for taking care of her cat as I had refuse cash payment. She asked how Nicholes was, and I was honest, saying I never saw the cat once. She did eat her food and did her business, but I never physically saw her. My friend said that was common with Nicholes.

A few days passed, and I was invited over for dinner and a sleepover with my friend. I accepted and went. The evening passed with nothing exciting, until bedtime. I settled down in the spare bed and was about to doze off until I felt the bed shift and move slightly, then a heavy, warm lump pressed against my legs. Peering over, I saw Nicholes staring up at me, purring. She even let me reach down to touch her head! My friend said that Nicholes never, ever voluntarily went to anyone but family like this, she was even surprised to see this too! She even took pictures to prove that Nicholes can be friendly when she wanted to be. I wish I had a copy of that photo.

Nicholes spent a few hours on the bed, snoozing with me, full of purrs. And that was that. Never again, in my years of her life, she ever came up to me. I rarely saw her as she back to her true cat self once more, hiding under the bed, swiping when being touched. I think Nicholes wanted to say 'Thank you' for taking care of her all week. I had almost, almost changed my mind about cats at that moment. Though, when she reverted back to hiding and showing her snooty self, my mind went back to stereotypical cats that I never liked!

And there's my story. My one and only cat-sitting experience to share!

Thank you for your submission, Draco! I've added the contestant badge to your profile/signature

cool, thanks

Animal Sitting - Christmas 2011 - A diary

It's what you do.. look after a desperate friend's rescued animals over Christmas. Even though you've never met them.

The cast:

Soot- large shy black dog

Danny - large manic brown dog

Nancy - eccentric domestic cat

Shade - aloof part Burmese cat

Gill - obese interloping domestic cat

Me

I don't think Shade likes me very much.  He pee-d in the bathroom and has gone into hiding.  Soot and Danny, on the other hand, follow me around like lovesick suitors and drool wildly if anything related to food occurs.  Gave Danny my raw carrot stub and he wolfed it down, so I gave them a half a carrot each.  It seems to have sent them into some kind of trance as they've both collapsed into a deep sleep.

Nancy lives on the verandah and, despite her considerable age, she scares me.  Most cats that make the sounds that she does will simultaneously rip you to pieces.  I will have to see how this progresses.

Shade lives with me in the bedroom and is not wild about it.  He keeps wanting to go out at night.  I keep telling him that he knows it doesn't work that way but he's relentless.  Somehow he opened the study door and escaped.  I begin to think he has 'powers' and wonder whether it is wise to sleep in his bedroom with him.

Nancy is placated by my organic Quark cheese.. expensive but effective. But all the time she eats it, she growls.  I tell her it's bad for her digestion, but the look of distain normally shuts me up.  At least now I can now give her her medication without risking life and limb.  I braved some contact and she doesn't mind the odd neck rub.  There may be hope for us yet.

The dogs seem to rearrange the furniture at night. Mental note to buy earplugs.

Awoke to major gifts from the dogs.  Luckily they kept it all to one non-carpeted area. It was my fault.. I fell for the soulful "we always get a snack before bed" looks.  And the raw carrot probably didn't help.  Spent all morning cleaning animal excretera, including various spots of carefully hidden and pretty ripe urine from Shade from the day before.  Lit incense, aromatherapy burner and scented candles.  Located Shade sunning himself on the bar-b-que.  Hopefully he'll forgive me for whatever I'm supposed to have done.

I carefully read the notes about walking the dogs.  What I read bore no resemblence to the experience.  Realised very quickly that I can only walk one at a time. Danny pulls like a tow-truck and Soot makes it very plain that he'd really rather go home. And the one that is left behind howls with a fog-horn intensity that can be heard for miles. Re-realised that ball-games in the garden are the way to go. 

Shade has to be fed in the bedroom, Nancy on the verandah.  There is much squeezing through doors trying to prevent "the dogs that live for food"  from succeeding with their desperate attempts.

But I hadn't counted on Gill, the bottomless pit from downstairs.  This adds a whole new dimension to it all.  Despite her huge bulk she can scale just about anything if there's food at the end of it.  And she has an extra-ordinary meal time sensor, even if you move the times about a bit.

At least now they seem housetrained... if a little eccentrically.  Shade poos in his tray and wees in the bathtub.  Nancy wees in the garden and comes inside to poo in her litter tray.  The dogs seem fine after the carrot incident.

We carry on with our various rituals.  Everyone gets fed, exercised and loved. 

But next Christmas I think I might take a cruise.

Anne said:

Thank you for our very first submission, nanner! Quite the experience too, caring for a guard cat

ETA: your contestant badge is on now!

Click to expand...

Ooh!! Thanks! Cool!!

My story is short. LOL

When I moved into our apartment, my neighbor had a beautiful black cat named Shadow. I would always talk to him as I passed the window where he would look out on the world. But I hadn't gotten acquainted with the neighbor.

Lissa would go out of town on occasion and a couple of her college friends would catsit Shadow. One day she came home from a trip and we started up a conversation. She was very annoyed that Shadow's food and water bowl was empty and his litter box hadn't been scooped. She asked me if I had seen anyone over there that weekend. I told her I hadn't seen anyone. It came to pass that the girl who was supposed to come over, never did!

Next time she went out of town for the weekend, she asked if I would take care of Shadow. Of course I said I would! We went over morning and night. I would feed Shadow and DH would scoop the box. He had a treat bag on the kitchen counter and we would spoil him with treats, giving him 4 or 5 at a time.

Lissa returned the favor and catsit our girls a couple of times. One time I called her to see how they were doing, she was sitting on the floor in our apartment, playing with the girls! Rusty, our girl that hides from everyone, loved her.

Lissa moved away about 2 years ago. I miss her and Shadow. The new neighbor is highly allergic to cats. Or so he says. I just think he hates cats!

My older cousin asked my friend and I to watch his suburban townhouse (and, cats) while he and his wife were away. We took up the offer, and after all, it was a vacation for us too. At this point the house occupies--or rather 3 cats occupy the house. A young delicate but playful girl, a longhaired calico girl, and a big, young shorthair white-with-tabby-patches boy. The girls were fine, and I had stayed with them enough times before and was aware of their habits. But the young boy had gotten bigger since I last saw him. And smarter. Oh, and need I mention, he had grown to develop epileptic seizures, requiring medication.

As my cousin and his wife were off to their travels, my friend and I began to make the place our home. We went out to play tennis, but soon got rained out (or should I say rained in). We then went for a bite to eat, and came back to the apartment shortly thereafter, before the storm took off.

It was getting later, and I had to give the boy cat his epilepsy medication. Off to find him, with the help of my friend!

Looked upstairs? Not there.

Looked main level? Not here.

Looked downstairs? Not downstairs.

Uh oh.. Looked... OUTSIDE? No? Do we have to?

The storm is on it's way at this point in the evening. I sure hope he isn't outside now..

Now these cats are strictly indoor cats and always have been. And even if they weren't, this cat needs its medication and I was not about to miss his dose and lose him all on my first night of cat sitting.

So my friend stands there. He has no idea what to do at this point. It is not his house; he's only met my cousin a couple of times. He just isn't good in such situations. So I start to worry now. We do another search of the place (it really isn't big, and is easy to access all areas), and then another, but backwards.

Then I call my cousin.

I'm nervous. Heart pounding, palms clammy, I insist "...we can't find him anywhere! Where else could he be? We checked the bathtubs, kitchen, upstairs, downstairs...!". I didn't know how to tell him that "..we've been searching for a long time, and don't see him anywhere. I don't know where he is! We didn't see him run out...".

No answer from my cousin.

"Hello?"

Finally, he responds,

"Yeah uhm.. check behind the water heater. If he isn't there--call me back". Click.

A downstairs we go. And there, sleeping innocently on the warm welcoming top of the water heater, was our boy. He didn't seem moved in the least, and I suppose he hadn't moved throughout the whole chase . I still to this day don't know how we missed him. He got his meds administered fine and the night went on.

Phew!!

Thank you for your submissions, everyone! Contestants badges have been added to your signatures!

May I offer a second one?  I believe we're allowed two.

Many years ago there was a family emergency.. I had to leave within twenty-four hours and could not take my beautiful Wei Wei with me.  I have a friend, Fran, who could drop in, but it was impossible for her to take on the full responsibility. 

I rang a Pet Sitting agency . It was full to the brim, but the woman who ran it said she had a friend who may help.  I’d been told the friend, Vanessa, had Rheumatoid  Arthritis and had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  She was in the midst of chemotherapy, and had to quit her full time job. I said I needed someone who could come at least daily for seven days and, if Vanessa could manage that, could she please come around and meet us as soon as possible?

Vanessa arrived, a beautiful woman wearing the scarf that so often says "chemo".  She was wonderfully eccentric, with her heart in the right place and we shared a lot in common.  But not cats. It’s not that she didn’t like them; she just didn’t have the experience. WeiWei sat and stared at her in mild dismay initially, but after a while she started to wind herself around Vanessa's chair legs. In my desperate state I took that as approval.  I gave Vanessa a tour of the house, wrote long and detailed notes, lent her my “What Cats Want” book and was finally assured that she was settling happily into her new role of cat-sitter. 

I left the next day, after giving firm instructions to WeiWei to be good for her visitor since she had obviously recognised Vanessa as a complete novice.

Vanessa sent me a text each day..

The first said that WeiWei was letting her pet her and “isn’t she a gorgeous cat?” 

The second day she and WeiWei had played with her favourite fluffy giraffe for over an hour. 

The third said that she felt so at home: “is it ok to just come and spend a few hours with WeiWei?” (At this point I realised it was a quiet and restful place for Vanessa to recuperate from her illness and its treatment).

Then there was a phone call from my friend Fran, saying that she had arrived to find Vanessa in an arm-chair with a cup of tea and WeiWei curled up on her lap and Fran felt that everything was just as it should be. 

The fourth text from Vanessa told me that she was very tired and had lain down and fallen asleep after doing the chores.  She awoke to find WeiWei had slept too, nestled in the crook of her shoulder.

The fifth:  WeiWei had greeted Vanessa with much miaowing and nudging and then dropped her toy mouse in front of her. Vanessa asked me “did you know she played fetch??” (I did) and Vanessa went on to describe how WeiWei would retrieve ‘mousy’ from all sorts of improbable places.

The sixth:  Just to let me know that all was in order for my return and that Vanessa was “going to miss WeiWei terribly”.

On the seventh day I returned late to a well-loved house and its contented feline. 

WeiWei certainly had an excellent sitter. She received far more quality time than the normal feed, clean and cuddle that many sitting companies offer. And when Vanessa came to drop off the key, WeiWei was obviously thrilled to see her.  It is always a joy for me when I see my cats relish the company of others.

But this experience was extra special as it worked both ways. Here was a chance for someone to just take time out with a fabulous feline; there is something so simple and beautiful and "in the now" about it.

I'm pretty sure that Vanessa discovered the therapeutic and loving value of an excellent cat. 

Let me start by saying I know nothing about goats.  My knowledge of goats consists mainly of an experience at a petting zoo as a young child, when they surrounded me and one started to chew on my favorite red sweater.  "Don't let them eat your sweater," my mom yelled encouragingly from the sidelines.  Finally, she had to come in and rescue me.  For a long time, that was the extent of my dealings with goats.

Many years later, when my husband and I were first married, my neighbors got a goat.  I couldn't see him...there was a thick stand of trees between our houses...but I could hear him.  Sometimes he would start bleating, or whatever the sound is that goats make.  I would speak to him in a soft, soothing voice and he would grow quiet.  I wondered what he looked like and if he might be lonely.  I made it a point to stand at the edge of our yard and talk to him whenever I was outside. 

One day I came home from an early class and to my surprise, there was a goat in my driveway.  A beautiful goat.  Solid white with horns.  I jumped out of the car and ran to see him.  I know it isn't wise to approach a strange animal, but he seemed docile enough, despite the horns.  He greeted me like an old friend and not once did he try to chew up my sweater.

After a while, I went inside the house.  I felt he would be safe out there alone for a few minutes; we live on a cul-de-sac with virtually no traffic.  Truthfully, I wanted to feed him, but I had no idea what goats eat.  Tin cans, in cartoons.  Little girls' sweaters in the petting zoo, along with some type of kibble that looks like hamster food.  I decided not chance feeding him, for fear of giving him the wrong thing.  I washed my hands and was preparing to make my own lunch when it happened.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!  The goat was knocking his horns against my glass storm door, hard enough to break it!  I ran outside.  The goat was standing there calmly, nonchalantly, as if he hadn't been beating his head against my door a few seconds earlier.     

That's it, I thought. You're going in the fence until the neighbors come home.  I led him to our enclosed backyard and he politely followed.  I latched the gate behind me and turned to see him standing there, seemingly content, certainly not planning anything devious or disruptive in the near future.  I went back into my house, ready for lunch.  Looking after this goat was turning out to be quite a chore, but I was confident now that he was in a secure place.  Bam!  Bam!  Bam!   The goat was at my carport door again!   Somehow, he had scaled or jumped the fence in a daring escape.  My luck, a goat with supernatural powers that couldn't be contained by ordinary measures.

I gave up.  At that point, I turned from average citizen to frazzled goat-sitter.  I stayed outside with the goat for hours, and he was happy as long as I was there.  When my neighbors' daughter came walking down the road from the school bus, I opened my mouth to ask if he was their goat.  She opened her mouth in disbelief and just pointed at him.  She asked me to wait with him until she could go home and get something to lead him back with, some type of harness, I think.  I watched him go, relieved that he actually did belong to the neighbors'. 

I have many heartwarming pet-sitting stories that always end with me sad to see the animals go when their owners return home.  I have to admit it, though the goat was definitely my most interesting experience in pet-sitting, I wasn't sorry to see him leave.  I like to think if I'd had some time to prepare, I would have done a better job.

I still love goats.  My husband recently mentioned getting one as a pet and I jumped at the chance.  But trust me when I say I would do plenty of research on goat care first and have a proper place for him to live.  And most importantly, a goat friend, so he wouldn't be lonely.  

My second submission:

Shortly after getting married, my husband and I acquired five cats and a dog.  They didn't come all at once.  First we adopted Siamie, our Siamese mix, from a local shelter because I thought I heard a mouse in the house.  Then the others were taken in one by one out of necessity.  Some were strays and others were about to be sent to the pound.  We just couldn't turn any of them away.  We hadn't intended to get a dog at all, but one night we were driving to a restaurant to pick up a take-out order and saw a dog run into traffic and get hit by a car.  He limped off into a ditch and no one was stopping.  Naturally, my husband and I stopped to help.  We took him to the vet to have his broken leg repaired and then brought him home two weeks later.  No one came forward to claim him, so we kept him.  We named him Bo.  We couldn't have asked for a better dog.  Still, he was full grown and we weren't sure how he would do with the cats.  We needn't have worried.  He loved the cats.  Unfortunately, they despised him, with the exception of one:  Redman.

Redman and Bo had a great relationship.  Redman would stalk Bo in true cat fashion.  Bo would pat his front paws on the ground to instigate a chase, the way dogs do when they want to play.  They would chase each other all over the backyard and it was hilarious to watch.  Sometimes Redman would even curl up next Bo in his dog bed.  They were the best of friends.  If I would have had to guess, I would have said Redman enjoyed the company of dogs more than he did cats.  He certainly spent enough time trying to fight the other cats, which pretty much backed up my theory.

My brother had a new black and tan miniature dachshund puppy that he named CB, the initials of the unit in which my brother served in the military.  CB was a bit of a nervous puppy and that just added to his charm.  He didn't like walking on the deck, for example, because he was afraid to step on the cracks between the wooden planks.  He also refused to set foot on the ornate iron grate in my brother's hall that had something to do with the old furnace.  He was a dog that liked to keep his paws on solid ground.  

CB was adorable and I was delighted at any opportunity to puppy-sit.  One day, my brother was going to be away for a few hours and asked me to keep CB.  Of course, I agreed.  CB spent most of his time indoors, so I thought he would enjoy spending some time with Bo in our backyard.  And he did.  They had a grand time, playing until they should have been exhausted.  I watched them from the kitchen window and Redman watched from his perch on the seat of the riding lawn mower.  Everything went well...until Redman jumped down from the lawn mower onto CB's back.  I realized what was going to happen about a split second too late to stop it.  CB took off running and yelping, terrified, trying to dislodge Redman from his back.  I guess he thought he was under attack from above by a giant, furry, red assailant.  I finally caught up with CB and calmed him down.  He was shaken up, but unharmed.  No malice had been intended on Redman's part.  He'd probably launched plenty of aerial attacks against Bo, all in fun.

I think this was the last time I got to pet-sit CB.  Not because of the unfortunate attack, but because as he grew older he didn't mind staying at home alone. 

All of the animals in this story have long since crossed the Bridge.  I still miss every one of them and think of them often.  Writing this has brought up especially nice memories of two beloved pets who shared a special and unlikely friendship.   And memories of the little dog who who played such a big part in my brother's life for a long time.