Plz post pictures as soon as you can.

On edit -- I got my grey boy at the local animal shelter. He was 7 at the time. The volunteer knew absolutely that I was going home with a cat that day and she was absolutely determined that it would be him. I call him Peanut. This is him about 20 minutes after I got him home.

The local pet store had kittens from the same litter. One in particular was just a complete cuddle, but I wasn't out to get one for myself. His brother was hanging on the chicken wire or whatever it was on their pen, BEGGING for me to take him. I picked him instead, but mentioned his brother to my wife. A few days later, she handed me my big boy. He wasn't all that big at the time, but he is now. One of the first things he thought would be a good idea was to climb my body like a tree and sit on my shoulder. I was bloody from the shoulder down on that side.

Oh, and this was him a few years back...

That's my kind of cool cat.

On Edit: that's a returnable bottle. They were one of the last hold-outs (and the first brewery in the US), but sadly said bottles are no more. I still have some. They'll be worth something on eBay in ten years.

of Harley-Davidson beer...I wonder if they'll ever be worth anything?


I wish I hadn't passed up that chance years ago to get a couple cans of Billy Beer.


All other beer will never live to see eBay at my house. I have a couple cans of Yuengling in the fridge right now - but only because I am still at work.

.... just mentioning that there's a tiny bit of beer in them (less than a teaspoon), EVEN with a disclaimer that you wouldn't want to even consider drinking the contents, was enough to get the listings deleted.

It was shitty beer when it was fresh, and god knows now!

But I also wondered about it.

that it would taste like shit...

Wouldn't that be chat a chat?

she visited a friend of hers who had these little Papillons that would run and jump and ride on her Newfoundland and she thought that was just the neatest thing ever so she began begging for a papillon. At the time we had just lost a cat to injury (he got out and got in a fight and lost) and had another middle-aged cat who was a handful herself so we said we weren't going to have two pets at one time right then. (we have a pretty small house and two cats was more than enough) She was sad but understood. We said we would revisit the topic later and she agreed and proceeded to make the surviving cat her pet. She loved that cat and did everything with that cat and really proved that she could responsibly take care of that cat but we just weren't convinced we'd have time and energy to devote to the cat AND train a new puppy.

Now, I should tell you that my wife and I like that cat but don't love it. It pukes everywhere all the time and tries to drink our tea. Annoying little fucker really. But our daughter loved the cat so the cat stayed. It was a running joke that the cat might "mysteriously disappear" during weekends when our daughter would go stay with her grandma which she did fairly often...of course we knew and she knew we would never do anything to the cat but it was still a running joke that something might happen.

So one weekend she was off at grandma's and my wife came in and asked if I had seen the cat. "Nope, been watching TV"...well she's not in the house (again, small house, not hard to look everywhere). We kept looking and my wife remembered she had left the back door open earlier while she was taking stuff out to the shed. We assumed the worst (especially after our other cat had met his maker doing the same thing) and started looking around the neighborhood. She walked all over the place and I drove up and down the blocks checking the side of the road and came back hours later empty handed.

Well shit. Our daughter is gonna be heartbroken. In the preceding weeks we had been in contact with a lady upstate that had papillons so we decided to obfuscate the situation by calling our daughter and asking her if she wanted to go look at puppies. Didn't tell her about the cat yet and she was so excited about the puppy prospect that she didn't ask.

So we get ready to go pick her up from grandma's and head up north to see some puppies and I went to lock up the back door and who's dumbass little head do you think I saw peeking out of the shed? Yep. The cat.

So now I got a cat AND a daughter expecting to go see puppies. Fuck it. Let's go look at puppies.

We got her and drove up to north Florida and when we sat down in the room and the lady let her puppies in they all just started running and playing and acting so cute except for one. THAT one just walked over to my daughter and climbed in her lap and looked up at her went to licking her arm.

Seras is almost 6 now and is the smartest and most loving little dog I have ever seen. Oh and I still have the cat. It still pukes everywhere every day. AND it hates the dog. Guess you shouldn't have gone shed diving huh, Pukey?

could get back into the eaves of the building where she had been born. She was about 8 weeks old. She took her home, but had to keep her in a cage because she was so wild. Feeling sorry for the kitty, after a few days she decided to put her in the bathroom so she could get out of the cage and move around. The kitty managed to pull the cover from the a/c vent in the toe kick of the cabinet and fell down into the ductwork.

She called, but kitty wouldn't come to her. She tried hanging bath towels down several of the floor vents hoping that kitty would climb out of the ductwork. No luck. They could hear her meowing, but she wouldn't use the route of escape that they had provided. Finally, my son-in-law went under the house and took a section of the ductwork loose so kitty could at least get out of there. At last she left the ductwork, but she stayed under the house. The grandkids were crawling under there twice a day with food and water, but they never saw her.

Finally they set a live trap and caught her after she had been living under the house for a couple of weeks. At that point I decided to take her home with me. It took a few weeks to gain her trust, but I finally got her tamed. She discovered that there would always be food in the dish and realized that I didn't eat kitty cats. Now, 10 years later, she has become a very settled kitty who still has a little wild streak in her. She's one of the most independent cats I've ever had and affection is on her terms, not mine.

Dog #2 had been in remission from multiple myeloma for about 2 1/2 years, and then the monthly routine test results came back that he was out of remission. Which upset me, a lot.

So, the prognosis was about 3 to 6 months with palliative care. Which also upset me, a lot.

Then, a few weeks after that, I did something to my back, not sure what, that resulted in what I soon found out was sciatica -- it was the worst pain I had ever experienced, and still ranks there to this day. I ended up in the ER, and then was told to stay off work for 3 to 5 days until the symptoms, which included extreme numbness in my leg, went away.

So, I was upset, depressed, and in a lot of pain.

What does a guy do who can't move around a lot, is in a lot of pain, and bored -- turn to the Internet.

Which, yielding nothing in the way of suggestions to help dog #2.

So, I turned to searching for breeders for dog #3.

Which, in those 3 or 4 days off work, went from "I'll try to find a couple of good breeders now, for when the time comes" to "hey, Saturday, I'm going to drive down near the Ohio border to look at a puppy.

Well, that was 6 1/2 years ago. Dog # 2 actually lived about 9 months from that time, and Dog #3 provided me with months of joy and aggravation, and was a big comfort to me when I finally had to put dog #2 to sleep.

BTW, they never met face to face in all that time. Dog #2 was becoming incontinent and couldn't go up and down the stairs into the main level of my house, so I stayed with him out in the family room, and Dog #3 stayed in the main house. They saw each other from a distance a few times, but I didn't think it was good to let either of them come in contact with each other for fear of weird infections.

I don't think it was the smartest thing to do, but it worked out in the end. It was an emotional response, certainly not a rational one, but we all do what we have to do some times to get by.

I was at a shelter looking for a cat and wasn't having much luck finding that so-called "connection" with any of the cats. I was going around playing with the kittens and whatnot and I was close to settling with this big white cat until she nipped at me while I was petting her.

Then there was this fat cat, Esther, sitting by herself, not really interacting with the other cats and none of the other people were going to her. So I started petting her and she immediately stuck her butt way up in the air and purred like an engine. The volunteers said she obviously liked me. I put her as my top choice on the application and left.

A week later, I came back for their interview process. After the interview, I went into the cat area to see the cats again. As soon as I walked in, Esther peaked out at me from another room, came right over to me, stuck her butt up in the air and began purring like crazy. I've had her for three and a half years now.

Ace is a good boy, gooood boyyyy, yes he iiisss, yes he iiisss! ([font size="1" color="blue"]Sorry, I gotta say it that way[/font])

So when the vigilantes rescued him, they needed a good home for him. I can assure you that I have no other affiliations with this vigilantes, as I'm busy most of the time wining and dining supermodels and society divas. Anyway, since I also have a reputation around town as something of a philanthropist, these crimefighters, who again, I have no personal acquaitance with, offered to let me adopt the poor mutt so he could have the run of the great big yard here at my stately family manor. Unfortunately, Ace kept pooping the foyer, so I had to put him down. But for those few days, he was quite the jovial companion.

Little did we know that the "little person" syndrome would mean the overly aggressive 4 lb. Luna would dominate the docile 85 lb. Bella to the point of standing on her chest, taking her lower jaw between her teeth and shaking her head so hard you can hear BOTH of their ears slap their heads.

she moved to germany in sept. 05 and left them with me. it was supposed to only be a year, but here we are.

i knew them for a year before they came home to me. the first time i stayed over there, i woke up with the dim one perched on my chest, face in my face. the sketchy fat one took a bit of time to get used to me, but we were fast friends after i shared my double cheeseburger with her.

they almost never get this close to each other

There used to be a big, male, lynx-point Siamese at my apartment complex who would come by every once in a while and he was a handsome devil, so I thought, "He's awesome and friendly. I should get a Siamese." I did some searching on Petfinder to find out if any local shelters had any females, and found mine at a no-kill shelter.

She was left behind at a long-stay motel near downtown when her owners left, and the cleaning lady brought her to the shelter. (Apparently that happened quite a bit at the motel where the lady worked.) I've had her now for just under four years. Her name is Summer, and she's a great cat.

Here she is on the lid of the clothes hamper where she hangs out while I'm taking a shower:





She didn't have any stripes on her body when I brought her home, just stripes on her legs, face, and tail. The body stripes came in later--her eyes have always been crystal blue, though.

And she knows it! LOL

We had to pick her up at the cargo pick-up area of the airport. She was so tiny and in a big (soiled, of course) crate. Amazing how such a tiny puppy could travel all that way alone. Someone had given her an airline blanket at least.

We were stuck in rush hour traffic, took us about 2 hrs. to get to the airport. We were nervous wrecks! But she was fine and gave us lots of kisses and settled in once we got her home. The other dogs took awhile getting used to her. Now she is Miss Bossypants and rules our roost! I can't imagine our house without her.

She was up on both.



After about a week, I applied, got approved, and contacted her foster mom for a meetup. We met, I gave her a Ritz cracker, walked her around for a bit on her lead, she puked on my shoe, the normal stuff for a 12 week old puppy.

I cut a check for $150 on the spot and she was taken to be spayed. I picked "Cleopatra Marie" (Cleo) up a week later.



She just turned four a couple weeks ago. Good times.

The look on Cleo's face, in the snow just cracks me up

First pic is from the ad when she was a pup. Her adult coat came in much darker. And I renamed her when I got her.

OK, now I see that it is two pictures, taken at different times, of the same dog

It was about a year after I had to have my buddy Scooter (who was my friend throughout most of grad school) put down due to a saddle embolism. I wasn't sure I was ready for a new pet, but my aunt told me about a stray that my cousin had taken in who was a very nice animal, but wasn't getting along with her other two cats. She claimed that my cousin (her daughter) was afraid that she'd have to take the stray to the shelter, and was very distraught over it. I decided to take the cat with the intentions of sparing my cousin's feelings and providing a home to a stray more so than being ready for a new pet. My cousin has a propensity to use puns in naming her cats. Her first cat is named Purrcy, and she named the stray Roary, named after the TV character Rory Gilmore with the "a" added in as a pun. I decided I could live with a female cat with a boy's name, but not the pun, so I shortened it to "Rory". Anyway, Rory was pretty stand-offish at first, being a cat who was found feeding from a dumpster without any human contact in her early years, but after a few visits to the vet and some patience, she has become a very happy and healthy house cat with the disposition of an angel, but not quite the lap-cat that Scooter was. She is very calm, playful, and loving, and has had almost zero behavioral problems since day one, which is admirable considering that she was practically feral when my cousin adopted her. Here she is sitting very patiently for a picture.

She's a cutie.

However, cats have limited patience for photography.

Patience is going.



Patience is GOING.



PAISHESS IZ GONE!

He wasn't the one I thought I'd be getting, but when I saw his photo I got that feeling he was the one for me. I'd been feeling a bit strange that I didn't get that feeling from any of the pups in the litter I was expecting to be getting a pup from, and that did bother me a bit. I was staring at the photos of the new pups wondering why I wasn't getting that feeling about any of them when the breeder called about my wonderful fur baby. He was supposed to be the breeder's own dog, but unfortunate circumstances made it just impossible to keep him. He (the breeder) was very sad to realize he had to let him go, but he wanted him to go to someone he knew would love him and where he'd have a good forever home, so he asked me. He sent me his photo, and I instantly got that absolute definite "that's the one" feeling that I wasn't getting from any of the photos of the new pups no matter how hard and long I looked at them.

So the decision was made before I actually met the pup. I went to pick him up, and the instant I saw him in the flesh (and fur) my heart just melted, and I knew my gut instinct once again didn't steer me wrong. He's been the joy of my life ever since, and I'm soooooooooooo glad that the breeder thought to ask me instead of someone else (it horrifies me to think that it may have been nothing but pure luck that someone else right now doesn't have MY pup). I think fate plays a big part in steering you to "the one", and you just KNOW when "the one" presents itself whether by a conversation, or a photo or in the flesh (and fur).

And now I have to go run and hug him!

Ok, now that he's been well and truly hugged here he is with Mr. Lobster (the cover I made for his wiggly giggly ball) being nervous that I may yet again take Mr. Lobster away for yet more emergency surgery (he shreds Mr. Lobster up fairly regularly). That little shaved spot on his one arm was where the IV was when he had his neutering surgery. It finally grew back in but now he's already starting to shed his winter coat, so he's looking oddly bald in patches around the front now anyway. This is his first time shedding out, and it's kind of funny but he's not sure what's going on and sometimes tries to rub the hair balls that come off of him back on. Silly puppy. And yes, he's filthy from making mudpies in the yard again. He LOVES mud (dirt is lovely but mud is WAY more lovely).

The grey and white kitty in my sigline was a week old, and had been born in one of the window wells of our basement. Her Momma (who we later coaxed inside) was in the process of moving her litter across the street to a neighbor's back yard where there was a shed under which Momma would put her litter and keep them safe and dry.

But she got spooked when the neighbor started mowing the lawn, and one kitten was left behind.


My daughter heard a kitten crying, and asked what we should do. I told her that we would wait for Momma to come back for her kitten, as she invariably had for previous litters when moving one at a time, but for one reason or another, Momma never came back that day.

It was going to be below freezing that night, the week-old kitten would not have lasted without the warmth of her mother and littermates.

We took her in. I bottle-fed her for near six weeks, and she slept next to my head every night.

The Tux in my sigline is Missy's brother, Mu. He came to us exactly one week later, as my second oldest son was outside in the driveway working on his car, another clear, cool fall day.

My son heard a kitten, and looked up to see this little black-and-white kitty wandering around the neighbor's front yard, mewling furiously, looking for his mother. The kitten saw my son and made a beeline towards him, stopping at his feet. He scooped him up and brought him inside.

I don't know to this day how Mu knew that my son would take care of him, but he picked out the right kid to run to. My son loves cats more than anyone that I know.

So, in he comes with this little fuzzball in his hands, and presents Mu to me.


I got out another bottle and started feeding Mu, and he ate as if he hadn't eaten in days. Mu slept right next to his sister, both of them right next to me on an old fuzzy blanket on top of my bed.

He got his name from the Mu Koan, for my son asked me if I was going to keep this kitty, too, and I responded that was a question which did not need to be asked.

Both kitties play fetch, and when asked to go get one of their rattly mouses, will find one, bring it back, jump up on my lap and drop it, waiting for me to throw it.

They are a constant source of joy to all in our household.

Stormie: He was brought into our home the night our other cat died. Petros was about 11 months old. I had heard a nose early one morning (4am) and it was my neighbor's cat looking to play with Petros. I let him out to sit on the porch with cupcake. It had become a ritual for them. He'd stay out a half hour on the proch than come back in. This night however a Dog started chasing both of them. I tried to go out and find him. Cupcake being older was back home by 8 am. So hubby and I went looking for him. We could not find him. Long story short I had found him in a near by field around 12 noon his tail hair hanging from the tail. I was heart broken. I was to blame because I let him out BUT they had done it every morning for 4 months and the neighbors cat was always outside so I thought it was safe. My friend told me don't go home to an empty house. So hubby and I saw free kittens and we went to get one. We almost got Stormie's sister because he was hidding BUT when we did see him we fell in love and hubby just prefer male cats (claims they are friendlier)

WE DO NOT LET OUR CATS OUT OF OUR HOUSE NOW with the exception of my neighbor's cat Smokey who we have taken in after her death. He is however spending much more time inside our house.

Smokey we got a year ago. He was the one that basically let us know our neighbor was in trouble. We share a proch. Neighbor ended up killing herself. We kept trying to get her attention so she would let the cat in to get food. We did feed him during that week but it was Jan and he really wanted inside to get warm. We finally called the police to check on her and well she killed herself and her family. Smokey hid until the police left. Next day the "Humane" society came looking for smokey she said they would put smokey down because they didn't have room and it was too cold for him to be out. Hubby said absolutely not. We would take him in and we did.

Brody. We got Brody a week after Stromie. We believed Petros was very lonely and needed company that's why he would go out with cupcake. So we thought we get Stormie a buddy and they would both be indoor cats and companions. They get along so great you'd think they came the same litter.

Snowy is another of the Neighbor's cats. She found Snowy on her doorstep and he was in sorry state bloody and battered. So she took him in before she became in and started to take care of him. Snowy however wasn't doing good in her home because she had a young son-at the time was a typical kid and you know loud and just a kid- Snowy needed a calmer enviroment. Poor thing would hide behind the couch as soon as the son got home and not come out until he left for school. Neighbor did feel bad about the cat's situation. I'd said Hubby and I might take him in if we - Next thing I know she is shoving the cat into my arms and pushing me to the door. So Snowy came into our family.

Bless her heart, Tillie(You Bitch) was a rescue that never quite recovered from her early life. Literally, I ended up with her after a drunken three day weekend involving multiple house parties and a drive across town with a cat loose in my car yowling the whole way. Most people sober up to a bad hangover or maybe even a new tat or something, but not me. I woke up to a malnourished, flea covered, attack cat that lived to draw blood. That cat was a year old and before her vet made the comment that he thought her name was Tillie(you Bitch) not just Tillie. For 17 years we lived together and had an uneasy sort of truce involving me not killing her as long as she did not run up and bite me EVERY time I walked into the room.

Tillie hated men--hated them with a passion. (I only know of one man she ever liked, and I married him.) The rest of the male gender were her personal whipping boys and she ran off a lot of men before kevsand happened along. One time she actually made burying motions when a date came to pick me up. I was horrified, however she was right--he really was a POS that needed to be buried.

When our daughter was born I worried about the baby with that cat. Much as I loved the cat, there was no way I would endanger my child. Oddly enough, the cat ignored the child, and the child loved that cat. (Her first word was cat, BTW...) We had a walker for the baby (Gee, thanks, Grandpa and Grandma...) and she'd get in her walker and chase the cat thru the house. I'd hear the clatter of the wheels, and pretty soon the cat would come streaking into the room with the kid giving chase. ONE day, the cat let out a yowl, and I heard the wheels clatter and the cat comes boiling into the kitchen and runs under the table. The kid comes clattering into the kitchen and gives me this ear to ear grin with a massive wad of cat hair sticking out of her mouth.

In truth, I loved that cat madly in spite of her anger issues. I almost died when she stuck her face in a fan and I was a complete basket case when I finally lost her to renal failure at the age of 17. The whole family missed her and we were a sorry bunch for quite a while.

Two years later, my daughter starts asking for a kitty. We figured it was probably time, so we went to the local shelter and adopted a little black kitten. Cute as hell, and totally calm in the bedlam of barking dogs, ringing phones, and people running in and out. He came home with us a few days later and he's ruled our lives for ten years now. He's a little odd--kinda doglike, if you want the truth--but he's a sweet tempered boy that loves his tummy rubbed and his food bowl filled. His name is Chaucer and he's my fat black cat. He never messes with me, except when his bowl is empty, and he's a complete lover.

He didn't replace Tillie(You Bitch) but he sure did fill a gap in our lives.



Laura

went into one of the cat rooms, and Oscar walked up to me, jumped up in my lap, curled up and purred when I petted him. So he picked me.
I wanted to have more than one cat and they were all very cute, so I asked the shelter people to recommend a companion cat, and they suggested Bogey. I took them both home the next day. They mewed all the way. They were probably scared, having spent most or all their lives in the shelter, and they had never met each other, having been kept in separate rooms. But after a rough first day or two, they got used to each other and to their new home.
About eight months later, I was out and about and I saw the animal shelter had set up some cages in a store, you know how they sometimes do to get a higher profile/more attention/adopt out more animals. I petted the cats out of habit and that's where I met Zoe. She was a little half-grown kitten and she was scared because a loud motorcycle had just gone by outside, and I picked her up and petted her to try to comfort her and she purred and head-bumped me.
She spent the first night sleeping in the furthest, darkest corner of the cellar, and the two male cats hissed at her for the first few days, but by the end of the second week, it was like they'd never known a time without her.

by the fact that so many of them, especially the cats, were rescues. It sound like a lot of us are living with former feral kitties.

Early morning rush hour, over a very busy two-lane bridge, and I notice a small, fuzzy object in the middle of the bridge. And I mean dead center of the bridge, right on the double-yellow dividing lines. I think it's a toy, but as we approach and pass I say to Mrs. Rat, "It's a kitten, and it's alive." No discussion is necessary - as soon as we hit the other end of the bridge, I whip the car 180 degrees and head right back to the kitten. Since traffic is so heavy, I place the car sideways, blocking both lanes, and run out the door. Much honking, hand gesturing, and foul words are being hurled at me..until I reach the kitten and hold him aloft for everyone to see. Now, there is much happy honking and kind words towards me. Incredibly, except for a small scratch on his nose, the kitten is completely unharmed.

So, here is Charlie on day one:


And here is Charlie today:


And in his favorite spot last autumn:


Still our most skittish cat, but a real sweetheart who curls up on your chest to sleep.

mikey_the_rat

And such a story

I took a beagle pup into a room where you can get to know them a bit, and he proceeded to poop, then eat it. Nope, not for me. The next pup I looked at was a brown lab mix. The crates were stacked three high, and she was in the top, about chest height. When I opened the door, she jumped out, into my arms. It was love at first hug. Dusty's 8 now, and she still loves to hug.

She was quite skittish, but I felt sorry for her and would take food across the street into an open field to feed her daily because all she was getting to eat was discarded chicken bones along the road. She waited until I was gone before approaching the food and eating it.

Eventually, I found a little bundle of fur on my doorstep. I adopted him and named him Rascal. I have to guess the momma felt I was a good risk.

A little later, the rest of the litter was moved into my neighbor's back yard. Another of the pups wandered into my yard and I adopted her too. I named her Puddin'.

Tell us how you were adopted by your current pets.

Especially with cats - we do not adopt them, they adopt us!

when I went back home for Xmas in 2004. My mom is somewhat of an animal hoarder, and she had 9 pom's and wanted to get rid of her stud, Spot. He is a black/white pom, with spots on his legs and he was pretty docile, and calm. The only con about spot was that he liked peeing on anything/everything. My wife and I decided to take him home with us, and thats how we got Spotamus Prime....

renal failure and after a couple of months I couldn't stand coming home and not hearing a welcoming meow any longer. So I went to the same shelter I'd adopted Max from after a visit to Petfinder to check out their cats.

The cat I was most interested in was on his way out the door with his new family and another seemed skittish. About that time this big ol' boy wanders out into the waiting area, hops up into the chair next to me and gives me a look. I wandered around the shelter a little more and he followed me. I knelt down and scratched his neck and ears and he started to purr. One of the gals at the shelter said "well, it looks like he picked you." And so he had.

He came home with me and Butch is a great cat - just independent enough and just cuddly enough.