I have come to the conclusion that it is very dangerous to be a pet in the Young house. Countless cute little beasties have met their unfortunate demise at the Bates Animal Motel located in our home.
I first discovered our ability of adding tragedy to the pet world early in our marriage. Angie and I were living in Idaho at the time. We enjoyed having a variety of cats and dogs around the house. Even the neighborhood animals felt comfortable around us. This was the case with the neighbor’s large fluffy grey cat. On summer days we would leave to bedroom window open for fresh air and the cat would come into our room and we would often find him curled up on our bed. One evening I heard the sound of the window slamming down in our bedroom followed by Angie screaming
“Derek! Get it out! Get it out!”
At the same time I started hearing a loud squalling coming from the outside of the house. I ran into the bedroom to find Angie hysterically pointing at something moving behind the window curtains. I approached the object and pulled back the curtain to reveal about 3” of grey furry tail projecting into our bedroom from the bottom of the closed window. It was moving around like an orchestra’s conductor’s baton on crack. I ran outside and found the neighbor’s very irritated and wide eyed cat hanging by its tail from the widow about two feet off the ground.
The look in that cat’s eye told me that it would not be a good idea to try to pick it up and remove the tail from the outside unless, that is, I would like to become the latest attraction at Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum; The amazing shredded man.
I ran back in the house and opened the window and in a flash, the cat was gone. I asked Angie what led up to this tragic event and she told me
“I was going into the bedroom and I though I heard someone coming in through the window so I slammed it shut through the curtains!”
The next day I went to the neighbor to apologize for maiming their cat and was told
“Don’t worry about it. He’s a stupid cat and that’s what he gets for being friendly”
This statement explains a lot about why most cats are quite aloof and have straight tails. The now kinked tail cat survived his encounter with us but would never step foot on our property again.
I watched it one day walking down the street with it “Z” shaped tail held high, looking like the protruding arm of an electric street car. When it reached the beginning of our yard it crossed the street and continued on, looking over suspiciously in case that crazy lady came out to try to customize any other part of its body.
Angie has not cornered the market on our special relationship with the animal kingdom. Our oldest, Marisa also is a grave danger to their little lifespans.
The unfortunate little beasty was named Harry. He was a long haired guinea pig that Marisa inherited from her best friend’s family when she was 10 years old. Harry lived in a cage in Marisa’s room and seemed content. The children would take him out and play with him and then forget to put him back. I would deduce this fact from the little round “Harry pellets” that he would leave as he wandered around the house. I suppose he left them there in case he got lost so and all he would have to do is follow them back to the relative safety of his cage. It was these pellets that led to his unfortunate demise.
One late summer morning Angie had told Marisa to clean out his cage. This, of course, was a very silly request as everyone knows, children only promise to take care of pets to get their parents to let them keep them. Marisa simply moved Harry and his pellet filled cage outside where mom wouldn’t see him, let alone smell him. At the moment the shadiest spot was along the house on the rear driveway. Unfortunately, Marisa did not figure in the rotation of the earth and the fact that the shade would move. It turns out that that particular spot turns into a blast furnace for approximately thirty minutes every day.
Angie and I had gone back to the hospital that day to bring our newest addition, Tristan, home as he had to spend his first night under an ultraviolet light due to a slight case of jaundice after being born. We had left ten year old Marisa home alone ,this was in the days when you could do that sort of thing and not be turned into Child Protective Services, so she went out to the cage and took Harry out to play with him. What she found was a totally limp and equally lifeless Harry. She dropped the little guy and ran into the house to tell us. She then realized we weren’t home yet so she called up her best friend’s house in a panic. All she got was their answering machine so she left the following message
“I left him out in the sun! He’s dead! I killed him!”
Of course when they played the message back they thought she was talking about her new born baby brother and they proceeded to panic and frantically try to call us as it appeared we now had a miniature female type Hannibal Lector on our hands.
After we settled the confusion and sent the SWAT team home we held a very somber funeral for our beloved furry friend and buried Harry in the backyard.
This was not the last we saw of Harry though. A week later the dogs dug him up and had a ball rolling around in what was left of him, spreading little Harry pieces all over the yard and under the deck.
I have often imagined that if there ever is an archeological dig done in our backyard, what the archaeologists would think as there would be a large quantity and vast array of animal species found. All the remains, of course, would be victims to the special kind of “love” for animals that exists in our family.