The More The Merrier

This weekend marks 8 years since I adopted my dog Angelou. I remember it well. Her, so nervous in the car ride home she peed in the car. Me, so nervous I wouldn't let her out of my sight. She was such a troublemaker back then. . . running out the front door when we opened it for visitors (and by running I mean bolting), making sounds like a monkey when she saw a squirrel or went for a ride in the car (she still does that, actually), getting sprayed by a skunk directly in her face so that for weeks, her breath smelled of skunk stank (no amount of bathing in tomato juice helped either- she only smelled like a dog who had been sprayed by a skunk AND had gorged on a large Italian meal.) She's come a long way from the dog my Mom would so kindly refer to as "Lucifer." She even goes on walks and sits when I tell her (and by that I mean, when she feels like it.)

I've grew up surrounded by pets- dogs, cats, rabbits, fish. Pets were family members. My Mom would even put her toy poodle, Sammy (her first kid, by all accounts), in the bath with Dokey and I. I am still unclear how that was sanitary but the pictures are funny, nonetheless. Being a "pet mom" is in my nature. So, with that tidbit of information, it shouldn't surprise you much to discover that today I become a pet mom once again.

Please welcome my new fur ball friends: Dot and Dash. (Yes, I gave them those names. Their former names, Rocky and Ivy, did not seem suitable.) They are brother and sister, inseparable best friends. You can't take one without the other. They were discovered at 2 weeks old, abandoned. The rescuers believe the mother may have died. And if that wasn't a sad enough story, there once were three of them but their brother did not make it. My little rufians are troopers though and are sure to rambunctiously thrive and drive me to my wits end. I feel ready for it. I do. Don't shake your head thinking me certifiable. I need all the support I can get.

Imagine me in Petsmart, pushing a cart around the cat aisles, list of kitty provisions in hand. As I wandered around, I quickly fell into panic mode- holy crap! cat's have way too many options for food. How is one supposed to know what kind is best? If I purchase the wrong one will I stunt their development? Should kittens have catnip at only 12 weeks old? Will I get them hooked, practically producing the equivalent of crack babies? And what about kitty-proofing my room? Will I come home one day to discover one of them has chewed the electrical cord to my clock and electrocuted his little self?

See, panic mode.

I think I am ok now. I've talked myself off the new mother ledge and feel much more confident that everything will be f.i.n.e. I am just relieved I am not giving birth to a kid. Can you imagine what a stresscase I will be if shopping for kitty food overwhelms me? The universe sure does know what it is doing, keeping me single.

Now, I promise that I will not (NOT) bombard you with kitty stories and pictures. This blog is not going to be come a kitty adventure blog. I don't want to run down that road of hopelessy-single-woman-with-too- many-pets-cuz-she-can't-find-true-love. If at all possible, I'd like to stave that off for a few more years thank you very much. If I start yammering on about the cats too much, you must, I implore you, kindly tell me to shut it and move onto a new, more riveting topic. As my friends, I expect this of you.

But can I just tell you: I am so excited I am doing the happy dance!