Pets

I have a twenty pound cat named Smokey. He is the embodiment of "I'm a lover not a fighter." On any given day, he will lounge around the house, rolling over on occasion to have his belly rubbed and meow loudly when it is time for his snack of dried salmon or tuna flakes. Yes, tuna flakes. He was purchased after The Rev. and I got suckered into the Henderson County Animal Shelter's Adopt-a-Pet day at our local pet store in Nashville. We walked by out of curiosity and Smokey (then named Bullitt) stuck his paw out at us when we stopped to admire his gray coat. He came home with us and immediately staked out his territory in my closet, right in between my heels and a leather handbag. A shared loved of accessories will cement a relationship every time.

Smokey is also known as Smokestack or Bear, or as of late, "big gray tick," because he has a little bitty head attached to fat body. He definitely possesses the skill of prowess, and the bird feathers scattered in our yard are a testament to his killing ability. If Smokey were a man, he would be Luther Vandross. He has a way with the Ladies.

Smokey's adopted brother is Butch. We also call him "The Butcher," because his hunting prowess is even more devastating than Smokey's. I told The Rev. that we should start calling the backyard "The Death Trap" because several birds, rats, gophers, and lizards have found their way to our doorstep in various stages of dismemberment. Nothing says love like the head and rear-end of a finch. Butch is a lean, mean scrapper with a deep love for soft cat food and a crazy-mad addiction to catnip. He has a lovely scar across his nose and as of now, his left ear is in the process of healing from a nasty rip. If Butch were a man, he would drink PBR and drive a beat-up truck. It's just his personality.

I appreciate our cats, and I know they have adjusted to life in SoCal. Dixie, our dog, has not adjusted as well, and I know she misses having The Rev. keep office hours from home and the frequent visits from friends and sundry relatives, especially the small ones that drop food on the floor. She is at the vet as we speak, getting her teeth cleaned and having a tumor removed from her shoulder. She was not happy with me this morning, especially after we ate breakfast in front of her, the cats ate breakfast in front of her, and she was given a bowl of water. She kept trying to escape from the vet's office, and I am sure I drove a stake of betrayal into her heart when I lifted her up and put her in a cage. She started shivering immediately and I felt like the worst pet parent in the world. If you have ever looked into the eyes of a dog, you will know the kind of looks they can give you. She looked at me like I was abandoning her forever. I can't wait to get her back. The house is not the same without her.