Task list. Get Austin Pets Alive, Piatt County Animal Shelter, Animal Hospital of Monticello, Humane Societies in Texas and Illinois on my sidebar. (Gosh Word Press I’ve got some figuring out.) (Word Press is offering me some popups I don’t really want.) Figure it out.
Getting into memoir territory which with all respect to people whose life stories are more important than mine, that’s not what I, myself, want to do.
Just for this post the critters.
Chole, blue Siamese. Beautiful. She stayed with my parents when I left for graduate school in Los Angeles. One night my family was gathered for dinner and Chole jumped out the dining room window. I effing freaked out and then what. She jumped from outside back into the dining room. Kind of laughs and sighs all around. Chole died peacefully on my pillow one morning in Austin when I needed to get my son to school and myself to work. So that afternoon the neighborhood kids came to sit in a backyard chair circle to remember her and we buried her under the peach tree in our back yard.
Oliver orange tabby, I adopted in Austin and the foster Mom and Lyft driver helped get him to my apartment. He had feline leukemia and I knew that. He died so peacefully on the bed but too young.
He was named for my fan girl dude John Oliver.
By the way John Oliver voiceful immigrant who’s gone through the drill.
My brother and sister brought my little Oliver’s ashes here, most lovely box now on the nightstand, with little pawprints.
Now with the so, so, very generous help of my sister Quinn is here. (I hope to post a photo when the place is cleaned up a little. No mess photos…some folks have really adopted to the remote backgrounds…I’ve got some work to do with that.) Quinn adorable black and white coloring and those green eyes. Bonus purr champ lap cat. Bonus a talker. Playful as it gets. He’s all into my laundry hampers. Got to wear him out with that feather stick so I can sleep. Sometimes too playful, too much catnip, but so far no hanging on curtains or breaking things off bookcases. Likes prosciutto as much as I do. Gets his fair share. He wants my macadamia cookies. Gets his fair share.
Quinn is the Irish translation for “wisdom” and there’s a lot of Irish in my family. My honeymoon was in Ireland. So, Quinn.
Cats make the most sense now but I’ve always, still do, love dogs. On my street they walk outside my desk window and it’s pure happiness really joy to watch them. Lot of labradoodles sigh over the adorableness.
Because I early developed an admiration for Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt, my first dog was named Fala after FDR’s Scottish terrier. They looked alike, the dogs, not the President. And that FDR speech (one of them)…”don’t come after my little dog Fala.” My Fala made some mess in my parents’ garage. I was forgiven, high school and good parents. We lived on a fairly large place, not fenced, so my Fala ran out and got hit by a car. My Father went to collect him from the road.
Miles was also a pup, adorable again, adopted, golden mix, Valentines Day gift. My Father (and son in a stroller then) walked at Town Lake (now Lady Bird Lake) in Austin, with him. He and my son and my parents sat with him on the dining room floor when the light went out of his eyes.
Gunther, shepherd/collie also adopted because my son told me he (son) would not stay in Illinois if I didn’t get another dog. We had a fenced yard at that time and would tease Gunther “you can’t catch that rabbit.” “Rabbit” was the word. That dog could run.
Gunther went with me to the pet friendly hotels in Chicago where all the pet’s names were at a whiteboard at reception. Walked him in Millennium Park and on Lake Michigan shore. Wiped his snowy feet at the hotel fireplace while conversing with other guests.
And then, as happens with large dogs, his back legs gave out. My Father carried him into the house on an early cold Friday morning. I slept on the living room sofa for a few days so Gunther would not feel alone. And then the awful had to happen.
I was promised to have a horse when my family moved to a larger place but the horse didn’t happen, probably for the best. Still love those beautiful ones anyway.
OK now off to my MSNBC . Up and go, it’s a mess still here (all that hospital time). But tomato soup and Mediterranean salad stacked in the kitchen. And Quinn has learned to calm down and go to sleep when the humans do their streaming until morning.
He’s a really smart cat. Reads every signal.
Dayna Finet 