Our Fur Children - Happy Valentine's Day

I have to refer all sixteen of my readers to Hyperbole and a Half, a wonderful blog that often includes posts about the author's dogs, sometimes known as Simple Dog and Helper Dog. After reading this post in particular, Donald and I often refer to our dog as Simple Dog, especially when she goes EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and looks at us with a cocked head when we say "Boop Boop Boop".

If you haven't read that post, please do. I'll wait. (Yes, right now! Bring tissues - you'll be crying with laughter.)

Ok, now that you're back, I can tell you about our fur children. Sasha is our nine-month old puppy and is variably known as simple dog, mess, Sacha Monster, Sachacha, and Slobberdon Milosadog (get it?!). She's much better now than when we first brought her home - training has done wonders! In her first few months with us, she played at such an aggressive level that we were constantly bleeding and fearing for the safety of our appendages. Now, however, she has mellowed some, understands that biting is never ok, and actually sleeps through the night and past 6 am!

Bringing home a puppy is the closest we have gotten to understanding parenthood and we know from our friends who are real parents that it's not even fair to compare the two. Especially since you can't leave babies locked in a crate or train them to go to the bathroom outside. Darn!

Katov is our ten year old, long-haired grey cat who is the queen of the household. She came into our family when she was four because her previous family had a baby (a real one!) and she got jealous. Nothing like cat-pee-soaked baby clothes to make that decision easier for them. (We're crossing our fingers that she likes us better should we be lucky enough to have a non-fur child!). Katov keeps Sasha in check, often charging her and slapping her around when she gets out of hand. Good kitty.

And then there's Loki. He's turning four this year and he's a short-haired, grey cat who has had quite the adventurous life. He came from a feral cat colony and was abandoned by his mother and hand-raised, so he's a bit nuts. It has taken him a long time to understand that petting doesn't hurt him. When he was a year old, he jumped off our apartment porch, three stories off the ground, and broke both front legs. Even with casts on, he still tried to jump up to the top of our cat tree and couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. He also loves to hump our Slanket (a version of the Snuggie - hey, don't knock it until you've tried it!). Poor dude.

Our families refer to our household as the menagerie. They mean that in a good way, right?

Katov was the first fur baby my husband gave me. He was living on his own out of college in an apartment and it was kind of lonely. He knew I liked cats and decided to adopt her, even though he had never owned a cat before. It was so much fun to walk him through caring for her and telling him that she wouldn't hide under the bed forever.

The question now is, can he give me one with a little less fur?

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, no matter the size, shape, or furriness of your loved ones.