This is Little Man, our first-born. We adopted him from a shelter in the ‘hood when he was just a little bitty. He came with the name and we tried to change it, but nothing really stuck. Something like Little Satan would have been more appropriate. He is not really a cat, he’s more like a bipolar dog. He’s not the type to run and hide when the cable guy comes. Instead, he’ll rub up against them until they pet him and then he’ll sink his teeth into their arm.
When he had to stay overnight at a veterinarian office one time, they told us he would no longer be welcome at that office. They said it was the first time they had to use the rabies pole on a cat. I felt kind of proud.
The good thing is, he’s very adaptable. He moved around with me in college, has lived in four different houses, and much to our surprise, tolerated this guy:
This is Wilbur, my sweet sweet puppy love. We got him from a shelter that pulled him out of a kill pound that was going to euthanize him the next day. His owner had to go into a nursing home and had no one to care for Wilbur. Wilbur was so sad in the pound that he wouldn’t eat, so they considered him “un-adoptable”. Luckily, we found him just in time. Now he’s the sweetest, most loving, happy, crazy puppy ever. I now know why weird old people own one certain breed of dog and start wearing poodle-festooned sweaters, getting license plates that say “PoodleLady” and collecting weird Boxer figurines. I have to admit that I have had to step away from a beagle car decal a few times.