Scamp I'd like to introduce you to Jones Pt.1

Isn't it funny when people talk about pets, they classify themselves into categories. People will say "i'm a dog person" or "i'm a cat person". Strange that. It's like we have to pick a side, and by extension, our choice apparently tells us a lot about our selves. I mean, we have about fourteen categories of sexuality nowadays, so why do we only have to choose one when it comes to pets?

Me, i've always thought of myself as a dog person. Scamp was our dog growing up. Don't ask me what kind of dog he was. He was small, with some black fur and some brown fur. Maybe a little white fur under his chin. See, we got Scamp from the dog pound way back in the olden days. He was only ten bucks. But man did that dog have life, and he brought a lot of happiness into my family. Sure he was a pain in the ass sometimes..and his ass was sometimes a pain if you get my meaning. But he was our dog.

We had Scamp for a long time. I guess he was pretty happy living with us, because i think he made it to about 16 or 17. Then the awful day came when Scamp just got too old, and my dad had the terrible task of taking him to be put asleep. Who would have thought a small animal would have brought such pleasure to a family. We had brought hundreds of other small animals into our household over those years, but we ate those small animals at thanksgiving, christmas and most sundays.

I also once had a pet lizard. A salamander in particular. He didn't last long. One summer night i was in the backyard with him as he swam around in his little bowl of water. Problem was i forgot to bring him inside and the next morning was a very very hot morning, turning his aqua paradise into a cauldron of boiling death.

Then came Megan. Megan was a rat. Yea Yea I know. But she didn't look like a rat. Certainly not one of those black subway rats. In fact she was beige and looked more like a guinea pig. She would sit on my shoulder and try to make out with me. Seriously. She'd stick out her little rat tongue and try to lick around my mouth. Seriously. I'd only let her do that after i'd have a couple of glasses of wine though.

Flash forward to 2009. Dani and I decided to take a walk over to the humane society. A time when the president of the humane society wasn't water-boarding the animals. It was a good time. So anyway, we walk in and tell the woman we're interested in some kind of low maintenance creature because with our lifestyles, we're just much too selfish to have any real responsibility for another life at this point.

We walk around some and look at a billion cats of all sizes, ages and races. Okay species. Then the woman suggests this one kitten, about a year old, and brings us over. The cat's name is Zeppelin. I could visualize it's original owner. About 50, long hair, stuck in 70's arena rock. I was close. Zeppelin was found wandering around in Pickering. She was black, had a weird smunched up flat face and piercing yellow eyes. It's like she came directly from Hell. I liked her immediately.

But we walked around some more to check out the other choices, much like you'd select the best cut of steak at the grocery store. After a while though, both Dani and I kept thinking about that little black kitten Zeppelin. She was odd. Different. Unique. And, her tail was busted. The end of her tail was crooked for some reason. We'll never know why, but i'm hoping it was at least an interesting story. Perhaps one day when cats learn to talk we'll find out.

To be continued...