We once had a guinea pig. We got the guinea pig after my budgie was found belly up one morning. Although I didn’t do much else than complain about the mess and the noise of my beloved Bananas (the budgie), I missed the little guy when he met his end. Bananas was a “Fur & Feather” find from about 6 years previous, so as the Spring edition of the show was approaching, I was expecting to purchase another feathered friend.
My first mistake was taking my son with me to the show. My second mistake was also taking my nephew along. We quickly bypassed all the cute little birds and bee lined it to furry creatures. And I wish that meant, a nice puppy, maybe even a little donkey or a goat (no one would notice a small barnyard animal living in my shed in my suburban crescent would they?). But alas, no, we did not get a bird or even a puppy. What was it that so enthralled the boys? A guinea pig, that’s what. Sure, he was kinda creepy at first, a hairy rodent living in my house. But the more you looked at him, the more he became sort of cute. The novelty wore off real quick, however. His name was Austin and he was awful. Loud – Messy – Disgusting - Scared of everything. Gus pretty much ignored him and I was left to clean the cage and wake up to his daily squawks to feed him.
Then one glorious summer day about a year and a half later, my friend fell in love with Austin. I told her to be my guest take him home…. Please. She was over the moon, she loved the rodent! I asked Gus if that was okay, he said, and I quote “Yeah, okay, that’s fine.” And a few hours later Austin was out the door on his way to his new home. I look over to Gus as Austin was heading south on Highway 6 and I was shocked to see him silently crying. My heart stopped, was he hurt, what had happened? “What happened” was he was heartbroken I had given his pet away! “What?! You said you didn’t mind?” To which he responded, “I thought you were joking.” Well, doggone it. There goes my mother of the year award, right?
I felt like a huge failure. I explained to him that he hadn’t been overly helpful in caring for the pig… to which he did probably the worst thing you can do to a mom. He said, “I understand, mom. It’s okay.” Well, shitake mushrooms! Apparently I had given his beloved pet away… that he only loved from afar, like really afar.
So now what do I do? Hours have passed and Gus sits crying; tears slowly trailing down his face, him not making a sound. Ugh. How do I make this better? I start panicking… Gus, I will get you a kitten! That did it. Tears stopped and that frown turned upside down.
But wait… what had I said? Did I say I was getting him a CAT? Good gravy… what am I going to do? A few months pass and Gus brings up the imminent arrival of our new kitten often. DRAT!
While in Orangeville doing some shopping, we pass by the SPCA. I am reminded of the time we try to adopt a little wiener dog – but were denied. The reason being they felt that 8 year old Gus would be too intimidating to the dog. My hopes were up! We would go in, try to adopt a cat; they would see that Gus had grown into a truly menacing 11 year old and we would be denied yet again. Ahhh sweet victory!
We go into the SPCA, Gus sees a cat, falls in love. We fill in the adoption papers and guess what? For cats they have same day adoption. No waiting period. Well, son of a biscuit, we came home with a cat.
This cat was cute. I liked him. Gus took care of him, changing litter, feeding him, all was under control. Then, he ventured further and further outdoors, embracing his inner predator ways. We soon came to realize what a murderous mongrel he really was. Under our deck became his dumping ground for the fragmented and tortured bodies… everything from wild turkeys (I am not kidding) to a variety of rodents.
We now harbour this hardened criminal in our home. He escapes nearly daily and we cannot be held accountable for abominable actions. He kills and eats his prey. It is disgusting. He won’t go near anyone but Gus or me. If there is company in the house, he is hidden deep within the furthest corner of the basement or a closet. God help us if we try to put him into his cat carrier to take him to the vet (this was attempted once and I decided my life was more valuable than trying to get him in this cat bag) – it can’t be done. Last year there was a fox in my yard. I was scared for the fox, not the cat.
Now, I am stuck with a cat that loves me above all. We have gone from a bird to a pig to a cat. And sometimes I yearn for the days when it was only bird or pig poop that I cleaned and not carcasses.
I should give an honourable mention to our beloved Rocco, who through all of these small pests has been our faithful furry friend. Half beagle, half poodle and always full of love, he has been a good friend to the bird, by ignoring him, to the pig, by not eating him, and to the cat, clearly or the cat would have eaten him.
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