Hairy Asses (With Tails)

We don't have kids, and act real weird around our pets instead.



Our dog Wilbur suffers from skin lesions and has been wearing a lampshade on his head for several months. Beyond the obvious health fears, it is quite a fashion statement. At first it was high comedy, but now we are all quite used to it. Imagine, people used to wear Elizabethan collars at one time. Luckily his is clear, so he can see where he is going. He still bangs on doorways and stairs, but he just plows on ahead, especially when food is involved.

This year we said goodbye to Opie, my orange crush of 15 years, sweet kitty. His remains sit on our mantle in an Afghan spice box that was probably used to transport Opium back in the day. It is perfect for him, my little Opiate, who used to sleep next to my head and purr into my ear.

As Opie said goodbye, Angus said hello. He's a feral cat who showed up on our back porch with a huge abscess on his belly. He is all healed now, and has gotten used to his indoor family members, but is still terrified of library books. His brother, Vince, hangs out outside and makes his demands through the window.

Boo Boo is our other indoor cat, a big fat grey boy who looks like a pork chop. He has that circle in his side, where the good meat is. He picked my husband out through the bars at the shelter, back before he became chubby and his stripes fell off.

Outdoors, besides Vince, we have Marcel and his sister Rrose, and Rrosie's children, Elvis Memphis, Elvis Vegas, and Junior. (Elvis Hollywood has unfortunately gone the way many homeless cats go, it is natural selection in action, and cars are horrible predators.) All were neutered at the ASPCA mobile clinic and have the tip of their left ears cut off, like gang tattoos. And like gang members, they keep the riffraff from hanging out in our yard. Marcel and Vince have gotten friendly with people, but the rest haven't learned the pleasure of a good scratch.