2nd Wind, September 9, 1981 (excerpt)
When we decided our next home would be a mobile home, we started looking for a park that would take pets. We were referred to the one where we now live. As we drove in we saw an "Open House" sign. We checked out the home and liked it, but before any other negotiations came the big question, "What about pets?" The real estate agent, a precise and elderly gentleman, said, "What do you have?" My sense of the incongruous, which often pushes aside my common sense, came to the fore and I told him the truth, straight faced, "Three dogs, five cats, and a Shetland pony." SILENCE! I relented and assured him we only wanted to bring three elderly cats who would never be outdoors. He was so relieved that the three cats seemed to be no problem, even though the rules read, "One small pet. "
After six months in residence we have 3 1/2 cats and one permanent visitor, which seems to total 4 1/2 cats.
Within the first month in our new home a lady Siamese turned up and, with strident voice, welcomed us whenever we opened a door. It also took fancy footwork to get out the door without her getting in. She apparently had a family whose members worked and who were often gone weekends. Our home had been chosen as her foster cat-house, so to speak. Sometimes we would also see the south end of a black cat disappear when we'd go out. Food left out (where no neighbor could see) had to be replaced regularly. Two months later, George could get close enough to touch the black cat... thin, rough-coated and wary. Once he trusted us, though, he poured out all the unused love of his early years in purrs and footsies, and moved onto our front porch. We, of course, can't have another cat, but there is a recently neutered, wormed, ear mite-free, sleek black beauty who has all his shots, wears a flea collar and who sleeps in our house nights to keep out of trouble. He answers to the name of "Spook," and we certainly wonder who he belongs to. He's definitely not our cat. Daytimes, he and the Siamese share the front porch. If the manager complains, I'll offer to take both cats to the animal shelter. You see, we've learned the Siamese is his.
My niece, Nyla, and her husband, Bud, who moved to a small ranch after being city dwellers for many years, decided to get goats to help keep down the weeds. Since then, their main occupation has been confining the goats. Never try to outwit a goat. You're born to lose. When they bought the goats they brought them home (two nannies) in the back seat of their sports car. En route, the nannies ate a box of Kleenex, several packs of matches, the day's shopping list, and chewed on Nyla's hair for dessert. I figured Nyla and Bud were lucky to have any upholstery left.
Peace, Darlys & George
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