Few seniors don’t like pets. I’ve always been a dog kind of guy. We did have one cat in the family when I was growing up, however – until an unusual case of forgetfulness occurred.
But first, a little information about my dogs. There was my Jimmy. I chose that name because it seemed a friendly name for a dog. And because I believed that all dogs were male, while all cats were female. I was seven years old at the time and a bit less sophisticated than I am now as quite an old man.
One day, to my great surprise, Jimmy had a large litter of puppies. Struggling with this confusing development, I listened to a sex lesson from my father. That’s when I learned that not all dogs are boy dogs.
In years that followed I also had a fox terrier, Spot. But perhaps my family was too strange for Spot. I do know that Spot went totally bonkers, and we had to have him put down. It was either Spot or the family.
I missed Spot, but not as I missed my next dog, an English setter named Duke. We all loved Duke even though he slobbered over anyone who petted him.
Duke disappeared mysteriously. We figured some hunter driving by had stopped and invited friendly Duke into his car.
I had no dog for years. But now we have Beans, about whom I have written several accounts, including his almost magical medical expertise.
So, what about the cat? Our one and only cat was Malaga. My mother and younger brother liked Malaga. As indicated earlier, I much preferred dogs.
Back in those ancient of days when we were kids, in the summertime our maid would call my brother and me in to get cleaned up for dinner. In those long gone days, we had an ice box on our back porch. A couple of times a week, the iceman would deliver a large block of ice. We did have a refrigerator with an ice tray. But the block ice was used for the punch bowl.
On that particular day that my brother and I were called in for pre-dinner cleanup, Doug had been playing with Malaga. For some unknown reason, on the way indoors, Doug placed Malaga in the ice box, which still contained a shrinking block of ice.
Later that evening we wondered where Malaga was. The next day, still no Malaga. Doug, meanwhile, had forgotten that he had hastily placed Malaga in the ice box. Mother was worried. We all were a bit concerned about Malaga’s mysterious disappearance.
Later in the week, the ice man came with his block of ice. When he opened the ice box, Malaga leaped out. The ice man called us to announce the sudden appearance of the cat, and a cool cat she was.
We watched as Malaga shook herself, strolled to the porch stairway, walked down the stairs and across our side lawn, never to return again.
Malaga was the last cat we ever owned. She was replaced with a parakeet, named Daniel of Saint Thomas Jennifer, after the Maryland delegate to the U.S. Constitutional convention, who rarely spoke during that historical event. I’m not certain why my mother chose that name, other than the fact that we lived in Maryland – and the bird never spoke much either.
Tait Trussell is an old guy and fourth-generation professional journalist who writes extensively about aging issues among a myriad of diverse topics.