Pet stories that imply the author has no human friends


Fish are pretty, colorful, quiet pets that require next to no maintenance. They tend to swim around, investigate or be frightened away when you tap the glass, explore all corners of their little tank-shaped world. They also tend to die.

Goldfish are probably the most well-known shortest-lasting fish I know. I’m convinced that’s why the Pepperidge Farm crackers are goldfish-shaped. Cheap to buy a whole bunch of them, but then they go by the handful. (Seriously, though, I can’t stop eating those things. Damn goldfish.)

My aunt tells me about the times when the aquarium in her room actually contained fish instead of dust. She’d wake up every morning at about the same time to a wet, sloshing sound, which was how she knew that once again, a particular fish had tried to escape. Somehow, the little sucker didn’t die as a result of his continuous adventures into the realm of the unwet.

Siamese fighting fish are some of the most deadly fish of all, though. Unlike most fish, you can’t put two of them in a tank together. My brother and I have owned a fair amount of fighting fish, and boy, are they nasty. They also have the habit of either dying randomly, or falling ill and lying on their side at the bottom of the tank for days. Every time you think the thing finally died, so you don’t feel any guilt flushing it (or in my little brother’s case, burying it) it gets another burst of energy, swoops to the top of the tank, grabs some air, and settles back down again.

I’d swear the things were manic-depressive. They’d be fine one minute, but if they see anything that even looks like another Siamese fighting fish, it’s dead. Stick a mirror next to a lone fighting fish and it’ll battle for hours. At one point, we owned two of these fish at once, and they were put in a divided tank. One morning I woke to find them jumping out of the water, trying to get over the divider in the middle just to destroy their neighbor.

Then once they get to be a few days old, that’s when their depressive bouts start. They lay almost completely on their side at the bottom of the tank. More often than not the two fish have different cycles, so one of them will be lying at the bottom of the tank while the other will be zipping around on the other side of the divider. Then suddenly they get over it and everything’s fine again, until one of them gets pissed off.

Really though, fish seem determined to die. Maybe it’s an act of will for some, like my aunt’s old fish. Maybe they just get bored of being in the same tank all the time. But come on! My cat has no problem staying in one spot for most of his life! And owning a pet that’s likely to give up the ghost at any minute and go to that great tank in the sky isn’t a good idea when you’ve got a younger sibling who’s at the age where very death is traumatic.

Boy, pets are just endless sources of blog material, aren’t they? I guess ‘cuz they’re easy to complain about and you don’t have to worry about insulting them. Besides, cats are cute.

The first blog post I wrote involved my aunt’s cat, Havelock. I now realize that I am being horribly unfair to my own cat, who has faithfully stuck by my side for twelve years, mostly because we feed him. He deserves his own blog post.

I have a cat. His name is Smokey. He sleeps a lot.

Really, that’s all he does. All of his movement is focused on getting to another part of the house he can sleep in. Whenever he goes outside, it’s always to find a place to sleep. Sometimes he sleeps under the tree. Sometimes he sleeps on top of my car. Once, he slept in a neighbor’s backseat. Mostly he just sleeps.

He’s mental, too, but not as much as Havelock. Sleeping used to be his favorite pastime, even as a kitten. He’d be racing around the living room, tearing up the carpet, and then suddenly fall dead asleep.

Yessir, owning a cat sure is nice. Keeps to himself a lot. Sleeps, really. When you call his name when he’s asleep (which is most of the time), he meows nastily as if to tell you to go away, you’re interrupting his sleep.

He has a MySpace, but I don’t check on it anymore. It’s to keep with his character. He sleeps a lot, so of course he wouldn’t go on MySpace. Cuz he’s asleep.

Reminds me of my grandfather, really. Not the hair, because my grandfather has white hair, whereas my tabby cat has gray fur. It’s more about the sleeping. Oh, and the cranky old-man voice. At least good old Pop-Pop doesn’t have to go outside to sleep. Unless that’s why he goes on those Boy Scout trips, to sleep outside. It’s possible.

I think I’m gonna go take a nap.

My last blog post involved cats. This blog post will too. Continuity! Yay!

I don’t know if you’ve heard of the site I Can Has Cheezburger. For those of you too lazy to click on the link, the site is made up of pictures of cats with cute captions. The cuteness will literally suck some of your brain cells out of your head. So it’s pretty cute, right? It’s kinda cool, right? Nah, you’re probably too “manly” to say it’s cool, because it’s a bunch of cats. But you get the idea.

Now get this: The people that run the site are so rich that they’re hiring someone to work for them. They’re so rich they got away with painting a three-story high cat that had the caption “INVISIBLE BIKE” written underneath it. Look at the story. Notice the car. The car, people!

So basically, these guys got rich by making a site that hosts pictures with cats and captions that are less than fifteen words each. Wouldn’t that be sweet, coming up with a good enough idea, making a website out of it, and never having to work again because you’ve got a site full of cat pictures?

For those of us that are too “intellectual” (read: heartless) to enjoy pictures of cats, check out their sister site, full of captioned pictures of politicians.

Links and stuff:

Well, every blog has to have its first post. So here’s mine. I’m going to admit this straight out to you: I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

Today I randomly decided to make a blog. I don’t know why; all my previous attempts failed horribly. I tried to make one on MySpace, and I forgot about it. (For the record, I’ve also forgotten about MySpace, HTML-eating piece of junk that it is.) I tried to make one here, on Blogger, before, but I didn’t like that much either. Besides, I didn’t get any comments, and what was the point of making a blog if it didn’t somehow trick me into feeling important?

Yet here I am again, proving that I didn’t learn a thing by writing another blog post.

Apparently on blogs, you’re supposed to talk about random things that come to your mind. Well, at the moment, my aunt’s cat is on my mind. Not literally, mind you, although it wouldn’t surprise me if she did that.

My family randomly takes trips down to Ocean Gate, down by Toms River, during the spring and summer. Recently we have had the pleasure of my aunt’s new cat, Havelock, visiting us.

I always knew the thing was retarded from the moment I met her. (Not my aunt.)

We got the cat for my aunt a week before her birthday. It stayed in our house. It couldn’t walk, for one thing. It never figured out how to pull in its claws. It was a tiny black fuzzball that somehow managed to scale my bed to fall unconscious on my lap from time to time. That was our bonding time, I guess. Now Havelock either hates me or loves me. I’m not sure what it is, but she comes racing towards me, eyes wide, at random times, as though to attack, then stops or gets distracted at the last second.

The first time I was alone with her at Ocean Gate, she took over my laptop. I was typing, which she thought meant “playing”. In fact, “breathing” meant “playing” to her. So she leaped onto the keyboard and my laptop went backwards so that it was propped up at a 45-degree angle. Havelock then proceeded to sit in the “V” shape it made, swatting at me whenever I came near. My friends got some very strange IMs during that time, composed almost entirely of numbers and letters from the top row of the keyboard.

There, I talked about a damn cat. Does this make it a blog post now?