So I got Motorcycle Boy a pet snail. I thought he looked kinda lonely in there, and wouldn’t be very inclined to fight a snail. I suppose this means that now the snail has a pet rumble fish, too.

Mister Husband was amused at the idea of animals having pets, so I told him the story of Dan and Fuzz. Dan was a young, messy golden retriever that we rescued from a hunter who was keeping him in a tiny cage. I must have been 11 or so when he came to live with us. He was weak and mangey, but he cleaned up good and was soon dragging all kinds of debris into a tide line that went all the way across our big back yard. He was very much a galumphing kind of dog, and he made friends with Starbuck, the resident sheltie.

The next fall, I found a feral kitten in the woodpile. Every day after I finished my homework, I would go and talk to her. It took me an entire October to talk her into letting me touch her, and eventually she settled in to stay with us for good. She was deep grey, with long, fluffy hair. (She eventually grew up to look like this.) She was never a very big cat, and when she was young she was positively wee. Her woodpile was next to Dan’s house, and they started hanging out. After a bit, he started picking her up in his mouth. She was so small and he was so big that almost her entire body would fit in there, and her head would peek out from his lips. She was perfectly content with the arrangement. They would wander around together in this alien-esque fashion, little grey head poking out, drool dripping everywhere, steamy dog-breath billowing into the frosty winter mornings. (Thank God they were both determinedly outside animals.) They spent most of their days together, including naps, for the rest of the time that Dan lived with us.

She was definitely Dan’s pet. I’m not entirely sure if he was her pet or not, although I suspect he was, given her huntress personality.