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The year was 1978.
Gas was $.63 a gallon,  Jimmy Carter was president,  and "Nanu Nanu" was household slang.  I was 2 years old.

The year my parents brought a puppy home.

A beagle named Cleo.

I can still remember being terrified.  Crawling up the green vinyl chairs onto the trusty brown formica kitchen table crying, because I was so scared of the furry brown thing.  This carried on for a bit.... until one day, my dad put that puppy in my lap on my perch on the table.

 

I held him, he licked me, and in that instant I loved him.  Cleo was our pet for 16 years.  My parents finally put him down my freshman year at Calvin.

I grew up in a quiet suburb neighborhood where lawns were generous, neighbors were nice, and wildlife was minimal.  Over the years I can remember a few animals.  The woodchuck named "Morley" that lived in the hole by the garage.  The snake that greeted me on the sidewalk, that was eventually run over with the lawnmower by my mother.  The turtle that wandered into our yard that we made a habitat for, and eventually let go in the nature preserve. 

My parents currently have a squirrel named "Stubby" that lives in the yard.  She comes to the slider every morning and peaks through the glass to let them know she is ready for her peanuts.  She had babies awhile back that are now scattered throughout the neighborhood, but Stubby remains loyal.

I tell you a smattering of little pet stories to paint a picture. 
I was a city girl. Well, a neighborhood girl at least.

I grew up with one loyal dog, and minimal day to day contact with creatures of any kind.

Wildlive was something you drove to....sometimes even paid money to see.

Since marrying my small town cowboy in '98, moving to the sticks, and procreating children that have a love for all things living, no matter how small....I have seen more than my fare share of wildlife.
Sometimes I feel like that movie "Jumanji".  No matter where I turn, there's an animal on our doorstep, a varmint in a bug barn, turkey's in the garage, deer in the driveway,  snakes lurking under every crevice, a bat in the house, kittens in the barn, wounded birds, tadpoles in buckets on the porch- oh the list could go on and on....and on.

About three weeks ago, I opened the door into the garage to take the trash out, and almost tripped over a pile of black and white fur.  Naturally I screamed, slammed the door shut, and called for Tim.   It was then that I heard the "meow".

I peaked out again, and sure enough there was a black and white cat on the doorstep. Wearing a collar and no claws, she was clearly somebodys pet. I told her to "go away, we have no vacancy",  but the next morning I could hear her meowing before I even got to the door.  Clearly she got the memo that if you're looking for a home, ours is the house to visit.  She stayed in our garage and Phoebe tormented her all day long.  She would sneak in the house every chance she got when I opened the door. The kids played with her, named her, and loved her.  After about 2 days, I realized she wasn't going away. We called and stopped by all the neighbors to see if they were missing a cat. 

We came up empty.

The next day the neighbor girl came over to play with Syd.  I sent her home with the cat and told her to ask her mom if she could keep it.....10 minutes later, the cat was in our garage again :)

This went on and on.  Cat living in the garage, Phoebe treating it like a chew toy, me tired of having to break up fights between animals too, and threatening to learn to shoot Tim's gun.  "This can't go on"  I would tell Tim every night over dinner. 

Then one  morning, Tim stepped out into the garage and was greeted by a dead mouse on the doorstep. In that very instant, I knew the cat would be ours forever...for how ever many lives she had left.  She earned her keep in Tim's eyes. 

Last week was really cold.  Really, really, cold.  Instead of sleeping in her cat shack that Tim built, she sat on the doorstep and meow'ed. A ridiculously, pathetic, cold, sad, meow.  And our ridiculously soft hearts took pity on her, and she now lives in the unfinished part of our basement by night, and in the kids arms by day. 

She really is a good cat. Naturally her name is Oreo, and she even eats dog food.