Last week you met Dash, the feral-turned-domestic-cat I adopted when his allergic guardians had to give him up because he wanted to come inside.
But it wasn’t an easy decision for me. Yes, he’s very sweet and about as laid back as a 1970’s hippy, just high on life — a groovy guy filled with peace and love. So no, it wasn’t Dash that made my decision difficult. It was Taffy.
Really? It was me?
As you know, Taffy is my 10 pound Papillon mix. She’s the tiniest of my pets, yet I believe the one most feared — including and especially by Dash. Turns out he’s a big wuss. The first 2 weeks after I brought him home, I told him often: I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep you if you keep letting Taffy scare the bejeebers out of you. But I don’t think he believed me. Continue reading →
I really don’t believe I’m superstitious. To me, Friday the 13th is just another day; I walk under ladders if it’s a quicker route to my destination; I had a black cat and nothing bad happened; I’ve even broken a mirror but 7 years of bad luck didn’t followed.
You know how they say the minute you mention something hasn’t happened, it happens? Like saying, “I rarely get sick” and the next day you wake up with the flu. In my tennis league, it’s almost a given the second you compliment how well someone is serving, you can bet they’ll double fault their next serve.