by Buddy Netter

Created on: December 07, 2009   Last Updated: December 26, 2009

Our Pet Peeve

Peeve joined our household as one of four rescue cats. Even his very name came about as an effort from Jim, my kindhearted animal loving husband, to endear Peeve and his mother and siblings to me. You see, I wasn't all that keen on bringing four cats into our lives at the time. Our beautiful Samoyed Buddy had cancer and we were told that he only had a matter of weeks before we should have him put to sleep. Andy, our only cat, was already about 22, and somehow it just didn't seem like the right time to take on new pets. I had joked that if we ever got another cat, I was going to call it Peeve so that we could have our own pet peeve. Jim remembered that and soon began regaling me the latest antics of the shop kitties he had adopted at work. They are all bobtails and oh so cute, he would tell me, and they have long hind legs and a rake to their backs that makes them very distinctive looking. Their momma is just teaching them to hunt, he said. He made friends with her by sharing his lunch and then she began trusting him enough to bring around her babies. He would top that by telling me that Peeve was the smartest and would come in to see him all by himself, often getting way up high to get his attention. I finally gave him the go-ahead when he told me his boss was threatening to shoot them if they didn't go to good homes soon. End of argument. Suddenly, we had five cats.

Just as it seemed like we were keeping the spay and neuter clinic in business, we learned that Babe, the momma kitty was already pregnant, and she had another litter of three. We now had eight cats. . .and a very happy Buddy dog, who loved them all, just as they loved him. One happy, not so little, pet family!

As the two litters of kittens' personalities began to emerge, it was apparent right away that Peeve was special, the smartest, the most aggressive, the one with the most engaging personality. . .in essence, the A cat. He had a white stripe that circled his nose and right away, I dubbed him our cartoon kitty as the old cartoon dogs and cats always had that circle thing going on. He had a cartoon personality too, as he would hiss, much in the same way Donald Duck would cuss in duck speak, when he didn't like something, whether it was being petted anywhere but on his face, or when he didn't want to be picked up. I soon learned not to pick up Peeve because I didn't want the big scary hissy face. Jim used to laugh that my favorite cat was the only one I was afraid to pick up. Peeve's

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