I’ve often wondered why we prefer the pets (mixed or purebred) that we do.
Unless a pet chooses us (which happens often enough), what is it that attracts someone to a pocket-sized Yorkie, a bouncy French Bulldog, or a huge, fluffy Newfoundland?
Do you prefer a regular tabby cat, an elegant Siamese, or a smushy-faced Persian?
I have a friend who loves naked cats. Naked, as in born with little to no hair, as seen in breeds like the Sphynx, Donskoy, and Kahona. She finds their soft, velvety, hairless wrinkles absolutely beautiful. Cats with fur just aren’t as interesting, she says.
What attracted you to your pet?
- Deep soulful eyes?
- Affectionate purring?
- A “Let’s go play!” personality?
- Fluffball baby fur?
I’m curious. Please comment and let me know.
I love Belgian Malinois because they will do ANYTHING you ask of them at Mach 2 and then think they are a lap dog.
I have 2 cats. I had started fostering after not being able to have pets for several years. One day the Alley Cat Project brought me a lone, shy, little black kitten at about 6 months old. He was rescued from a colony and was pretty feral when I first met him. He had this sleek black fur that shone dark chocolate brown in the light and gorgeous little yellow eyes. When I first held him he was terrified; he just buried his head in my arm and laid perfectly still while I stroked him. Over time I got to hear him purr for the first time, something he tended to do when playing with his favorite wand toy. While he was playing he would just purr and purr, but he would still startle easily if anything moved to quickly or made loud noises. Eventually we’d reach the point where we could play his favorite game, where I held him on his back and tease him with his own long elegant tail. I was an immediate foster fail for this shy little sugar bear.
Now that he’s all grown up, he still tends to be a bit jumpy and he HATES to be outside of his comfort zone. My little emo kid as I call him. He will definitely throw some shade at his animal brothers and he is so quiet and dark black that I often can’t see him when he sneaks around at night looking out the windows and finding sneaky hidey spots to spy from. He still loves to play with his tail when he feels comfortable, loves wrasslin’ with his brother, and flopping over for belly rubs, which he does pretty much immediately when he sees me.
After I had adopted him I started volunteering at seattle feline rescue. This was when I met Harry, a scruffy looking feral with an ear tip, gorgeous blue eyes, siamese type markings, a stubby tail that twisted at an odd angle wiggling constantly with affection, and legs that splay slightly from the hip making him often hop a bit like a rabbit. He looked like he had a rough start somewhere in eastern washington, but that was about all I knew of him. Other than that he had a sweet and outgoing demeanor and would walk right up to anyone or anything he had a curiosity about. He was a brave little bugger who loved one handed head rubs and FOOD. His feral side would come out a bit when you tried to put both hands on him or tried to pick him up and hold or cuddle him. He would only tolerate this for a few seconds before he struggled his way out of your reach. It was frustrating to see this adorable little fluff and not be able to snuggle his adorable little belly. I thought he’d be the perfect companion to my shy little man and adopted him with the hopes they’d help each other reach beyond their personality boundaries.
I had arranged for them to meet very slowly at first. I had a large dog crate that I used for the other ferals I was fostering, and covered it with sheets so they would have a sense of each others presence but no direct contact. The day I brought him home Nacht gave me the most heartbreaking look of betrayal and bolted. I thought I had made a HUGE mistake. Yet some time during the night, Harry made a lonely little meow that must have jogged Nacht’s memory and he realized, there was a cat in there! He knew cats!
Over the next few days I would lift the veil of sheets to let them check each other out. At first they just looked at each other and occasionally reached through the cage to bat at each other through the sheets, inventing their own little game of the gesture. It became obvious pretty fast that they were interested in each other. There was no real hissing or challenging, just a shy curiosity. One day I took a picture of the two, observing each other through the cage in the perfect little muffin stance that only cats can perfect. I still have a picture of the two looking like they were holding an interview or conference. It was too adorable.
The two became fast friends and over time Harry’s coat grew out to be the floofiest floofiness you have ever seen. His little lion mane is some of the softest silkiest fur I’ve ever felt on a cat. Under stress (such as going to the vet) he becomes very calm and it’s one of the few times that I can cuddle and kiss on him the way I always want to. Most of the time though he’ll still struggle his way out of your arms, even if he’s purring away and obviously enjoying the affection. These days he is eternally following me around the house and greeting me with his adorable little chirpy purrs, and of course wrestling with his favorite brother.
So long story short, I am the proud mother to a mini house panther and a tiny lion