Our pets live the high life.  Plenty to eat, not too many demands made on them.  Nobody's going to eat them.  Full medical benefits.  Lots of love.  Little kids to chase 'em around and keep them fit.  Warm sunny spots by the window.  Nice work if you can get it. 

This is Poppy, as a kitten.  Poppy was a little three-pound fireball, dancing on toenails, darting out to attack, chasing Jean-Luc, batting at mysterious things only she could see.  She's since mellowed somewhat; still loving, chases around sometimes, not so skinny any more.  Her favorite sport is eating Cheri's houseplants.  She purrs really loud when you pet her, and gives you little love nips.

Poppy is an Abyssinian cat.  With her short, ticked fur, she looks a bit like a pint-sized cougar.  Her fur is lighter and softer underneath.  Poppy has such charisma that some guests who don't think of themselves as "Cat People" start rethinking their position.

This distinguished fellow is Jean-Luc.  He is the old man of the house, slow and a little teetery on his pins.  He's absolutely stone deaf and by way of compensation yowls louder than you'd ever imagine a small cat could vocalize.  When he really gets going, I mean he's right up there with jet engines or locomotive whistles, at least it seems that way when he starts singing late at night and you're trying to sleep. 

Jean-Luc often comes and sits by my feet when I play the piano.  I think it's because he can feel the vibrations, and likes the sensation.  Sometimes he sings along.  Some of our friends have made deep connections with Jean-Luc, and when they visit spend a lot of time holding him and getting reacquainted. 

Please, can anyone spare some barbecued chicken for a poor starving puppy?  Go kinda easy on the hot sauce.  And maybe a couple of those baking potatoes too?  And how about anything else edible that you forget and leave out on the kitchen counter?  Oh, I'm so innocent, I'd never do anything bad like that...

This was Pal as a little puppy, just learning his way around the world.  Sweet little fellow, who could imagine he'd grow up to be a great big hunting dog?  His mission in life now is to chase birds; we take him over to the schoolyard in the summer and he'll tear around after the swallows until he's an exhausted puddle.  We're sure the birds are playing with him - they seem to like the game as much as he does.

Here young Miles has a tight grip on Miss Poppy.  Don't know if you can quite tell from the picture, but The Popster is contemplating making a break for it just as soon as it seems profitable.  Miles knows this, and he's delighted he's managed to hang on to her this long. 

Poppy (known variously as "Poppalina", "Pop-Tart", and also "Poppeletti") really is the soul of friendliness, and now that Miles is a bit older and more easygoing on pets, she's happy to sit in his lap, especially at the dinner table.

This is a close-up photo of Blossom, a very sweet Burmese kitty who lived to the ripe old age of 21.  Cheri and Blossom went way back to girlhood days together.  Blossom patrolled the houseboat and the docks outside, looking mainly for sunny spots to nap in.  One day she found a warm spot under an awning on a boat, fell asleep and ended up going sailing on the Sound.  A girl on the boat looked in a cupboard and thought she'd found a hat, then it meowed.  They made Blossom a comfy spot in the cabin, gave her some lunch, and brought her back safely.  Cheri of course was worried stiff, and wandered all over the marina calling for her.  When the boaters pulled in and saw her, they asked, "are you looking for a cat?" and then the story came out.

Here are Cheri and Blossom enjoying a sunny afternoon on the upper deck of the houseboat.  At this point in her life, Blossom was very frail and needed us to help her get around.  She loved to be out of doors, with the breezes and scents and sunshine.

Blossom in her prime was an exceptional hunter.  She had a gentle bite, and mostly adhered to the "catch and release" hunting style.  When Cheri lived in Wenatchee, east of the mountains, sometimes Blossom would go after rattlesnakes, bring them in through the cat door, and then let them go.  Hello! 

A dog haiku written by Miles when he was seven:
 
  I must dig!  I must dig!
  I have found a ded fish
  I have sand on my nose

It's not widely known that dogs must be taught how to dig.  Here Pal is patiently studying at the feet of the master.  Miles holds regular seminars down at Richmond Beach for all the neighborhood dogs, and several of them are now in his advanced studies program, learning to dig under fences, tear holes in the lawn, and so on.  After extensive training, Pal is now quite capable of initiating his own large-scale digging projects. 

And one more of Miles' dog haikus from the same volume:
 
  On reconnaisence in
  Miles' bedroom.  The prize?
  Fragrant underwear.

This intricate backyard sport involves a hot day, a Slip 'n Slide, a soccer ball, a small boy and a Springer Spaniel.  I never quite caught the rules, but it involved a lot of chasing and squirting and yelling.  I took a snapshot and then ducked out of the way quick.

Pal loves soccer.  He's got his own (mostly deflated) soccer ball.  The game goes something like this: Pal grabs the soccer ball, taunts you with it, and then you chase him around trying to grab it (or him).  If you have two people, you can play keep-away and Pal will chase between you to exhaustion.  He likes baseball too - when Miles and I play catch together, we'll give Pal his own ball (so he doesn't steal ours) and he'll chase between us every time we throw.

Here's Poppy and Jean-Luc all worn out from a busy day of eating and sleeping, chewing up the house plants and barfing on the stairs. 

A word of advice: maroon velvet furniture is not a good idea if you have animals who tend to shed.  But they do look sweet sleeping together.