As I mentioned the other day, I am really enjoying Doc’s series about his pets, so I’m going to do one too.
When I was born in 1960 my family had a white cat named Pepsi. I don’t remember him, but I have heard stories about him sleeping with me in my crib when I was a baby (so much for the stealing your breath thing). Maybe that’s part of the reason I have always liked cats.
My sister named Pepsi. She doesn’t remember how she came up with that name, but it’s a little ironic, since the south in general and my family in particular were loyal Coke drinkers.
When I was almost one, we moved to a new house a few miles away. Pepsi made the trip, but when he got loose, he would high tail it back to the old house and mom or dad would have to go fetch him.
Pepsi was later shot and killed by one of the members of a trouble-prone family that lived not too far from us. I didn’t know that until this past weekend when I asked my sister what happened to Pepsi.
I once walked down the steets of Bellaire, Texas with my shotgun looking for a dog that had earlier attacked my dog and scared my wife during a walk, but I can’t imagine shooting a dog or cat except in such an extreme circumstance. I don’t like people who are cruel to animals.
It’s probably a good thing I didn’t know about this until now.
I have vivid memories of the rest of my pets, which included dogs, cats, rabbits, ducks and a flying squirrel. More to come.