I just realized...of all the characters in my books and scripts, only Eric in "Bobby Carapisi" has an animal as a companion -- his dog, Jag, who helps keep him centered. Coby, in my script "Coby O' and the Pink Palace of Texas", has a parrot, but the damned thing makes his life hell and was really his grandfather's, so that doesn't count. And Cal, in "The Cowboy King of Texas," had a dog but his father shot it, precipitating the confrontation between them. No one else has even so much as a turtle or goldfish.
I don't know why except they just never fit into the storyline. I mean, I like dogs and I'm very much a cat person, but pets are like having a child only more difficult because you can't just park 'em in front of the TV to keep 'em occupied. But I'm remembering just how much I liked having a cat by having to deal with the two spoiled kitties at the office. Since their owners are away, they're out of sorts and very demanding, but they also get these looks in their faces...like they're afraid of being abandoned, and that gets to me.
The last cat I had was this wild kitten I adopted in Houston. I called him Edge because he always was this close to spinning into a spitting, fighting machine. But he was cool around me and once he got it through his head I don't like sleeping with him under my chin, we got along great.
I lived on the second floor of a quadraplex near the High School for the Performing and Visual Arts that was a nice size for me and fairly well-kept. It got hot in the summer and cold in the winter...but that's Houston. Edge liked it. Liked how, when he'd been out prowling, I'd stand in the doorway at the top of the stairs and call out, "Edgey Cat." He'd appear at the base of the stairs and scurry up, his eyes locked on me until he was inside. Then he was "Joe Cool" and feed me, now. He ate good, that cat.
But the yard had a serious problem with fleas because...well, that's just Texas in June. Then I decided to move. And take him with me. BIG mistake. He HATED leaving his territory, and ruined half my furniture by using it as a litter box. And then I moved, again, and he split. Well...he just refused to stay in the new apartment. He'd come back to eat if I left the food out on the balcony, but if I tried to get close to him, he'd run off. He'd gone back to his wild roots.
When I was getting ready to move to LA, I'd spoken so one of my former neighbors (who was also cat people) and he'd agreed to take care of him if I brought him back to the quadraplex. But I couldn't catch him. Edge'd come by, meow at me as if to say, "You're abandoning me," but would never let me get close enough to even touch him. So I had to leave him there.
I haven't had an animal since...nor will I until I've settled down to one location for the rest of my life. It's not fair to the critter.
I don't know why except they just never fit into the storyline. I mean, I like dogs and I'm very much a cat person, but pets are like having a child only more difficult because you can't just park 'em in front of the TV to keep 'em occupied. But I'm remembering just how much I liked having a cat by having to deal with the two spoiled kitties at the office. Since their owners are away, they're out of sorts and very demanding, but they also get these looks in their faces...like they're afraid of being abandoned, and that gets to me.
The last cat I had was this wild kitten I adopted in Houston. I called him Edge because he always was this close to spinning into a spitting, fighting machine. But he was cool around me and once he got it through his head I don't like sleeping with him under my chin, we got along great.
I lived on the second floor of a quadraplex near the High School for the Performing and Visual Arts that was a nice size for me and fairly well-kept. It got hot in the summer and cold in the winter...but that's Houston. Edge liked it. Liked how, when he'd been out prowling, I'd stand in the doorway at the top of the stairs and call out, "Edgey Cat." He'd appear at the base of the stairs and scurry up, his eyes locked on me until he was inside. Then he was "Joe Cool" and feed me, now. He ate good, that cat.
But the yard had a serious problem with fleas because...well, that's just Texas in June. Then I decided to move. And take him with me. BIG mistake. He HATED leaving his territory, and ruined half my furniture by using it as a litter box. And then I moved, again, and he split. Well...he just refused to stay in the new apartment. He'd come back to eat if I left the food out on the balcony, but if I tried to get close to him, he'd run off. He'd gone back to his wild roots.
When I was getting ready to move to LA, I'd spoken so one of my former neighbors (who was also cat people) and he'd agreed to take care of him if I brought him back to the quadraplex. But I couldn't catch him. Edge'd come by, meow at me as if to say, "You're abandoning me," but would never let me get close enough to even touch him. So I had to leave him there.
I haven't had an animal since...nor will I until I've settled down to one location for the rest of my life. It's not fair to the critter.
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