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November 29, 2007

Justification that doesn't make me feel one bit better

I've always believed that when you take a pet into your home, you're making a lifelong commitment to that animal. Much like in a marriage, you take the bad with the good. You make living arrangement decisions based on your family at the time, including your pet. You work through behavior issues. Unless the animal is violent or dangerous to your children, you train both your children and your pet to get along. They aren't disposable, you don't just take them to the shelter when they become inconvenient, or annoying, or you decide to move to an apartment where they don't take pets. And you don't put down an otherwise healthy animal. You took this creature into your life, if for some reason you can't keep it, you better find a good home for it.

And that is why this is killing me.

I've had Bubba for nine and a half years. He is...special. When he was about 8 weeks old, his front feet were amputated in an act of cruelty that I can't really go into. He was brought to the vet clinic where I worked, and he became a part of the clinic. His treatment was not always pleasant, and it took over eight months and a small surgery for his stupms to heal. He was a sweet, loving little creature that loved to hang out on my shoulders. For some reason, I was the only person in the clinic who could treat him by myself. The others could do what was required, but it took two or three of them to hold onto him and get the job done. On holidays, I happily volunteered to take him home and care for him.

One of the vets wanted Bubba for a pet, but he wasn't what any of us considered a loving pet owner. Besides, Bubba loved me, and I wanted him. Strangely, he fit into the communal living arrangement I was in at the time, four people, my two cats plus my boyfriend at the time's cat, a large dog and at some point a beastly little puppy. And so he came to live with me.

That communal house was not the, uh, cleanest place I've lived. And the boyfriend's cat had a little issue with peeing. Likely because the boyfriend had a little issues with keeping his box clean. That may have been where Bubba picked up his little habit. In late living arrangements, I had a lot fewer problems with Bubba and his pee, although every now and then he would go in the dirty laundry basket or on a pile of clothes or one memorable time, in Rex's suitcase as he was unpacking from a trip. We've learned to just not keep piles of clothing and such around, and most of the time that works.

He has spells every now and then, though, that make him difficult to live with. Peeing on things in the kids toy room. Peeing on Jamie's bed (thank goodness the mattress is covered, since the cat isn't the only creature that wets her bed.) Peeing on brand new beanbags. Peeing on the throw rugs I keep around the house so he doesn't have to stump on the hard floors. We very, very rarely catch him at his game, although I'm 99% sure he is the only culprit.

In the last week, he's gone at least twice on a rug, twice in the kids laundry basket (I can't figure out how, the girls are well trained to keep their bedrooms closed up), once in a wooden doll cradle on doll blankets, and once just on the floor in the corner of our bedroom (he has NEVER gone on just the carpet before). At least, that's what I've found so far.

I might be able to find him a pet or child free home that would be more to his liking except for one thing: He really doesn't like anyone but me. It took years for him to even tolerate Rex's comopany, and the kids have developed a healthy respect for him. He won't go after anyone, but he prefers to be left alone. I'm just not sure how he would do with anyone else.

Rex's patience is worn thin, as is mine.

So what can I do?

Posted by me at November 29, 2007 10:27 PM

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Posted by: colleen at November 30, 2007 1:31 AM

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