Everyone has their own thing.

It seems like the default when you don’t know what to say to someone is to ask about a favorite. What’s your favorite song? What’s your favorite food? I used to think only humans could have favorites. I was so wrong. Each of the terrors in my house is quite opinionated about their favorite things. Here are a few of our favorite things (did you start singing in your head? I did. No shame, my friend)


Percy’s favorite thing is me, with his blanket a close second. If you want to make Percy happy, let him stare at me while he chews on/snuggles his blanket. As I am typing now, he is right by my side with his soggy, stinky blanket hanging from his mouth. It’s nasty. Like, rotten fish mixed with egg farts nasty. When it gets that gross, we send it through the wash with heavy duty detergent and hand him a different one.

Percy and his blanket

Percy is also a coward, unless he has his blanket. If someone moves in another room, or bumps something, or the evil feline who lives with us appears, Percy cries and runs for his blanket. Once he has it, Percy is brave and will investigate. If we have an intruder and Percy catches them, I imagine the urge to laugh at him will slow them enough for his big brother to take over.


Haas’s favorite thing is a nice cow femur, followed by getting brushed, and snacks with Dad. I know that bones aren’t really good for dogs, but if he has a bone, Haas is less likely to break off a chunk of concrete and eat it in my living room. If I get to choose, the boy is getting a bone. He also adores being brushed and combed. He may fake sleeping or pretend to be dead, but if we utter the word “brush”, Haas will immediately leave his room and plant his furry booty right in front of whoever has a grooming device.



Drake’s favorite thing is to cause trouble. He also likes anything with sugar (which I am well aware he is not supposed to have, but the other members of our family don’t really care. It’s a whole thing.) and chocolate. Drake is a quick one and has been known to snatch a candy bar wrapper and hide it to lick later. Much like how Oldest Child can’t comprehend that cleaning their bedroom is a necessity, Drake can’t believe that cookies and chocolate are not a dog’s friend.

He spends most of his free time tormenting Percy. If not properly stimulated, Drake has been known to steal Percy’s blanket and rip it to shreds. It’s almost scary how happy tearing something to pieces makes that dog. Any new toys immediately have the belly ripped out and spread around the room. If it’s Percy’s toy, all the better for Drake destruction. I still love him, though.

Meri (aka The Hag)

If you are new, or old and need a reminder, I am not a cat hater. I actually love them. I just don’t like my cat. She’s horrible! She’s mean, she won’t stay off my quilting projects, and refuses to be around the dogs. I don’t know why she stays with us, except that she must really enjoy tormenting me.

Other than biting my head when I am on the phone, she loves sleeping on the beds of those who are allergic to her. It’s a good thing she’s pretty. Meri is definitely not my favorite.

Meri asleep — the only time she is sweet.

Final Thoughts

The dogs are good for my self-esteem. I know how to be the favorite for each of them, and I might be more partial to one of them over the others. Does that make me a bad owner? I don’t really care. I know where the blankets, bones, and cookies are kept. They are all healthy, happy, and decently well-behaved until Meri decides to enter the dog domain. At that point, all bets are off and a 6 pound cat can keep 325 pounds of dog running for their lives.

It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows or destruction and chaos here, but the mix always keeps life interesting. I hope you have the opportunity to have pet family members enrich your lives. I also hope none of them eat concrete. It’s a pain to clean the crumbs out of your carpet.

Meri, Meri, Quite Contrary…Quit tormenting me.

Meri is one of our original terrible two on four feet. I don’t write about her much because I prefer the dogs. Before Meri, I was a cat person, but it is only 90% her fault that I’m not crazy about her.

When the husband I were still newly together a hundred and a half years ago, we adopted a cat, Bosco. He was my baby and spoiled rotten until I became pregnant with the Mayor of Angstville (Oldest Child). Then, Bosco spurned my company and remained annoyed with me for about three and a half years. When Youngest Child showed up, all was forgiven as she was his baby so I wasn’t quite so awful. Those two were thick as thieves until Bosco’s stroke and subsequent passing.

Between the husband’s cat allergies and my grieving heart, I didn’t want another cat, at least for a while. When we went fishing at a trout park that following summer, we came home not with fish but a cat. This is the 10% that isn’t her fault. Meri didn’t choose her timing.

The kids fell in love with the pretty beggar who deigned accept their offerings of cheese and lunchmeat. Despite my objections, she came home with us and now bears the name of the trout park. Meri loved Dad and tolerated the kids. She and I clashed immediately. Meri hated when I was on any form of technology and demonstrated her displeasure by sneaking up and biting the back of my head. It happened more than once, to the delight of the other humans.

I imagine Meri is contemplating my destruction in this photo.

It’s been a few years now and the hag and I have come to a bit of a truce. I let her out when the boys are free and she gives warning before trying to impersonate a zombie and eating my brain.

I have noticed that Meri’s relationship with the family is quite different from the boys and our previous feline. We all have full conversations with the cat and seldom are they happy. It’s not unusual to hear an argument from the other parts of the house. HOw a six-pound cat gets such volume is impressive. Most of them consist of something like this:

Human: You’ve already been fed twice today. NO. MORE.

Meri: No!

Human: Yes, you have!

Meri: NO, MROW!

Human: Too bad, Hag.

Meri: NO! (then sounds I am pretty sure are profanity)

Human: Do you want to go out? The boys are out back.

Meri: Merow, no, now, yowl

Cat heads out the front door and all is peaceful…until the boys come back in.

Meri is pretty, though, and has the softest fur I have ever petted. I admire her self-confidence. I don’t like her. She’s terrible, but she isn’t going anywhere.