I write a lot about our animals.
This is Porter.
Chris found him one night outside of White Water Tavern, and he brought him home. Porter was tiny, tiny, and after 24 hours, I knew he was mine. Although Porter came from the streets, in my mind he is actually a distinguished British cat with a lovely accent and proper grammar. He was cast out into the streets at a young age, and we rescued him. You will often find him saying, "Mother, Mother, would you please tell this dog that I would like to play with her. She seems to be too aloof and dense to understand my language." And then he takes another nap.
Porter's goal is always to sleep more and bat at Grace's face and tail more.
This is Grace.
Chris got Grace before we got married. I had never had a dog, and the only reason Grace got to stay was that she was cute and little and very fluffy. She would also let me hold her like a baby in my lap. The she grew up and weights more than me. But she means well. Grace has a voice like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, but a little more pleading. "Moo-om, what are you doin? Tell Dad I don't want to go running; it's too hot. Can I get my ball, huh? Mom, can I get my ball?" You'll find her laying like a bear-skin rug, flat on her belly on any cool surface. She smiles a lot and secretly like to play with Porter.
Grace's goals is to force me to refill her water bowl with very cold water every time she's thirsty and to ignore Porter as much as possible.
This is our animal kingdom.