Page Two
After he had been petted enough, he was ensconced in the guest bathroom with food, water and a litter box. There he lived until he was big enough to hold his own with the rest of the gang. And claimed Carol’s lap as his special place. He also took over her white satin throw pillow and chewed up her ponytail elastic bands. He developed one other peculiarity. We had some outdoor cats and they utilized an area under the tree at the corner of our yard. Woodstock would have none of that. When he had to go, he insisted on his own personal litter box in the bathroom! We kept the slider to the patio open to accommodate him. Entered in the Household Pet Class in CFA (Cat Fanciers Association) shows he brought home his share of Merit Awards for his special personality.
Smoky was another drop-off. He and his mother were left in our driveway early one morning. Mom was very unhappy about the situation, but Smoky, a Toy Poodle with an undocked tail, ran into my arms. I found another home for Mom and welcomed Smoky into the club. From Day One, Smoky was the perfect pet and traveling companion. He was welcome in hotel rooms across the country, was always cheerful and obedient and never had an “accident.” He quarreled with only one element – the incoming tide of the Long Island Sound the year we lived in Old Lyme, Connecticut.
Smoky watched the surf as it flowed onto the beach, ran down to the water’s edge barking at it, and dug into the sand as though he would catch all that water in one tiny hole. When the surf receded he ran after it again, barking. He repeated this exercise over and over again while our ribs ached with laughter. Georgy Girl ignored this performance, found a warm spot on the sand, and went to sleep.
We were working in and with Warner Bros. Studios and, apparently, were considered an adjunct of Actors and Others for Animals. Himself kept bringing home unwanted dogs including a gorgeous Irish Setter, with a long silky coat, red as fire. We would have kept him, but he was able to jump our eight-foot fence and we kept getting calls from neighbors a mile away to come get our !@#$%^&* dog! That was only one of the trips we took to the Animal Shelter. Other trips included twin Newfoundland puppies, an Alaskan Malamute, a Bulldog, and several other breeds that had either wandered onto the Burbank Studios grounds or were temporary pets of the cast and crew of the movies being made there. One night we heard a splash in our pool that turned out to be a huge, fearsome dog whose breed we didn’t recognize. How he got into our yard, we’ll never know. The manager of the Animal Shelter finally understood our problem and, luckily, found homes for all these creatures, great and small.
Then there were Lolly and Golden Boy. Lolly appeared on the Warner Bros. lot when James Mason was shooting Lolita in the 1960s. She became his special pet, a Maine Coon with long brown and golden fur. By the time we met her, she was more than 20 years old, quite ill and was about to be put to sleep. We took her home, treated her, and got her well. Golden Boy was a different story. He jumped in our open office window, plunked his Red Tabby body on Himself’s desk and very plainly indicated he was here to stay. With us, that is. Well, guess who’s the boss! You don’t argue with a 15-pound beast. He was happy to learn the House Rules and take over.
The years go by. Cats come and go. Some went to other owners when we moved back into Los Angeles. Animal Control ordered us to reduce our menagerie. Red Barbour was one of the first to go. He was so beautiful! We could keep only three. The rest were confiscated. Remaining were Lolly, Golden Boy and Princess. When we moved to Nevada for a year, we gave Princess to a friend. Now we were down to two cats and our beloved dogs, Smoky and Georgy Girl.
Golden Boy, or G.B. as we called him, favored Meow Mix. Our yard in Carson City wasn’t fenced; it backed up to acres and acres of tall grass that G.B. loved to hunt in. To call him home, all I had to do was to rattle a bag of Meow Mix. Soon I could see this shape popping up and down in the grass, and he was at my feet, grinning. Oh, yes, you could see the laughter in his eyes as we played our daily game. He went further East with us; walked on a leash at rest stops. He didn’t much care for the snow of a Connecticut winter, but still walked with the dogs on the beach, popping up and down in the snow until he could dash under a house on stilts. He couldn’t survive apartment living in New York City, however.
Nor could Georgy Girl. She was 13 and sick when we left her with the Humane Society in Stonington, Connecticut.
Smoky came back to California with us in 1985. As perky as ever, he was slowing down. He quietly died in my arms at the age of 17. Lolly, who stayed in Carson City, didn’t quite make the record book. She did make it to age 33, if I remember correctly.
Sparky was our last dog. When Himself passed on in 2000, Sparky started going downhill. Now he is no longer with us.
I’ve talked about cats and dogs and one small turtle. I can only mention Joey Smoke, Princess and Tiarney, three horses, whom we loved and cared for in Simi Valley; a horned toad I adopted when I was a child; numerous fish; cute little hamsters, a talking Parakeet named Zak.
Now, it’s only Boots. She mainly bosses Bob and Carol, but she has accepted me as part of her crew. I think she’ll be the last one. At 83, who needs to take on a new pet?
Well …
We’ll see.
Rima was a writer, it seems, all of her life first getting paid for her work when employed as a newspaper reporter in Rome, NY and Houston, TX. Freelancing after the war, she met David Westheimer when he was editor of the Houston Post Sunday Magazine and who bought several of Rima's stories. Her subsequent experience was as editor/writer of a couple of house organs and then as an ad agency copywriter in Houston and Hollywood.
Rima won a prize for her poem, Reflection, in the Margaret Reed Contest for Traditional Verse. The poems were published in an anthology entitled Sailing In the Mist of Time, selling on Amazon.
Rima had an active pilot's license at the time of her death. Flying, a musical play inspired by Rima's poetry, is to presented at the Huntington Beach Playhouse in November, 2007
