This morning I watched our one-year-old, Finn Sint Maarten Ferra, reach his head to my husband to ask him to be combed longer. I couldn’t help smiling how “spoiled” our dog is and how happy he is. Carlos combed every inch of his wirywhite coat that’s punctuated with big splotches of black and small spots of beige on his face — Finn was loving it. Who was happiest, Carlos, the dog or me?
Finn was once a feral puppy on the island of Sint Maarten. Now? He’s a prince, Fresh Prince of Cramer Hill.
Bello, our largest cat, sat and watched from his place on my newspaper on the kitchen table. He rolled over to ask me to rub his belly. He wasn’t always “bello”—poor boy could have been named “Feo” (ugly) because when we rescued from our Cramer Hill driveway one summer, he was long, filthy, sick and a skeleton covered with hair. Now after medical care and lots of love, he is beautiful like his name.
Bello came back to life, but he wasn’t as gentle and sweet as I had hoped. It’s not easy to change from big street boy to big house boy–he had been aggressive to the other two cats. It took years for him to let his sweetness emerge. I worried how he would accept Finn when we adopted our puppy last October. Finn and Bello had their moments, but now sniff each other and bat each other playfully. He knows Finn is afraid of the smooth tile floor in the bathroom so he often lies there and smirks at the dog who stares at him from the hallway, hoping to play. They often nap together.
Now Finn has gone upstairs to lie on the queen bed. Getting combed is exhausting. Bello is sleeping on the newspaper without worrying that I might want to read it. He’s that secure. “She can read it when I get up,” he thinks.
Ah, to be these two spoiled pets!
Love from Marguerite Ferra, Cramer Hill, who also has two other cats–stories for another blog