My most memorable pet was my huge orange boy Clyde. My father loved cats, but my mother was wildly allergic, so our pets were indoor/outdoor cats.
Clyde was a drooler, and whenever he was with my father, whom he adored, he would drool with pure joy.
One night we heard Clyde screaming at the door, and when I opened it he flew through the house and jumped on my father's chest -- Dad was in his recliner -- and stood there scolding him. Clyde's feet were cold as ice, and Dad said that the lad was staying indoors tonight. (It had gone down to 40° F, and in the south that is freezing!)
A few years later, Clyde was hit by a car and dragged himself home. Dad bundled him up and drove over to the vet. The vet said to just "stick him in the cage and he would check on him later."
Dad assured the vet that he, the vet, would never practice in our town again, and took his darling Clyde (are you ready for this?) to the hospital. The doctors there proceeded to call a very compassionate vet and the surgeons and the vet put Clyde back together. (Dad was a Louisiana lawyer, and they can do anything. Aaaaannnnyyyyyyything!)
Clyde lived for several years after that, but was hit by a car in his old age and passed away. My mother passed on shortly afterward, and we started having indoor cats only. I think my father decided he would never lose another pet like that again.
I still wish, though, I had seen the face of the doctor on call when my dad came into the hospital with his injured pet!
