Pets of Cinco

What would you consider a perfect day?

Ana Medina, News Editor

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  • My name is Milo. My perfect day is chewing everything that fits in my mouth. Then when my person gets home, I love to snuggle with her and I tend to nibble at her fingers. I would probably try to get on the couch, even though I am not allowed, but I have perfected the puppy eyes. I love to play and wrestle with my older brother Toby. At the end of the day, I lay in my bed and eat my treats then go off to dreamland.

  • My name is Maggie. My perfect day would be... napping. That's all I ever do. A warm spot in the sun, and I am good to go.

  • My name is Mellow. My perfect day is sleeping until two on the top of the couch pillows. Then when people walk through the garage door, I bug them until I get a treat, then I play yo-yo. I ask to go outside, then five minutes later, I ask to come inside. Then after five more minutes, I ask to go back outside, and the cycle repeats. Then, I eat all of the food dropped during dinner and sleep through the night.

  • My name is Winchester. My perfect day would be having a good nap, then going on a walk, finding a squirrel, chasing the squirrel, getting the squirrel, and then eating the squirrel. Then my pack’s Alpha Male would feed me steak and give me a belly rub. I will bring him my rope and give him my rope but then try to reclaim my beloved rope and then do it again. And then have another nap. And then attack the sprinklers. And then another nap.

  • (An accomplished academic, Rhiannon felt the need to take a very in-depth approach to her idea of a perfect day). My perfect day would start with waking up on top of my person and having a nice petting session. While my person gets in the shower, I would inspect all of my toys and such, noting that they’re all in their same places as the night before. I stand by the door while he dries off, poking as much of my arms under the door as I can to try and start a play session with his feet. Ideally my person would poke his fingers back under the door. Once that has concluded, he opens the door and I inspect the shower, as well as the toilet to make sure that everything is as it should be. While doing this, I vocally inform him of my dreams as well as my plans for the day. As a prosocial organism, I take advantage of my person sitting on the bed to put his socks on and make sure to pet him. He feels an obligation to pet me as well. My person finishes getting ready and goes off to work, which I assumes is going to sit in a far-away cardboard box all day. As he leaves, I jump in my box to begin my hard day at work as well, because I understand that the true form of eudaimon fulfillment, as Aristotle would think it, involves a hearty work day in which one makes contributions to the world, achieving a long-term happiness. I make sure to take breaks, however, to eat lunch and keep my rattles in line (the floor in my person’s apartment is quite uneven so they often have a life of their own). I also makes sure to keep watch, looking out the open windows and definitely not falling asleep while doing so. When my person returns, I greet him at the door, having just gotten off my shift as well, and I tell him all about my day, about the green rattle, which found its way into the bathroom and how I had to chase it back into the living room. I also explain how the rainbow ping-pong ball successfully retreated under the TV stand, and while I definitely have the capacity to retrieve it, I don’t have time to do everything, right? My person goes and gets the ping-pong ball and any other toys that managed to escape and rolls them back out into the living room. Diagnosed with AD/HD as a child, I am temporarily distracted by the multi-colored balls and rattles rolling around in various directions, and must round them up to return order to the apartment. After my person sits on the couch, I take the opportunity to start petting him again. While he makes a good attempt at returning the favor, I know he’ll probably be more up to it after he eats. Just then, I hear a suspicious sound coming from all the way down the hall that, for some reason, he never hears. I dart as fast as I can down the hall into the laundry room, jumping in the washer to catch this intruder, though I too often find that this place is too dark and I am frightened. He doesn’t seem to understand this climactic struggle that has just transpired, but in a perfect day I suppose he would. After watching him eat, constantly petting me (the ball is definitely in his court now), he finally begins to pet me for about half an hour. This is the best. I curl up in my lap and purr as he alternates between his hand and the lint roller on my fur, which presents a lovely contrast for my senses. The evening generally consists of this sort of thing; I play with my toys a bit more and get petted some more. Finally, he’s ready for bed, although in my opinion, we’re not ready for bed. I return to my box and pretend that I have work to do, but he gets a treat for me, which overrides my duties and leads me into my shoebox bed on my bed, where I eat my treat and curl up for a little bit more petting before falling asleep for the night.

  • My name is Beethoven. My perfect day (Well, night, because I am nocturnal!) is waiting for my owners to start their nightly routine of talking to me, refilling my food and water at the end of the day, and giving me tons of treats. They turn the lights off and go upstairs. While they try to sleep, I think it is hilarious to run in my loud, squeaky wheel and bounce off the walls of my cage to keep them awake! Maybe by keeping them up, they could come back downstairs and give me more treats!

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