The first pets I can remember were a couple of budgies called Peter and Paul. I was about 3 at the time. Peter died, leaving Paul alone. Fortunately(?), my grandparents on my mom's side also had a pair of budgies, so when one of them died a few weeks after Peter snuffed it, Paul went to keep my grandparents' surviving bird company. I seem to remember them having that bird for a very long time.
The only other bird we had was a zebra finch that my dad found abandoned in a phone box. We called him Mip-Mip (well, my dad did...) because that was the only sound he ever made. He lasted about five years.
Dogs:
Just after Paul went to live out his life with my grandparents, my dad got a dog. I can't rightly remember her name or what type she was, and only remember it was a female because of the puppies she had - one of them came out jet black but with a clear white marking on the hindquarters in the shape of a number 8. I wanted to keep that pup, but my parents said no and that was that. I can't remember what happened to her, either, but we had her in 1976 and by 1979 when we moved house, she was long gone.
In late 1979 we had Snuff, an Old English sheepdog. She was a rescue dog, already about 5 when we had her, and was very fussy and affectionate. She'd often wait by the front gate for me coming home from school (school was literally around the corner, so I walked home by myself from the age of 7) then come bounding down the road towards me as soon as I turned the corner. She was a big dog - massive compared to me back then - but she'd always put the brakes on before she reached me so she didn't send me flying. After the ensuing doggy-bath, she'd then lope along beside me. She had to be put to sleep in March 1981 due to a fast-growing cancer and was the only dog I ever truly loved. (And here's a thing: just writing that made me think of her and tear up again. Daft or what?)
After Snuff we had Cassie, a Labrador. Again, she was a rescue dog. She was great with me and my sister. Loyal, affectionate, protective. We didn't have her long, though. Probably only a matter of months, from what I can remember and piece together from house move dates. We lost her when a friend of mine decided it would be fun to tease her while she was asleep. She reacted badly to whatever it was he did and bit, leaving him requiring stitches in his face. His parents demanded that we have the dog destroyed or they'd sue. That was the end of Cassie, though my mom did that thing where, by some miracle, the vet just happened to know someone who would take her. Being a kid, I fell for it despite my mom's obvious distress.
Then in 1983 we had Paddy, a 'Lassie'-type collie. He was brilliant, a gorgeous dog, but had so much energy it was untrue. A few months after he arrived my dad was involved in a motorbike accident that left him unable to work for months, then just as he was about to go back he got a note saying he was being laid off. Paddy was an expensive animal to keep, but I made my parents promise to keep him. They said they would, but then one day while I was at school, he apparently escaped when the bin men left the back gate open. Hmm. We didn't have a car so I don't think it was a case of him being taken and dumped - if I thought that I wouldn't have been on speaking terms with my folks for the last 30 years) - but Paddy never showed up again and my dad suddenly seemed to have a few quid in his pocket, so I presume Paddy was sold on.
That was it for dogs.
Cats:
We had a silver tabby for a while in 1978/79, a kitten, again called Peter. He died when a woman over the street put poisoned bacon rinds down 'for mice and rats' and he ate them. No more rinds were put down after he was gone, so that I decided, at 5-6, that the old b*tch had intended to kill my cat. So the next time I saw her, I wished her to Hell where she'd hopefully burn forever. My mom fair tanned my backside for it, but I didn't care then and I don't now.
At around the same time we had Snuff, my sis and I had a pair of black and white female kittens - sisters - called Tammy and Tilly. Tammy (my cat) disappeared after about 3 months, only to turn up later in a corner of someone's shed with a litter of kittens, though by then she'd gone totally feral. Tilly hung around for quite a while after, even making another move with us, so she must have been there in 1981. It wasn't a good move for her, though. Though the road was a quiet one, she got hit and killed by a car.
Our next cat was Tiger, aka Tigger or Tiggy - he'd answer to them all and come trotting over, mewing as if to say 'Yeah, now what?' - and for a long time he was the cat equivalent to Snuff as far as I was concerned. He had his scrapes, including just about surviving his own encounter with a car (he got away with a gash near his mouth that needed a number of stitches to sort out, a few lost teeth, and a broken front paw). He was gone for days initially, which was very rare for him - he was usually waiting outside the door every morning - though we couldn't find him anywhere. Somehow, he made it back from wherever he'd been, even managing to jump over a fence, broken paw and all, and could only be located after that because of the yowling noises he was making. I've never heard anything so pitiful in my life, before or since, and don't care to either.
That happened when he was about 2, in 1988, and he was around then until he finally died of kidney failure in July 2001. Typically for them, my folks didn't bother to call or tell me they couldn't afford to take him to the vets, either to get him treatment or ease his suffering, so the poor little bugger just went out the hard way. That made me angry for a good long while, because while I didn't really have a lot, I'd have paid for whatever he needed in a second.
Besides being a bundle of energy, at least until his accident, Tig was also fearless. He'd sit at the end of our front path and refuse to budge an inch even when one of the neighbours walked by with his three Great Danes. One of the dogs even got a swipe across the nose for daring to encroach on Tig's territory. The dog went nuts, but old Tig still didn't leg it. I never did know if he was totally stupid or crazy-brave. When he died I was as done with cats as I was with dogs after Snuff.
My gf was never allowed pets as a kid, though, so inevitably she wanted at least one once we were able to (cost and, at the time, rent conditions permitting).
Enter, in 2008/09, the three black and white fluff balls masquerading as cats that we have now: Bob, Nibs and Luna.
Bob is also known as King Robert, partly because he sits there with his chest puffed out like he owns the world, but mostly because he's big, fat and daft as they come (and yep, it's a GoT reference - though he was Bob before the show existed). I've never known a cat quite like Bob, tbh. He never lashes out, claws or bites in anger. The only time you feel his claws are when he pads on your leg or grips a hand so he call pull it closer and hold it in a cuddle position, and when he nips, which is very rare, it's because he wants stroking and you're not paying him enough attention. Last time we weighed him, he weighed about 1.5 stones...or about 20 lbs. He's massive and a complete and utter wuss. I love him to bits and he generally tends to favour me (though my gf reckons it's because I'm a pushover where he's concerned, and she's probably right).
Nibs (short for Nibbles) is Bob's sister. She's as smart as Bob is daft and is probably self-aware (she recognises herself in mirrors and very quickly sussed out that the little red dot on the floor came from whatever the thing was we were holding...and promptly lost interest as a result). She got her name from my niece, when my niece was only 7, because she (the cat, not my niece) had a tendency to chew on anything and everything, especially if she wants food or attention. She's very much my gf's cat.
Then there's Luna. Half-sister to the other two - different litter, same mother, questionable as to the father - lazy but crazy (hence the name: she can be a lunatic) and extremely cute. We actually had her last, in mid-2009, though she's only about 4 months younger than the others. She's usually to be found curled up on the bed, piles of washing (clean or not, she doesn't care), even shoes. She's more independent-minded than the other two; she likes a cuddle, but only on her terms (so much more like a cat), though when the mood takes her she is an equal opportunities fusspot.