Before I moved away from home, I had three pets(The current count is down to 2, though 2 of the originals were gone, one of them just got replaced)
I had two cats, and a dog. Of the cats, The one remaining is an incredible surly old bastard, to everyone but me. He's still a surly bastard to me, but he doesn't ever really
act on any of his threats, and he generally comes to me when he needs a moment of peace. the other one, who died a year or so ago, just sort of... showed up. We found him in our porch in the dead of winter, so we let him into the kitchen to keep warm and he would. not. leave.
We also had a dog who was probably the most even tempered soul I've ever met, if incredibly neurotic. He would let you do
anything to him without getting mad, but he had this perpetually worried expression on his face, and he had a schedule that things needed to be done on, or he'd pretty much flip. And his anxiety manifested itself through licking. Everything. Hands, feet, the fridge, the stove, the floor, the couch... everything. He died as well, a while after the cat, and my parents then replaced him with a third cat, whom I've not met, but I've heard is... odd. When I called my parents last they opened by saying, "Oliver has learned how to fly, now."