PAWSITIVELY PINK PET SERVICES
Pink
Pack Stories
Every Paw Has a Tale
Welcome to Pink Pack Stories—a collection of heartprints left by the pets and people who make our community shine. These aren’t just stories about walks, feedings, or cuddles. They’re about trust built, quirks celebrated, and the magic of knowing your best friend is truly understood.
Each pawprint you’ll read here belongs to a companion who’s shaped our journey and to the humans who’ve let us be part of theirs. Settle in, scroll slow, and let these tails and tales remind you why love always leaves a mark.
Remembering Skittles
Remembering Skittles
I never planned on adopting a small dog. I already had a big black Lab who was my whole world. But then I met Skittles. His owner was going to surrender him because he kept escaping. They’d scold him, even spank him, when he was found. I couldn’t let that be his future.
At first, he really was an escape artist. My daughter made him a tag that said: ‘Hi, my name is Skittles. I got lost chasing lizards and chicks.’ But instead of punishing him, we always scooped him up, called him a good boy, and gave him treats. Little by little, he stopped running away.
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​​Skittles was diagnosed with an enlarged heart, and later had surgery to remove a.1 pound tumor under his armpit. He recovered, but as time passed, his breathing got worse. One morning, he collapsed, and I knew—after everything—we had reached the moment when the kindest gift was to let him go.
After my Lab, Bear, passed, Skittles had become my buddy, my side sleeper, my comforter. I never thought I’d love a little dog so much. But Skittles imprinted on my heart in ways I didn’t expect. I’ll always remember his wagging tail, his joy for pup cups, and his sparkle chasing lizards. He wasn’t just my dog. He was family.
Merriweather
Saving Smokey
I never planned on being a three-cat person. Smokey just showed up one day in L.A. during the pandemic, friendly as anything. Then Froggy followed her in—feral, suspicious, but determined. And Merryweather was one of my bottle-fed kittens, found in a box at the dump in the dead of winter in Minnesota. Somehow, they all ended up together with me.
Smokey didn’t want to give up the street life at first. But the day she came home with a broken back leg, her outside-only adventure days were over. By the time we moved from California to Florida, she had learned to love indoor comforts. Froggy, who once bolted at the sound of footsteps, rode across the country with us—crate trained, medicated, and eventually discovering he liked air conditioning more than he liked hiding. Merryweather just adapted like she always does.
The move was chaos. Three cats, each with their own food, meds, and routines. We couldn’t have done it without Pawsitively Pink. They cared for Smokey and Merryweather while we flew back to pick up Froggy. They sent photos, updates, handled the quirks and complexities like it was nothing. That was the moment I knew: these were our people.
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Months later, Smokey almost didn’t make it. I noticed on our camera that she hadn’t eaten breakfast. But before I could spiral, the Pawsitively Pink team was already at the house. They knew her well enough to see immediately: something was wrong. Lethargic, hunched in pain. They rushed her to the ER, stayed by her side for hours, called me with updates until she was admitted. Later, at the University of Florida, we heard the words I can’t forget: ‘Your pet sitters saved her life.’
Smokey had severe necrotizing pancreatitis. Not every cat survives. She pulled through because someone noticed. Someone acted. That someone wasn’t me—it was them.
Now, when I travel, I don’t just feel relief. I feel gratitude. Smokey, Froggy, Merryweather—they’re not easy cats. But they’re alive, and thriving, and cared for.
If they could talk? Smokey would say, ‘Thanks for saving my life.’ Froggy would say, ‘Thanks for feeding me.’ And Merryweather? Probably, ‘Thanks for not petting me.’”
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