Kitty, a freshman, felt something in her Harvard life was missing.

Three years ago, Dale, now a junior, wanted something really special for Christmas.

Fred couldn't resist a cute smile, and Gary craved company over a lonely intersession.

It didn't take long for these and other Harvard students to figure out the remedy they needed--a pet.

Although declared illegal by the Student Handbook, pets are as ubiquitous in students' rooms as teddy bears and the Picasso poster of the man on his horse.

Zoos in the Harvard House resemble the food chain. They include birds, reptiles, mammals, fish and--of course-all the roaches these animals could possibly eat. One junior, Sara, now the owner of a python, had her own menagerie last year: seven lizards and two finches.

While Kitty's pet is less exotic, she says she can't imagine what life would be like without Crimson, her cat. "She's my constant companion," she says.

Gary bought Menachim the gerbil over a lonely intersession last year. "I needed a gerbil," the sophomore explained. Gary replaced Menachim with Penina the gerbil over the summer when he and Menachim decided it would be best for Menachim to remain at Gary's home.

Captivated by Omar the ferret in a pet store, Fred brought him home three months ago, and hasn't regretted it. John W. Boynton '88 was also ensnared by his furry friend on the spot. While walking by Holyoke Center last year, he saw a man giving away a box of kittens and took one.

"It was a very spur of the moment thing," he says, "I just said, 'he's very cute, I'll take him."

Dale was a little more practical when he bought his two miniature quails. Shopping for food for his pet turtle, a Christmas present from his dad, Dale, describing himself as "entrepreneurial," spotted the pair and decided that he would buy them and breed them. Besides, he adds, "I'm a sucker for anything with a beak."

Although he had not successfully bred the two by the time the male died over the summer, he still has one quail who watches over the turtle. Dale calls them both "the ideal pets for [dorm-room] living."

Certainly not everyone's idea of the quintessential pet, snakes make their way into Harvard dorm rooms through the fascination they hold for would-be owners.

"I used to be afraid of snakes, and I wanted to like them," says Sara, explaining why she asked her parents to buy her Honey, a python. Sam, also a snake aficionado, has his two snakes at school because "it's a really neat experience to get to know and touch them."

And since pets are only human, some owners have rather hairy stories to tell. Fred was out taking Omar his ferret for his daily walk and passed the room where the Opportunes were rehearsing. On a whim, he put Omar through the open window. "One guy saw him and started screaming and then they all started screaming, so there were 10 people screaming at once," he recalls.

Omar does not always worm his way into Fred's heart either. "He's very destructive," he explains, "Everything he can break, he will break. Everything has to be kept five feet in the air."

Penina the gerbil is certainly one party animal, says her owner Gary. One day the sophomore placed a couple of drops of Jack Danielsin her water saucer. "We asked her if she would like a drink and she didn't say no. She gobbled it up and then spun around a bit," he laughs.

Richard Nicholson '86's conure bird found flying high more difficult. Nicholson was studying in his room one day last year when he heard his conure fluttering around in the other room, and "then a smack and no noise." He ran into the other room and started looking for the bird who had mysteriously disappeared.

Finally he discovered the bird under a couch "huffing and puffing and breathing hard." Since the conure's wings were clipped, his attempts at flying turned out to be "more of a falling glide," says Nicholson.

This flying method was to be the conure's downfall for when he became sick last spring, he took a dive from his cage and committed suicide.

Izzy's four pet lizards--Larry, Curly, Moe and one nameless companion--had races in the hall last year. "There was no wagering," said Izzy, "And Larry always won." Larry also managed to stay alive the longest of the four, but within four months, Izzy was lizard-less.

Boynton is also living alone, but his cat, Derek Bok (just Derek, for short) has found a happier home, for both cat and man. Says Boynton, Derek--and her first litter of kittens--have taken up permanent residence away from Harvard at a friend's home, "because of the smell and the fact that cats aren't meant to be stuck indoors."

While at Harvard, though, Derek amassed some tales of her own. She, Boynton and the other residents of Mass Hall hosted a tea for President Derek Bok. Since she was Bok's namesake, Boynton decided to introduce them.

"He held her, and patted her and got a big kick out of it," says Boynton, "He said he didn't see the resemblance, and he thought the buildings and grounds people might not like this."

Although Boynton's proctor didn't mind the cat, there are some authorities that stick by the no-pets rule. Sam said that while he had his freshman proctor's permission to keep the snakes, he has yet to get it this year.

"We do our best not to advertise the fact that we have them," he says.

Honey the snake has been spotted by the superintendent of the house in which she lives, but Sara hasn't received any official word. She, too, does not broadcast the fact she has a snake.

Such secrecy was a little harder for Nicholson and his roommates. Mert, the conure, often screeched at the top of his lungs. Even his owners got tired of hearing Mert's screams.

However, they were not the only ones. The Eliot House senior tutor's office was directly beneath their room, and Mert's owners heard him scream during conferences with the tutor.

Ironically enough, Mert's name derived from the House administration. Since Mert was supposed to be a talking bird, Nicholson figured that if they taught him to say hello, he would be croaking out the name of Eliot House Master Alan M. Heimert by saying "Hi, Mert!"

Also named after a human, Honey the snake carries the nickname that Sara's roommate's boyfriend called her. "We thought he would quit calling her Honey if we named the snake that," Sara explains.

Gerbils Penina and Menachim were both named after children Gary met while life guarding over the summer. Penina's namesake, says Gary, was a little girl "with pigtails that looked like gerbil ears and teeth that bit."

But, the gerbil is nothing like the girl, he adds, saying that his pet is "the Harvard gerbil--she got in early action."

The names used in this story have been changed to protect the guilty.