As many of you know, we have two cats… two and a half if you take into consideration Bert’s enormous size. They’re great cats and Bert especially, is attached to his human -Tayla.
It was all well and good until dun-dun-dun… I volunteered to take Deano, my parents’ teeny, tiny, dachshund.
We were all excited. It’s been so many years since we’ve lived in a place that actually allowed dogs, all of Tayla’s life, that I’d forgotten how awesome they are. We had been casually discussing getting a dog of our own, a: once we were able to afford one and b: we wouldn’t be over the allotted number of pets in the apartment. Obviously, it would have to be a small dog, so Deano was a perfect “test drive” for life with a dog.
Since we are only allowed two pets max (even if only one is visiting) one of the two kitties had to go on vacation to grandma’s house. Unanimously, it was Bert. Nemi (who lives at grandma’s) and Frankie NEVER got along. She needs more attention and stimuli during the day while Bert prefers to chill near a food dish or nap in the linen closet… whichever part of him that fits in the closet.
Yesterday was the BIG day. Don and Tay dropped off Bert, in the most undignified way imaginable… He’s too big for a carrier, so they put him in one of those mesh laundry bags. Half way to the car, his feet and half his ass fell through the bottom. Anyway, he makes it there and is fine.
I pick up the doggie, who cried the whole way back to my place- which is expected, I’m not complaining, just observing. I call Don to ask him to meet me downstairs because I have multiple bags and need help carrying everything.
He and Tay meet me in the parking lot. Deano is still crying but not as loud. His head is poking up out of his carrier and I pet him. We get upstairs, Frankie sees Deano and her tail poofs out like a puffer fish or a life preserver when the rip cord is pulled. She runs away, gone for the remainder of the evening.
I set out his food and water dishes, toss his squeaky ball and feed him a treat. It’s close to bedtime so I decide to take him outside before settling in. I opened the front door to the building and he ran with a purpose. I was surprised, since he’s never been here before, where he thought he was going… to my car. He found it right away and sat down next to it. “They’ll be back honey. You know that. Let’s go potty and then snuggle under the covers.” He basically nodded in agreement before trotting back to the apartment. He had no issues with the elevator which surprised me for some reason. He just got in with no fuss. That’s very unlike him. He’s endearingly the weeniest of the weenies, scared of most everything… except elevators, I guess.
I laid his blanket on the bed, helped him up and he licked my face a couple of times before burrowing under his blankie.
I woke up at 3:00 which is not all that unusual, but I discovered in the living room/kitchen two piles of “cigars” on the floor. One on the hardwood, the other on the carpet. At first I thought Deano (sorry buddy) had left both presents for me but realized the litter box hadn’t been used since I changed it that afternoon… Now I knew what I was looking at: dueling stools. Instead of a pissing contest, they were having a shit-off. Man, in retrospect, I really wish I knew who left which pile… someone has skewed the balance of my opinion on who should be pooping and how much. Note, neither of the piles were very lady-like, Frankie…
Today, he and the cat circled each other. In the morning there was a lot of back and forth barking and hissing that dwindled down with the hours left in the day. Towards late afternoon, they were able to both be in the same room, fairly close in proximity to one another, merely giving each other the death stare. They’ve started to circle each other, trying to sniff out what the other is, without getting too close. Like watching a boxing match, trying to figure out which one is Mike Tyson and who is Evander Holyfield… I hope they’re not BOTH Tyson’s but I guess I’ll let you know whose ear I find in the morning… maybe I should set up a camera because even if someone is missing an ear, there’s no guarantee that the animal didn’t pull a Vincent van Gogh…
Oh boy, I’m loopy. I’d better Van Gogh to bed! Shit. See? Sorry!
Striving For Sanity 