The Bombed Out Lawn

Training a cat to leash walk is not easy, the little bastards are not at all grateful and the constraints are problematic in other ways as well.

Our front lawn resembles London after the blitz, courtesy of a damn gopher, who appears to be a friend of the hound. The gopher makes periodic appearances in front of the Abby the dog, and I swear the conversation yesterday:

Abby: Hey, Frank! How you doin’? How’s Maude? I heard the last batch-a little ‘uns were kinda rough.

Frank the gopher shook his head and leaned on his elbow. “Yeah, we lost one of the pups but Maude’s got the seven others so I think she’ll bounce back. And she’s expecting again so…”

I’m looking incredulously at this conversation going on. “Abby! Kill the little f’er!!”

Dog looks up at me, clearly thinking, I’m not doing anything of the sort. We’ve discussed this before.

Hrrrmpf. Well. Now I have a secret weapon.

I put MaeMae on the ground ever so softly, still holding her leash. Frank freezes.

MaeMae spots the objectionable rodent, freezes and hits the ground like a marine under fire.

“Kiiiiiiiilllll iiiiittt” I whisper.

She starts inching towards Frank, who’s clearly sniffing the wind. Sadly, she reaches the end of her tether and turns, seething, so I gingerly took a couple steps forward.

The cat turns and glares at me like I’m a complete moron, easily conveying the message “will you shut the hell up?!!”

If she could talk, I’m certain she would have hissed at me to hit the dirt, dumbass, and crawl. God, do I have to explain EVERYTHING to you?!

I took a couple more steps closer, she pounced and Frank inevitably disappeared. Dejected, she gazed sadly at the hole. My turn again for the frustration.

“God, you’re a small cat, that’s a big hole, go after him!!” To try to emphasize the point, I dug around the edges of the hole.

MaeMae: “are you digging on the hole to use it as a potty? Cause he’ll prob’ly bite your bottom.”

Abby: “you realize Frank’s halfway to San Jose at this point.”

Me: I give up.