My grandfather was a wonderful man, kind, generous, gentle. On one topic, however, there was no budging the man… and I suppose I get it, he served as a British captain in the Great War (“Did I march down the quay to the ship to cross the Channel? Good god noh, my deah, I rode… as an office-ah and a gentleman…”) and was a farmer in southeast England during the Blitz… he had a certain prejudice. Lovely man but my mom…uh… forgot to mention to her parents my best friend growing up was German.
Similarly, Coco (who is still with us until Tuesday) is the most amiable little dog… except… for… well…
Dog: why exactly you allow a rat in the house
Cat: WHAT!! We do NOT have rats!
Dog: sht how did you get in here I will kill you
Cat: Oh, for god’s sake, these dingdong dogs, they can’t get ANYTHING right. Please note, I am not a squirrel, nor a gopher, nor a chihuahua, and certainly (she spat) NOT a rat.
Dog, losing her mind barking and baring fangs: Never fear I will protect you my humans
Cat: From what, exactly? Newsflash, they’re MY can openers. They do as I tell them.
Dog, howling: Lies I tell you lies from the discolored Norwegian rat
Cat, outraged: Excuse me? Discolored?! There’s nothing wrong with my coat! I’m a brown, grey and white cat. With a little ginger on the side. Mommy was adventurous. But I most certainly do NOT discolored. And Norwegian? I do like me some fish, but I’m a proud American shorthair. And… most certainly… NOT a rat.
Me, giggling: Ratcat.
Cat, turning on me: Not. Helping.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to help. I’ve been too busy cleaning blood out of my clothes from all the times you’ve bitten me over the past few days.
Cat: You require discipline. You were holding me while bringing me inside and near that… that… misshapen poodle. Of course I’m going to bite.
Dog, with horrified fury: misshapen poodle
Me: Y’know, kids, this has been fun, but I’m tired now. How about we shut this down? MaeMae, you’re going outside.
Dog: Agree put the rat outside where it belongs
Cat: watch your back, poodle reject.
The next issue we’re dealing with: Coco the maltipoo wants to sleep with us. She normally sleeps with her human, who’s been hospitalized/recovery care for the past nearly four weeks, during which time we’ve convinced her to crate up at night.
We really didn’t have a choice with that, as MaeMae the cat does, in fact, reside in our bed at night. Or more accurately, she likes to sleep where my stomach should go. This isn’t a problem when I’m traveling, but when I get home, she seems to have difficulty comprehending the hierarchy of the family. As in, I get first dibs.
Unfortunately, this frequently leaves me bleeding as I shift her sleeping carcass from my part of the bed to the center. She doesn’t do well with surprises when asleep.
So Coco has lost some weight while here (no snackies from the table and plenty of walks), and she’s veritably flying onto the furniture. Our rather elevated bed is no longer a problem for this gravity-defying acrobat, and a couple of times she’s found us napping and, seeing an opportunity, curls up too.
Also, she generally finds remnants of cat treats additional enticement to leaping on the bed. MaeMae doesn’t seem to care if she leaves crumbs.
So Coco has snurfled all over the bed, looking for cat yummies. Predictably, this does not go over well with el gato.
Examining Misadventures 