It hasn’t been the best of weekends around here, I have to say. All this getting up too early and going to bed too late is not good for us four-legses for a start. Neither is being left behind when she goes out every morning.
I used to be able to go with her sometimes… before my boy’s garden gates stopped closing properly… then I didn’t have to
sleep sit at home worrying while she was out, wondering if she would come back at all… I mean, she’s always come back so far. Never leaves me too long. But, you never know, do you? Once they are out of sight, anything could happen… and plenty of stuff has been happening around here!
For a start, my boy needed his garden fixing, so the new, heavy wheelchair he had to buy can be safe on the wood. Just a few bits to fix, they said… till they had a look and she started talking about needing to get a lottery, whatever that is. Then my boy phoned up to say he’d had a catastrophe… the kitchen cupboard had fallen down while he was in the living room, scaring him half to death. It hadn’t exactly dropped off the wall… most of the wall was still fastened to the cupboard. She thinks there is a leak up in his roof… and they’ll have to get some more lotterys or a genie, she says. They must be good, ’cause she says she wants one to give to her dentist too…
Meanwhile, I’ve got enough problems at home! I have to guard the house from the postman, the pigeons and from Upstairs Cat, who keeps watching me through the window, as well as keeping an eye on our poorly oto catfish. I thought it had died a couple of times, but it keeps coming back. I’m glad about that… I’d hate her to come home and find it gone. She says it is looking better… but I’m not so sure. That might be wishful thinking.
And she’s still getting uppity about the spring moult. Well, it’s not my fault… and I told her, I won’t feel better for a bath, whatever she says!
So, as we’ve both been a bit stressed, I thought I’d save her one job at least. Instead of asking for a treat at snack time, I’d just go and get one for myself. Frankly, if she’s going to leave the last of the Mother’s Day chocolates in my treat cupboard, how am I to know they are not for me?
So I ended up in the doghouse again. Not that I have one. A doghouse, I mean. It might be nice, but I’m fine with my doorstep, even if some people are now insisting on calling it the Naughty Step… And, if all that wasn’t enough for a small dog to cope with, I’ve suffered the ultimate betrayal this weekend. She came home smelling of cat.
Now, you have to understand, my boy has a lot of cats. None of them are ‘his’. In fact, most of them don’t have any two-legses of their own… or else they flit between homes… but they all come to be fed every day. That’s okay. I can cope with that… even though they are another reason I don’t get to go with her any more. It’s good that he looks after animals. But I can smell the difference between a part-time cat and one that thinks it owns somebody.
This one is different… I can tell by the way it has been weaving itself round her legs and rubbing its face on her feet. She says she just feels sorry for it, ’cause it just lives outside in my boy’s garden. It turned up around Christmas, so they called it Claus, ’cause its claws were too long. Its fur was all matted and it was really thin and scared. So, she started feeding it. Big mistake! And now, it thinks it owns my two-legs!
She says she’s not so much a cat-person, just a creature person. She doesn’t like to see things in trouble. She promises faithfully that she won’t be bringing it home with her and that I needn’t worry.
She says she still loves me, even if I did eat her chocolates… okay, and the biscuits.
Even so. I think I’ll be on my best behaviour this week… just in case.
If I can manage it…