I know I have mentioned my furry housemates before.
They are my sounding boards when, after a trip to the big box store, I come home bewildered and irritated at the people I encounter. I usually just figure oh you know “the people of box store.” They are from all types, and the variety is vast and diversified.
My last trip, which left me complaining to the cats, I encountered the spinning dancing Mom who couldn’t bother to look out for other shoppers and was reminded constantly by her daughter to look where she was going. Small – but irritating none the less.
So I talk to my pets.
Just for the record, the dog is 14. She has little hearing, and I don’t believe her vision is great anymore. Fourteen is a pretty good age for a Welsh Corgi. Short dogs with bad backs is in their description.
Lizzy is named for Queen Elizabeth of England, who also has Corgi’s.
Her full name is Elizabeth’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I believe she has assumed the persona of her name benefactor. Unlike the queen, she doesn’t have a button to push summoning a household servant to escort visitors who have overstayed their welcome, but, I am sure she would use one if it was available.
Lizzy has developed very selective hearing. My voice, household common noises and lawnmowers no longer interest her.
Cats yowling, doorbells and vacuum cleaners may get a response.
Lizzy also developed a bad sort of dog attitude toward the cats. She has no time or patience for their antics. I have kept them apart for quite a time, but now she sleeps so soundly, she pays them no mind.
So the Queen sleeps, eats and ignores the rest of us. Complaining to her about anything is just waste time.
The cats, on the other hand, have turned into late summer jerks. Somewhere in their live in contract, which I am unable to find, is a clause about everyone not having a tail must exit the large upstairs bed by 6 am. 7 am on weekends.
If you do not get up and leave the bed fir them all heck breaks loose.
The yowling starts shortly after 6.
If this goes unnoticed it is followed by the trampoline move. This is a jump which lands the small one on my back or stomach. You are thinking, just grab that kitty and relocate them outside the room?
Not so fast, there is never a cat in sight once the initial jump is made. If you have to search and find you might as well get up and let them have the bed.
The trampoline artist also has to pass me and beat me to the lower level. She also attacks the old , fluffy male cat. She is, as I have said, a jerk. But she can hear and lets me complain about some of the people I have encountered.
My problems are trivial; my complaints are solved by not having pets. But I love them like family, and I have promised to keep them till their quality of life is no longer good.
I am glad I have an old dog; she is mine, and I will be her servant as long as I can. I love my cats and have never lived without cats in my life.
But for now the dog is getting old, and the cats are jerks. And so it goes.
Dogs are royalty, cats are jerks