How could you resist a little face like that?
|Pumpkin Being Cute on the Stairs|
Well, I'll tell you how. First off, the people at the Vet's office lied about Pumpkin's affection for canines. Over the past six months Pumpkin has not established a lasting friendship with Excellent Rachmaninoff, and to be just a little more accurate, a simple thing like a mutual non-aggression treaty seems to be well beyond Pumpkin's diplomatic skills, and that's saying something. The result of all this is that Pumpkin lives upstairs behind Main Lady's version of the Berlin Wall, a structure that was somewhat ironically constructed by the German Democratic Republic, or GDS, that serves to keep fascist dogs out and lovable felines safe. If I don't stop right now, I'm going to digress right into politics. So -
About a month or so ago some relative of Dante's turned up on the front lawn and Main Lady fed her, then confessed what she'd done and denied any intention of ever taking the little cat inside. I don't know just who she was trying to kid, but during the recent Independence Day holiday the three little darlings were in town and had a delightful time playing with the diminutive feline in the back yard and pestering Main Lady to giver her a home.
This is Ebony, the newest addition to the household. Ebony is very friendly, although she seems a bit shy around Excellent Rachmaninoff (he likes to chase things, and if a cat runs he'll happily give chase - what do you expect? He's a terrier.) but the two are slowly establishing a few ground rules and I'm sure they'll come to terms.
I think it's likely that Ebony and Dante are related, but Ebony has a tiny white spot on her chest and so is from the inferior side of the family. Main Lady wants this kept quiet, but I don't mind talking about it - every family has a few skeletons somewhere.
Main Lady's thought was that since Ebony and Rachmaninoff seemed to be very likely to get along well together, then Pumpkin would see this and learn all about dogs from Ebony and we'd be one big happy family. Okay, before anyone starts up let me remind all of you that Main Lady is a liberal, and this is the way liberals think. I don't care; I love her anyway. What the Hell, she puts up with my crap doesn't she?
Recalling the statements by the helpful people at the Vet's office, Main Lady introduced Pumpkin to Ebony on neutral ground - the second floor landing. The resulting racket is best described as a Sawzall ripping through eight feet of corrugated sheet metal roofing.
Ebony has retreated to the basement and is likely making overtures to the dog about military alliances and oppressive neighbors. Pumpkin is whistling Yankee Doodle and has expanded the Berlin border to including the staircase landing. Excellent Rachmaninoff is a dog, and so is waiting for the next opportunity to raid the garbage.
One thing I have (so far) resisted pointing out to Main Lady is that the people at the Vet's office will say anything to get a cat adopted. They want the cat to go to a happy home run by Moonbat vegetarians, but in a few
The question of the day at Main Lady's place is obvious: What do we do now? I don't have to consult Big Mike on this, because I know what he'd say.
"I don't see the problem. Just put all three of them in the back bedroom and close the door. Eventually the noise will stop, then you wait a day or two before you open the door. Whichever critter walks out is the winner; the other two are food." Big Mike pauses a minute. "You know now that I think about it, you're better off waiting a full week after the noise stops. Just make sure you put in enough water. That way you won't have any remains to deal with."
The flaw in Big Mike's plan is that the dog will win and the remains will be doggie doo-doo on the carpet. Which reminds me that if I ever have a dog that won't hunt and that craps on the kitchen floor, I'm going to name him Politician.
Dispensing with the levity, anyone who has any ideas - constructive ideas - about a good solution to this dilemma, feel free to sound right off.