Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Cat Feathers

When I arrived home from work yesterday, I found a rather wrinkly piece of yellow legal paper folded up and stuffed under the edge of my computer monitor’s pedestal.
So, I sat down and very carefully removed the paper, reluctant to see what might be written on it. In fact, I think I actually closed my eyes when I opened it.
You can imagine my surprise when I saw all the ink blots and splotches and paw prints… yes, that’s right… paw prints on the page. I looked around quickly and found a blotchy, black spot on the carpet and the remains of a Pilot-G2 C7 ballpoint pen… one of my favorite writing utensils.
I scanned quickly down the page and sure enough, just as I suspected, it was signed simply: the Pug.
It was not the first such letter I have received from the Pug. Oh, sure, you’re thinking that I’m imagining things. Pugs would never use a ballpoint pen to write a letter. I know it sounds incredible since Pugs normally use felt tip markers when they write, but my Pug is different. She writes with G2’s and then she proceeds to destroy them so that no one can ever use them again. Some kind of religious belief, I understand.
Anyway, she was lodging yet another complaint about the terms of our Master/Dog contract wherein she is required to get out of my chair when I come home. Normally, she jumps down and meets me at the door, barking, howling and making all sorts of common Pug noises in order to let me know that her bowl is empty, she wants to go outside and she needs a new treat to chew on. These issues are covered in Chapter Two, paragraph 3, subparagraph b wherein I am obliged to see to these needs before doing absolutely anything else up to and including putting down bags of groceries or other items I might be carrying at the time. (This sometimes gets a bit tricky and I would have negotiated a bit more leeway had I realized the magnitude of problems incident to compliance with subparagraph b.)
Never-the-less, subparagraph b was not her major concern. It was subparagraph a in paragraph 2 that had her in an uproar wherein she is required to vacate my chair when, in her opinion, prompt vacating is unnecessary since I must comply with paragraph 3, subparagraph b and thus ‘cheating’ her out of another three to four minutes chair-time. As I was eschewing her written complaint, I noticed that she was not in the room with me which was highly unusual. I got up and went in search of her, wishing to talk it over with her. I wanted to remind her that she could not comfortably point out her needs from my chair, which is nowhere close to the door I use when I come home, nor can she run outside through the patio doors if she is sitting in my chair.
I looked for her in the bedroom, the bathroom, the spare bedroom and the kitchen. I even went outside and checked the backyard in mounting panic, thinking that perhaps I had left her outside while I was gone.
Strange, I thought. Where could she be? I went back to my bedroom and walked around the bed. There to my horror was my favorite feather pillow, disemboweled and flat on the floor. Feathers were everywhere!
Suspicious of foul play, I turned slowly and looked at my bed. The spread appeared unruffled. Cautiously, I reached out and placed my hand on the lump where my feather pillow should have been and what do you think I found?
Nope, not the Pug! It was the neighbor’s cat! My pug was hiding in the linen closet. Turned out that the Pug had paid the kitty to impersonate the pillow in a bid to trick me. Furthermore, the letter was nothing more than a ruse, a first strike employed in an effort to distract me.
Well, needless to say, the Pug spent the night in the linen closet while the kitty pretended to be my pillow. It was a bit touch and go at first, but once I had the pillow sham over her head, it was all down hill.

1 comment:

  1. Is that your pug? If so, she's just too adorable to deny her anything. Besides, I recommend she gets a lawyer to renegotiate the contract. Meanwhile, I tip my hat to her ingenuity in soliciting the cat.

    Tread carefully, Mr. Carroll. Tonight when you reach into the fridge for that cold one, look at it carefully. Your pug could have enlisted the help of that scary penguin from the old beer commercials. You know, the one..."Dooby dooby doo"