Yeah, so yesterday I wrote that I couldn’t wait until noon today, when I got off work and could get my vacation started. Now. Those of you who know me well, take a wild guess where I’m typing this from?
In my jammies, at home, on the computer in my bedroom. What kind of will power do you think I have? I’m only human, after all. No meetings, nothing hugely important to do, the last day before the holidays, and only intending to make it a half-day anyway? Yeah. Sure I’ll go into work.
Poor Calvin. All the rest of us staying home, and he still had to go into work. I’ll admit that we rubbed it in, just a little.
So I got up this morning (because after Calvin left, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Of course.). Looked out into the back yard, and noticed that someone must have been using the hot tub last night because the cover was off and the water was steaming in the cold morning air. So I went out back to check the temperature, and the dogs all flipped out to see me. They were so excited that I felt bad about leaving them out there, so I let them in to hang out. We’ve left them outside for the past week, giving Oz a chance to heal up before we let him play with the dogs again.
I then went in search of Oz, who has usually been spending the night in one of the kids’ rooms. Found him in Michael’s, perched at the foot of the bed and staring expectantly at the door. I started to carry him downstairs, when he spied the dogs waiting at the foot.
“Lllllllllet’s get ready to rrrrrrrrrrumble!!!”
He arched up in my arms with a roar (I kid you not) and started spitting and hissing as if he’d never seen them before in his life. I let him down before he beat me to death, and he booked it back up the stairs. Kye started to follow, but I ordered her back. I chuckled, and called the dogs to me, to lay on the rug in the hallway outside my bedroom door so I could keep an ear on them.
I got a cup of coffee, went back into the bedroom, and started updating my food log. I knew Oz would make his way back downstairs, and I was listening for the dogs to get up again. I heard Kye shift around, and low, looooong, menacing growl. I stuck my head out the bedroom door, and Oz was at the end of the hallway, arched to twice his normal size, glaring balefully at the pack of dogs lying between him and my lap.
I walked over to pick him up, and he started growling again as I carried him past the dogs. Not two seconds after I sat down, he jumped out of my lap and went back over to the open bedroom door. And there he sat; yowling, growling, spitting, hissing, and teasing the dogs who were behaving very well and staying just outside the bedroom door as they’re supposed to.
Frickin’ Drama Queen, this cat is.
Then the cat started sniffing around the bedroom, and I realized he hadn’t gotten a chance to use his litterbox all night, closed up in Michael’s bedroom. So I put the dogs back out again, and carried the cat over to his box. Got his breakfast for him, refilled my coffee, and walked back into the bedroom.
A few minutes go by, and then I hear a light pat-tapping, and Oz doing his little chirrup that he does when he’s playing. I get up (again) and look into the living room. Oz is patting at the glass separating him from Kye, who is poking at the glass with her nose (we’ve given up trying to keep that door clean). So I walk over to open the door and let the dogs back in again, now that Oz has had a chance to settle himself and eat.
YOWL! SPIT! HISS! ARCH!
The dogs race by him and run straight to the hallway, lying down and looking at me like, “See? We can be good! We’ll just stay right here.” Oz, prowling and growling, sits down two feet from Kye’s tail. Kye wiggles and whines, wanting to go chase the cat but knowing that I’ll put her out again if she doesn’t settle.
Gadget, emboldened by Kye’s presence (because when he’s alone with the cat he’s a complete chicken shit), proceeds to prod the cat with his nose. This causes Oz to stand up, affronted. So Gadget sticks his nose up the cat’s butt. Oz jumped THREE FEET up in the air, spun around mid-flight, smacked Gadget’s head with a THWACK THWACK twice before landing again, and high tailed it (no pun intended) into the bedroom and under the bed.
With a yip, Kye chased after him but stopped short at the edge of the bedroom (good dog!). It took me another five minutes to get her settled and lying down again. Gypsy, of course, was lying right where she was told at the very beginning and hadn’t moved an inch, other than to watch the happenings with interest.
She’s my favorite.
So. The cat’s growling from under the bed, Kye’s planted at the edge of the carpet, whining, and I’m *trying* to update my blog. Then I hear a familiar “scrape scrape scrape”. I sneak out into the kitchen, and I see Gadget’s wiggling behind as he licks the cat’s dish clean. I tiptoe up behind him, he sees me at the last second and tries to bolt. I grab him by the collar, and he starts to yip and screetch like I’m murdering him. He wiggles and thrashes and moans, his high pitched hollers bouncing off the tile and echoing around the house.
Frickin’ Drama Queen.
I pulled him over to the cat’s dish, pointed at it, and hollered “No no no!!!” Then banished him outside, he all the while screaming like I’m beating him to a bloody pulp. Once outside, he shut up, and is now “grrruff!”-ing at the birds, the breeze, the rocks, the air…
I gave up, left Kye and Gypsy snoozing on the hall rug, carried the cat into the bedroom, and shut the damned bedroom door.