This crew still tears me up. Things have been kinda quiet the past few days, no major traumas, fights, or shenanigans. Then Patty bought Mac a new toy. It looks like a little dumbbell, about a foot long, with the texture and feel of a basketball.
I'm sitting here at the puter reading the ng's (lots of good posts, by the way) when Mac decides it's time to play. He comes running up to me, tail wagging like a windshield wiper gone berserk, with the new toy in his mouth. He wants to PLAY. I want to read.
The little mutt keeps poking me with that thing and growling until I finally grab it out of his mouth and throw it the length of the room. He goes bounding after it, growling and acting as if he were chasing something really cool.
The puter and I are at one end of the dining room; the far wall of the living room is about thirty feet, So he gets enough room to build up momentum. He's really barreling along when he gets to the other end. In the middle of this space is a high-backed Queen Anne chair. Willoughby is asleep in that chair, out of sight. Sasha is snoozing on the floor where a patch of sunlight streaming through the window makes a cozy place for a cat-nap.
Mac grabs the toy and gallops furiously back to Poppa, so excited his ears are beating him senseless (Mac, not Poppa). With a flourish he drops the treasure at my feet and eagerly waits another 'fetch.' So I oblige. Almost.
Mac's boisterous charge has both cats wondering what in the name of John Wayne's butt is going on. So just as I throw the toy, Willoughby jumps up on the back of the chair just in time to get hit with said toy, which knocks him off the chair onto Sasha, who has run over to see what all the excitement is. Meantime, Mac, in hot pursuit of his playpretty, knocks both of them arse over teacup.
For once Sasha is speechless. She stares unbelievingly at Mac's rapidly retreating behind, unable to react. Willoughby stares at me and starts licking his paw. He's giving me the bird!
Interesting morning, what?