|
|
|
|
|
|
In case there was ever any doubt about who's in charge around here, I just saw mine do something that answers any and all questions on the matter.
Maccabee, our miniature dachshund and favorite butt of all matters pertaining to the cats and their pecking order, was lying up against my thigh on the couch. Sasha, the resident grump, a siamese with permanent PMS, sauntered over, looked the situation over, and lay down at an angle to Mac with her head on his side for a pillow. She stretched and made herself very much at home, relaxing completely as only a cat can.
Mac raised his head and tried to move from under, but Sasha just looked him in the eye and growled softly. Mac gave a heartfelt sigh and settled back down. After a moment he s-l-o-w-l-y ooched just the slightest little bit to one side, whereupon Sasha reached out a dainty claw, snagged him by the ear, and gently pulled him back into place. Mac just stuck out his bottom lip and stayed put.
About that time Willoughby, our classic brown tabby ex-tom, raced through the living room in hot pursuit of some imaginary playmate, and Sasha leaped to the chase. She extended all her claws and used Mac for a springboard, digging in as she jumped.
You should have seen the look on Mac's face. His eyes went wide open as his head snapped up, but all he ccould do was stare and whimper. After a moment he jumped off the couch and ran after them. In less than ten seconds he was running back up on the couch with the cats right behind him. He took refuge behind me, shoving his head under the cushions and leaving his butt sticking up in the air.
It amazes me the difference between how these little hairy varmint critters get down from a couch or chair. The cats make it one long, gliding step, completely silent. Mac lands with a thud and smacks his chin on the floor.
Editor's note:
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
| Last article |
Story menu |
Main index |
Top of article |
Local menu |
Next article |