Bah! Dog. At least I think it’s a dog. Smelly, yappy, panting thing.
Here. In my house. On my couch. Polluting my garden. Drinking my water. EATING MY FOOD.
It came on Tuesday. Its name is Buddy. It — oh, all right, he — has completely taken over the house. His stuff is everywhere, all over the floor. A silly green sock. A silly soft football. A silly squeaking pig.
I can’t do anything, go anywhere, without being reminded of his presence. He’s put me completely off my food.
Speaking of food: He actually stole some of mine! It’s not like he needs any extra food. I’ve seen him get bones and breakfast and dinner and treats. Nope. Definitely not lacking in sustenance. And still he must need steal mine. Off the table.
I cannot be expected to eat when he’s watching me. My food bowl has been moved onto the counter in the bathroom now, and I nibbled at it this afternoon. But after a few mouthfuls I looked up and there he was, standing at the bathroom door, staring, staring, with his beady brown velvet eyes. My stomach flipped with revulsion and I couldn’t eat any more.
But he is scared of me a little, I think. I haven’t yet needed to swipe his nose, although I am itching to do it. At the moment he’ll back down if I growl and hiss.
But I have been sharpening my claws, just in case.
And now I put to you a question: If you were cat (devilish or otherwise), how would YOU like it if your house got invaded by a dog?