7pm. I get up and hover in the kitchen, eye the two sleeping animals (one cat, one dog) on the sofa.
Who’s hungry? I say.
Two little heads lift, ears twitching, eyes lighting up. Meow, says the devilcat. The puppy (visiting) just looks excited.
The devilcat is off the sofa first… Meow! Yes! Feed meeee!
But all the puppy sees is a furry little target. He leaps off the sofa towards the devilcat. The devilcat, recognising her peril, tears off through the kitchen, across the hall, back into the living room.
She’s a blur of black and white, speeding in a perfect circle, seeking the refuge of the sofa. He’s a fuzz of grey, claws clicking on the floorboards, scrambling for purchase, sliding around the corners in eager pursuit.
She springs onto the sofa, belying her flabby tummy and advancing years.
In all the excitement, puppy somehow finds himself on the sofa too. He jumps up and down with excitement, cowering only a little at the terrible deep growl coming from the devilcat.
“Bad dog, get down! Baaaaad dog. Grrr.” (Devilcat is allowed on the sofa without invitation. Puppy is not.)
Within minutes, the devilcat is back on her cushion in the exact same position, as if she’d never so much as flirted with the idea of eating dinner.
Puppy is on the floor, gazing up at her, then wanders off to get his dinner.
Me? I’m in hysterics.
8:30pm. Devilcat still has not eaten dinner.