Be forewarned, this is another “dogs versus cats” post, inspired by the fact that my younger son went and bought yet another puppy (see below – his name is Prince) to keep his first puppy company, obviously. But because my son works a lot (like I don’t), and because I love animals (like I do), I end up puppy-sitting quite a bit, which – although I don’t mind so much, I can’t say the same for my husband – has literally turned my house has into a poop-filled, barf-covered, meowing, barking, growling, hissing nuthouse. As if it wasn’t crazy enough already.
You see, the cats hate the dogs. HATE the dogs. Particularly Lionel. They want them dead. I can see it in their squinted to sliver-sized, golden eyes, and I can hear it in their low, rumbling, thunder-like snarls. Conversely, the dogs might have wanted to play with the cats – in the beginning – but after getting swatted in the face on more than one “holy shit, that hurts” occasion, they have since given up on the possibility, and turned to a life of “let’s see if we can piss these felines off as much as is dogly possible” mayhem, which is a lot, let me tell you.
Also, because the new puppy is the size of a hamster (no joke), he cannot – let me repeat, CANNOT – be put down and left to roam the house alone. A few things could (and would) happen, if we allowed this. He would a) get stepped on, for sure. Seriously, you can barely see him, especially if you are looking down from human height. It’s like he’s a walnut that a someone dropped on the floor. Or a balled up kid’s sock. Or an hors d’oeuvre of some kind, something with bacon.