The cat palace
I came downstairs this morning to find King Bob, the Wench's dog, sleeping soundly in his box. Normally I would have taken a moment to 'ooh' and 'ahh' and treat him like a baby, but I was quite thirsty and instead set about making myself some tea and toast for breakfast.
After a few minutes, I heard Bobby stir in the living room, and he plodded through to the kitchen to be let outside.
Bobby was outside for a little less than his normal wee time when he started barking manically and wanted to be let back in right now. When I opened the door, he thundered straight through to the living room, still barking, knocking over anything in his way.
Eventually, Bobby stopped barking. He turned round and looked at me with a sort of half-quizzical, half-concerned expression, as if to say, What? We're under attack! Can't you tell we're under attack?
Maybe the Wench would listen. King Bob thundered upstairs and tried to get the Wench's attention; alas, her door was closed, so instead he decided to steal my seat while I fetched my tea from the kitchen. When I came through to the living room and sat down, he jumped onto my lap and pressed against my tummy as if to say, Save me! Save me from the invaders!
I then remembered that the neighbours are having a new shed built in their garden. Bobby's already scared of their cat. From his perspective, the cat has probably succeeded in gaining control of the humans and is proceeding to have a palace built next to the border, from which to taunt King Bob and plan the inevitable invasion of our back yard. Then King Bob will have nowhere left to wee.
King Bob has every reason to be scared.
After a few minutes, I heard Bobby stir in the living room, and he plodded through to the kitchen to be let outside.
Bobby was outside for a little less than his normal wee time when he started barking manically and wanted to be let back in right now. When I opened the door, he thundered straight through to the living room, still barking, knocking over anything in his way.
Eventually, Bobby stopped barking. He turned round and looked at me with a sort of half-quizzical, half-concerned expression, as if to say, What? We're under attack! Can't you tell we're under attack?
Maybe the Wench would listen. King Bob thundered upstairs and tried to get the Wench's attention; alas, her door was closed, so instead he decided to steal my seat while I fetched my tea from the kitchen. When I came through to the living room and sat down, he jumped onto my lap and pressed against my tummy as if to say, Save me! Save me from the invaders!
I then remembered that the neighbours are having a new shed built in their garden. Bobby's already scared of their cat. From his perspective, the cat has probably succeeded in gaining control of the humans and is proceeding to have a palace built next to the border, from which to taunt King Bob and plan the inevitable invasion of our back yard. Then King Bob will have nowhere left to wee.
King Bob has every reason to be scared.