By Becky Holland, firstname.lastname@example.org
Friends, blog followers and family members have heard about the gansta chickens who thought they ruled our whole neighborhood. A few gasped when I told them about the six week mouse family reunion when my house played host to 42 little gray furry creatures.
My dog – not used to be a country, rural dog – was on the verge of a nervous breakdown with all the flurry of weird looking creatures.
Things are a little settled, and all but maybe two or three of the mice seem to be gone for good. We have not seen the chickens for weeks.
We thought we would have a Sunday afternoon of peace, quiet and enjoyment of the crisp Fall air. Um, not.
We are moving to a new chalet … I like that word, makes it sound all fancy and stuff … so I was cleaning and packing up some boxes. I had all the blinds up in the house, so Toby could see what was up outside, and the sun would shine in once the rain clouds disappeared.
I was in the kitchen when I heard “Woof, Woof, Woof, Grrrrrrr, Woof.” It was not the Tobster’s normal bark. He was acting like Batman fighting off villians and his tone had a hint of Barry White deepness and the evilness of Dr. No.
Something had set him off. He was pawing at the windows like he was a gangster trying to show off his guns – his muscles.
I looked outside. Our little side yard had now become the sanctuary for all the neighborhood cats – strays and those that belonged to my neighbors. I counted three perched here and there in the yard. They didn’t seem phased at all by the noise Tobias was making – which irritated him even more.
There was nothing passive about him. In fact, he was running from window to window to get a closer look and warn the cats that this was his block and they needed to scram. I could see the sweat beads popping from his forehead, and I swear his heart was beating so hard and so fast, I saw it.
He bumped into my leg and stopped, looked at me. “Aggressive much, are we?” I swear he cocked his head at me and his eyes were as wild as a child let loose in Toys R Us.
I knew I had to do something before my sweet canine had a heart attack or something. I walked outside, and took a pot with me. I banged on it as loud as I could toward the cats.
They didn’t go running, but I swear I saw a squirrel feign a heart attack, ala Fred Sanford, and “This is the Big One, Elizabeth.”
I walked back inside, feeling a little defeated. Who ever heard of cats not being scaredy?
Toby was sitting in the middle of the bed when I walked in – his eyes were big, wide and scarey. Now I know who I scared.
I closed the blinds, turned down the lights and sat with Toby on the bed, scratching his back, while his favorite movie – Marmaduke played on the tablet.
His first therapy appointment is Monday.