Yesterday my mom Cathy dropped me off in the Dog Lounge while she ran a couple of errands. Yaay! I played happily for a few hours, graciously accepting adoration from the staff. They know a CUPPIE when they see one (Canine Urban Princess, if you haven’t read the earlier posts).
The weather was cold and Cathy didn’t feel like hanging around the dog park. “At this rate we’ll be wearing our parkas to the Fourth of July celebration,” she muttered.
She exaggerates. She was running around in a sweatshirt and shorts…a far cry from her parka and woolly hats, which I have pretty much destroyed anyway.
As we’re returning home, the nice female bus driver says, “What a nice dog. She’s your baby, isn’t she? You’re her mom.”
What a perceptive bus driver!
Cathy: “Well, I won’t be getting a Mother’s Day gift from her.”
Bus driver: “What do you mean? She’ll give you love and kisses!
Cathy: “More likely I’ll get presented with a chewed-up sock.”
Driver (laughing): “Yeah, that too.”
Hmm. Too bad I can’t go home with that nice bus driver.
Oh well. This morning I’m sleeping angelically on the couch, tummy filled with gourmet crunchies. Life is good.
Cathy should be grateful. Her aging tabby cat defines a hairball as the perfect gift, Mother’s Day or otherwise.