My mom just posted a note to Facebook about my Regrade Park problem. I no longer want to hang around the park these days. Almost as soon as we arrive, I’m ready to go home. Of course, Cathy gets frustrated. She likes to chat with the park regulars and watch me run around.
All sorts of people suggested she talk to an animal communicator – someone who can read my mind.
Get real. Remember when we hired the cat shrink? My mom had to get her money back.
We already talk to the mom.
Ophelia speaks loudest. The fat fuzzball is deeply grateful for being adopted. She loves living here. She adores my mom. She’s always coming over for a pat. She doesn’t even mind being brushed as long as it doesn’t go on too long. She never complains and she waits patiently till the coast is clear so she can gobble up her crunchies. She looks adoringly at my mom with those big round eyes and she commandeered the best spot on my mom’s bed.
Creampuff is more like, “Hey, I’d rather be an outdoor jungle cat. But every so often I’ll favor you with a rub or a yowl. Just keep my dish full at all times.” Creampuff can jump to the kitchen counter and eat anytime she wants. She explores closets and has a tendency to get shut up behind closed doors. Ophelia’s too big to do any of those things.
Me? I still think I should have taken a better picture for the Internet. If I’d held out a little longer, maybe Bill Gates would have adopted me. Unconditional love? That’s just fine for other dogs. Mine is conditional on the quality of my treats, my walks and my place on the mom’s bed.