Dog turning into a cat

Good grief! Friday evening I started to get sick. My tummy was pounding. So I dragged my mom out half a dozen times. She didn’t get much sleep.

“The vet gave me some miracle pills to nip this in the bud,” she grumbled. “But I ran out.”

So Saturday morning, we were off to the vet first thing. Well, almost. Mom had to do some work on her computer and I seemed to be better.

We saw that nice Dr. Kira. I always enjoy coming when she’s the vet on duty.

But not today. Dr. Kira said, “Gracie is too fat! She should eat 2/3 cup of food, twice a day. And cut back on the treats.”

There goes the neighborhood.

I also have to get my teeth cleaned. And my mom keeps shoving pills down my throat. She refused to feed me last night.

“Your tummy needs a rest,” she said firmly. “And so do I.”

Well, I took matters into my own four paws. Mom was feeling relaxed and happy after hearing the Jupiter Symphony at a concert downtown. We went to bed early.  I curled up on my cushion at the foot of Mom’s bed, like I’m supposed to. But I was hungry.

Mom was so exhausted she didn’t hear me jump off the bed and head for the kitchen, where I polished off all the cat food. Usually she wakes up when I move an inch.

When Mom woke up this morning, I was lying next to her, in Ophelia’s spot, on Ophelia’s cat cushion. Ophelia was pacing around looking disgruntled.

Mom leaped out of bed. “Gracie, you are not a cat! What are you doing here? Oh no…” She ran to the kitchen.

Sure enough. I couldn’t hide the evidence: two empty plates on Mom’s kitchen floor.

“Gracie, either you start sleeping in your crate again or the cats will learn to eat on the counter,” Mom said.

Good luck, Mom. Ophelia refuses to jump. I think that cat is afraid of heights.

Luckily, I seemed fine. Mom took me for a walk. I showed no ill effects of scarfing down two helpings of cat food. Mom is going to take me to the dog lounge, following our usual Sunday routine.

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