Wednesday, May 30, 2007
I don't know why, but Ruby has been extraordinarily snuggly and kissy lately. Usually she would NEVER allow me to kiss her face - except under extreme duress LOL. And she rarely gives kisses, except when greeting us home. But lately? Snuggle bunny-o-rama. She will come up and give kisses for no real reason, tail wagging and everything. Hmmmm. Maybe she is plotting our demise with the cats and can no longer contain her glee. You see, I have a deep seated notion that people's pets spend most of their time plotting the demise of their dear owners. That is right! While we think Fido and Felix are fully bonded and dependant on us, they are really lying there wishing for opposable thumbs so they can finally put their diabolical plan on paper. Everybody knows, you need a paper plan. Sheesh. That is the only thing in their way, my friends. Once they get over that hurdle, we'll all be sleeping with the fishes. Or at least being held under the aquarium water by them. Yes, even the goldfish that kisses the top of the water and innocently swims back and forth gracefully wants to kill us. And the snail. Don't forget about the snail. They sail around the glass, chomping algae and looking sluggish and slow. Then one day? BAM! They attack like a speeding bullet and latch on, to suck us dry. Oh yes, my friends. I am not fooled. Not one little bit. I fully expect that if anything happens to me and I fall unconscious (or worse) that the first thing the cats will do is try to eat my eyeballs. I have no false assumptions. I understand our relationship. The minute my ability to fill the food dish is compromised, I am toast. I don't know that Ruby would try to eat me. No. She is more likely to be found cavorting across the kitchen table or happily snurfling through my underwear drawer upon realizing that I have fallen and cannot get up. What better opportunity to poop in DD's room, pee in the basement, and push all the DVD's off the coffee table for one and for all? Heck, push off the couch cushions too. It's not like I can stop you, little doggie. Every time I have to put my hand or arm in the tank, I wonder if this will be the day that Cedric decides to take his chance and go pirahna on my arse. Or Dora will decide to try her ninja snail tricks and fling herself at my neck to do me in. I look around to make sure the cats aren't peeking over the bannister holding the toaster, waiting to lob it into the water and electrocute me. Two for the price of one, finally getting out from under my dominance AND a tasty cooked fishy snack and escargot appetizer. See, the animals will PRETEND to work together for a common goal, but we all know how two faced cats are. You can't trust them as far as you can fling them. Frankie the canary is not immune to these thoughts either, I am sure. The cage he is in is as much to protect ourselves from being pecked to death in the night as it is to keep him safe from the cats and from escaping the house. Those canaries are small, but they are wiley. Sometimes when we have the windows open I can hear him singing, and he is answered by wild sparrows and finches from outside. Plotting with his wild brethren, no doubt. A friend once taught his cat how to open the fridge door and retrieve his own tuna snack. "Are you mad?!?!" I screamed, renting his garments and shaking him violently by the collar. "Don't you know this is the beginning of the end?!?!". He doesn't talk to us anymore. Brainwashed by the feline, I am sure. Once the cat knew I was on to his plan, he couldn't risk my involvement anymore. Yeah. That was what it was. Ahem. If ever a time comes that there is no blog, for say five days. And you know I am not on vacation or anything. Assume that I have been overtaken by the household zoo, and send reinforcements. *Hey. What the? Argh!* And cat treetz. Lots and lots of cat treetz. Bwa-ha-ha-haaaa!