A little dog tale.

Certainly not a whole heck of a lot going on here in Wienerland,  with the exception of the weather being somewhat better today.   It’s still pretty warm mind you,  but the outside thermometer is only showing 30°C,  instead of the 37 it was showing yesterday. 

By the way,  that little “degree” sign?  It represents an ever so slight milestone here.  I was actually able to plug in the html code without looking it up!  Hazzah!

Gotta take pleasure in the little things I tell ya!

I don’t think that actually means I’m learning anything.  So don’t get too excited.  I’m not.

 

Some of you may recall that,  back in the fall some time,  my daughter had to put her cat down?  He was 14,  and when we were home in August he was already showing some signs that things were just not going well.  

He had lived a pretty good life all in all. 

 

This was Misha.

 

He turned out to be a long haired cat,  which meant fur all over the place,  so from time to time,  we’d send him off for a bit of a buzz.  

He didn’t really care for it all that much,  except of course for all the attention he would receive with his new found short fuzziness.  

So life was pretty darned good in the cat department.  For roughly the first 10 years of his life,  there was just him.  Lying around here and there,  getting up once in a while to take a dump or hork up a hairball on the carpet.  You know,  the usual disgusting cat things.

But then there came a day,  when there was the introduction of this character into kitty’s life. 

 

This is Kermit.

Kitty would have been about 11 at that point.  Just getting to that “old man”  stage.  You know,  when going to the bathroom is more or less like singlehandedly planning the invasion of Normandy?

 

I could be off on this,  but I think it was the fall of 08 that Kermit arrived on the scene.   Of course the cat would have preferred that he remain in this state …..

And actually,  I did prefer him in that state as well,  now that I think of it.

He’s getting better,  but he’s still an excitable boy.

 

But of course,  he was a puppy,  and really wanted to be buddies with Misha.   Or something.  He was a handful.  For all hands.

Let me just sum up this arrangement if I may?   If the term “irascible bastard”  could be applied to a cat,  I think that would pretty much sum up the way Misha treated the dog. 

I sort of “get it”.  I mean,  I know the first time when I came over to Europe back in ‘78 I guess it was,  it was all about making new friends,  and all that kind of lovey dovey stuff.  Good times.

At this point in my life?  I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m an “irascible bastard”,  since I don’t exactly snarl and growl at my neighbours anytime they come within three feet of me,  but just the same,  I have very little desire to become anyone’s ‘buddy’.  See what I’m saying?   I’m getting to that stage.  And sometimes yes,  going to the bathroom DOES seem like singlehandedly planning the invasion of Normandy.

 

I guess it was that way with the cat,  except he wasn’t polite in the least.  Hey, I’m polite to a fault, OK?

He just did NOT have any use for that dog.   We do think there were moments when they would in fact,  tolerate each other,  but only if nobody was around.  My son-in-law caught them on the bed a couple times.  Not sure what they were up to.   But if there were humans around?  Nope, he hated that dog.

 

As the way these things go with people and pets, in the absence of Misha,  it wasn’t too long before my daughter was pining for a new cat.  We don’t really live in that house at the moment so,  hey you wanna new cat?  Fill yer boots.  I did stipulate though that,  there wasn’t going to be any “sharing” with this one,  like there was with the last cat.  No kitty litter,  cat food or vet bills for me,  thank-you.  

That’s when Puck arrived on the scene.   Oh,  and he’s a short haired cat.  Finally got that part right.

My daughter has been putting pictures of these two on Facebook for months,  and so finally I asked her the other day if she’d send along a couple choice ones.

 

 

Puck likes being in the sink it seems.

So it turns out,  the dog just wanted a friend,  and the cat didn’t know any better.   Who knew?

 

 

These two are the best buddies you could imagine.

So is that it?  Is this the apocalypse?   Cats and dogs sleeping together? 

I’m getting a little worried.

 

Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.

 

Oh,  and see the pet hair?  Ya,  it’s gonna be in that house for years.

*groan*

 

 

Thanks for lookin’. 

 

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