Uno is like a ninja. A
slow, clumsy ninja that smells like dog. Ok, so that doesn’t sound very
ninja-like. Then again, I am also exceptionally unobservant, so he gets away
with a lot. His M.O. is to wait until I am not looking or concentrating on
something else, usually the computer screen. Then he tiptoes ever so slowly
past me, takes whatever forbidden item he wants (used tissue, waded up paper
ball, wooden ghost figurine) softly in his jaws, and then tiptoes out again.
When he is safely out of sight, he picks up speed, taking the treasure to his
lair (a.k.a. pillow) to devour it.
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Not exactly a ninja in
this picture, but trust me, it happens.
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I know this is what
happens because while I am writing, things go missing from my office and end up
mutilated in Uno's bed. Also one time I randomly turned around during a
marathon writing session to catch my dog, head low, paw raised in silent
tiptoe, wadded-up paper towel clutched in jaws, frozen behind me on the way out
of my room. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of us.
Well this morning… (spoiler
alert: things get a little gross)… Uno got a little too bold. He found a
treasure so awesome that it warranted some unprecedented ninja-ing. He could
not dare to leave this prize unguarded until I was safely distracted, so he
attempted to carry it right past me while I was looking directly at him.
It didn't work.
I was in the hallway when
Uno slunk out of Mark's office, head low, paws moving carefully, shoulders gliding
up and down in an extremely deliberate fashion. He was making his way to his pillow,
but he was doing it with finesse. Seriously. If dogs could be nonchalant, then
Uno was the king of cool. Except they can't. Cause... they're dogs. He might as
well have been wearing a t-shirt that said, “Nothing to see here. Just acting
casual.” Even if I had bought into Uno's super-chill attitude, he was still in
trouble because I could see something sticking out of his mouth. It looked
like a cigar. I said, "Uno, drop it." He looked at me, knowing he was
caught, but unwilling to give up his prize. I wasn’t in the mood for games. It
was early and I was still sort of sleepy (OBVIOUSLY since I had not yet figured
out that we don't smoke and the thing protruding from my dog’s mouth could not
possibly be a cigar) and so I grabbed his collar before he could run. Then I reached into his mouth to
extract... a large cat turd.
Yeah.
This event actually
happened hours ago, but I couldn't write as I have been washing my hands ever
since. And brushing the dog's teeth.
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Someone's not getting kissed
on Valentines Day…
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Today is actually the 14th
birthday of Gink (the dropper of the turd). I could ask him WHY he pooped on the floor where the dog
could get it, instead of in the litterbox, or at least NEAR the litterbox, but
I didn’t. I don’t ask why
anymore. There’s just no
point. My guess is that he took
that birthday card that said, “It's your day! Do whatever you want!” too literally. It’s probably also why he has spent the
rest of the day meowing in my face, beating up on the other cats, and jumping
up into the top of the closet and refusing to come down. It’s my fault really. I
never should have bought him that card.
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in December of 2011. It sounds a little sentimental now. I
wrote it before
the vet told me Gink could easily have another good five years left
in him.
(That news was received differently by various members of the household.)
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Anyway, my morning started
with a cat turd in my hand. That’s
really all I wanted to say.
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