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.
Not exactly a ninja in this picture, but trust me, it happens.
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.
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.
Someone's not getting kissed on Valentines Day…
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.
Happy Birthday, Gink. Click here to read the sweet blog post I wrote about Ginker
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.)
Anyway, my morning started with a cat turd in my hand. That’s really all I wanted to say.