Collusion

When we first brought home our faithful hound, Softie, I had little hope that she and the cat, Sophie, would ever be able to co-exist.

For the first three weeks we had them both in the same house, but hardly ever in the same room. The few times we did have them in the same room together, it was under rigidly controlled circumstances. There were leashes, treats, and tranquilizer guns involved. To her credit, the cat handled everything pretty well. She was mellow.

Softie, though, was not. Every encounter meant tugging on the leash and an incessant string of barking. Sometimes Softie says the meanest things. I suspect there’s some alcoholism in her past.

Then, one day, as if by magic, they were chill. Just chill. Softie stopped barking incessantly, and Sophie stopped running away (because we have a scratchy rug in the living room that she likes and refuses to abandon under any circumstances, not even a hyper-sniffing-licking 25-pound dog).

It’s pretty clear to me now that they’ve been planning what went down last Sunday night for a couple months now.

Now, I thought I’d seen the weirdest thing in my life when the Raiders beat the Steelers with less than 100 yards of total offense. But you can explain that (The Steelers suck this year. There. I said it.).

Anyway, I was making a couple turkey and cheese sandwiches for my lunch on Monday. Wheat bread, spicy whole grain mustard. Heck yeah. De-frickin’-licious. I had one of the two sandwiches secured in a plastic bag and was readying the second for insertion when I heard Jen screaming upstairs in the bedroom.

When I got upstairs, Jen was holding her clock radio in her hand. It was unplugged. I repeat – unplugged, but it was still somehow managing to play I Will Survive at an unreasonably high volume. The clock radio was unplugged because the cat jumped on Jen’s nightstand and knocked a glass of water on it. So Jen’s holding an unplugged, drenched electronic appliance that is playing I Will Survive at an unreasonably high volume.

I decide instantly that I don’t feel comfortable with a devil-clock radio and decide to take it out to the dumpster. I do so, and as I close the lid, Gloria Gaynor gets in the last words: “Go on now, go. Walk out the door. Just turn around now. You’re not welcome anymore.”

My thoughts exactly.

When I walk back in the door, I head upstairs to make sure Jen’s alright. She’s calmed down. Apparently everything happened very fast and it just startled her. No problems. She’ll use her phone for an alarm clock for a little while.

When I go back down to the kitchen. My second sandwich is gone. Just gone. Not a trace. There’s nothing to suggest that it ever existed. No crumbs. Nothing.

Nothing that is, until the next morning when Softie "delivers the goods." We only feed our dog one diet. So when she deviates from it, it's pretty obvious.

So the dog got my delicious turkey sandwich, and the cat got rid of the alarm clock that startles her every morning.

Well played, Sophie and Softie. Well played.

The dog is now on double-secret-dog probation and the cat, well… the cat is probably going to just go on being a cat.

What can you do?