Play Toys

New cat, new play toys. I think it says that in the pet owner's manual.

The three AM woofing - Portie CJ wants out. Maybe it's something she heard outside. Maybe her bladder is sending subtle reminders of the big gulps of just before bedtime water. Maybe the snoring (pick a suspect) bothers her and this is payback.

Of course everyone wants to go out. Even Gilda - her MARPAT-like coat would make her impossible to find in the dark. And what would the neighbors say, old man wandering the backyard in his underwear yelling "Goddammit, Gilda."

The commotion has awakened ancient Pap Radar, who bumper-cars underfoot. Letting him out means going out to get him - blind, deaf, incontinent and now internal radar on very low gain. What the.... But, improbably, he finds his way back to the door. Grabbing a fresh ace wrap and him takes a practiced hand, especially pre-dawn. Practice...yes. Patience...no.

It's happening and.... What is the end of the ace stuck on? Tugging only anchors it....

"Dammit Gilda! The end of the ace is not a play thing."

While unhooking the end from her tiger claws Radar wanders off and pees on the floor. The big dogs look on, sniff and amble off to bed.

I roll up the wrap and start off in pursuit of the tiny dog dribbling down the hallway. And step into a dog dish.

I have now become yet another source of amusement for the new cat.