Indignity

Indignity. You might think that's too big a word for a dog. But I'm an educated dog.

I learned indignity at four and a half months old--neutered early.

These days, J's cats cause me the most trouble. (She calls them mine. Yeah)

Yesterday, That nut-job feline had a toy--I think it was a piece of rabbit hair glued to a tiny maraca of some kind. It doesn't take much for that animal to act insane. Anyway, he was jumping after it like it was a live mouse dusted with cat nip. By the way, this is not a small cat. He's not as big as the other one, but he's easily eleven pounds. So when his claw caught me on the way down from a wild leap, his momentum made it noteworthy.

Of course I made my feelings known. I don't usually bark or growl, so when I do, I make it count. The cat hid out for the rest of the day. Today, however, he's trying to make up. That's where the indignity comes in. The fuzzy little monster won't leave me alone, licking, purring, snuggling. *shudder* I may have to actually bite him before this is all over.

J thinks it's just so funny. See if I don't walk her into a potted plant the next time we go to the mall.


Cosmo