This morning did not get off to a great start to say the least. First of all, it’s Monday. Strike one. But I’m used to Monday’s by now so that wasn’t out of the ordinary.
The Accountant left for work while I was walking Cooper. Doggie and I get back from our walk and he goes in the kitchen as usual, confined securely by two babygates. Or so I thought.
I’m in the shower and I hear barking. That’s not abnormal either but the loud THUD I hear soon after is. Of course I’m thinking burglar, complete with black turtleneck, skull cap, mask, a flashlight and a bag thrown over his shoulder to carry all the loot. I’m home alone, the alarm isn’t set (smart move yo) and the best defensive skills my dog has is a severe case of morning doggie breath and some wild tongue action. Besides, he’s locked in the kitchen and unless the burglar is after some dirty dishes or stale bread, Cooper isn’t going to be any help anyway. Great. So I do what any clear thinking woman would do in my situation. I jump out of the shower with my only weapon being a head covered in apple shampoo lather, the soaked birthday suit God gave me, and a jumbo bottle of Paul Mitchell conditioner wielded above my head, Captain Caveman style. Anyone who happens to be in the house will either flee in terror upon seeing me in this state or collapse in hysterical laughter. Either way will buy me enough time to grab my cell and call the cops.
Instead of an early morning thief, I find Cooper in the hallway. He’s crashed through the babygate and is now looking at his crazy mama in bewilderment. Can’t say I blame him as I look a smidge more psycho than he’s used to seeing. And now the chase is on because he realizes that I wouldn’t look like that for no reason and he’s done something bad.
Have you ever chased a dog through the house butt-nekkid and yelling while shampoo burns your eyeballs into two smoldering embers? Of course you have. I caught the dang dog and managed to get him into the basement before the neighbors heard the commotion and it became an even more embarrassing situation for everyone.
I got to thinking after I’d returned to the bathroom to finish my shower and wash off the dog hair, that he’d probably saw Cartman (our cat) and went after him. They do not have a good relationship as I’ve mentioned before. And after the poop-in-the-bed incident, I was certain that Carty would not hesitate to relieve himself in that same manner while The Accountant and I were both gone if in fact he’d already been traumatized by Cooper this morning. I wouldn’t go to the basement to crap if I were him either, if it meant there was a good chance that a 40 pound puppy would hurl himself through metal barriers at me while I was minding my own bizniz. And so I spent twenty hot and sweaty minutes (I am going to get some doozies of hits on this post I can tell) huffing and puffing massive bags of cat food and litter, litter box, water and food contraptions up the steps and into my closet.
I just hope the cat appreciates all my hard work just so he doesn’t have to ever again venture into the depths of the basement where a big brown slobbering beast lies in wait to devour his scrawny butt. Because if that cat poops on the bed again, after the morning I’ve had, we are going to quickly become a one pet household in a most violent and gruesome manner. And I’m not sure which pet I’d most want to get rid of at this point.