Problems with the Neighbors

I've been spending more time on my bed lately, and not because I've been tired. It all started a few days ago when I met a couple of new neighbors. One is gray and white, and the other is all black...and they're both - Cats. Ugh.

No offense to Bubba Zee, my fellow blogger, (who incidentally underwent a rather traumatic day at the hands of his humans, which you can read all about here) but cats really are mean. On purpose. And I think they actually enjoy it. I really do.

I know, cats really don't have facial expressions. They just have funny-shaped snouts that make them look like they're all superior and everything...but I think I've caught these two smiling (actually it was more like smirking) as they watch me get...well...a little upset.

The gray and white one started it the other day. He (or maybe it's she, I can't get close enough to tell) came strutting up and plopped right down under my house. Imagine that? Right under my house. Which I guard when I'm outside. So naturally I gave chase, and he (or she) took off running. So far so good. But then, the cat turned around and noticed I was at the end of my hook. (Dad and Mom keep me attached to the hook so I don't run away and chase the heard on the wide black trail out front)

That cat came strolling back toward me, just as snooty-casual as you please, and sat down just past the farthest I could reach. And started licking his (her) paws. AAAAHHHHHH!!! What could I do? I had to bark. I had to, right? Wouldn't you? Of course you would.

Well, that was the first time I got brought inside for barking. I mean, I didn't even hear dad say "no barking". I was in the zone, ya know?
Well, anyway, the gray and white remembered right where my hook ended...and now, his (her) favorite trick is to stroll right up to that spot, and sit down. And smirk. Very funny.

That would be bad enough, but it didn't end there. No. He (she) went and told his (her) friend, black cat, about it. And black cat found the other spot where my hook ends. The one right across from the front door of the house. Talk about humiliating!

So that's why I bark. Dad says I have to be a "patient doggie" (whatever that means) and not bark. I don't get that at all. I mean, dogs bark at cats. Right? That's what we do. Maybe I can learn to use the online dictionary some time and look up "patient" and "doggie", and figure out what Dad's talking about.

Meanwhile, I guess I'll just be putting in more time in the ole sack.

Oh, well.

Woof at ya later.