Party Time

Just when we thought the Summer of Unemployment couldn't get any better?

It gets better.

Because FurGirl and I, well, we are on our own for a spell!! The S-Man is briefly, temporarily, away.

Meaning....MEANING!

Woohoo! Two blondes, one remote control!

Wheel of Fortune! Reality shows on the big TV! Pasta! Abba! (noise) Indigo Girls! (noise)

I'm telling you, it's completely wild and crazy around here.

We have a strict no-dogs-on-the-furniture policy, but still, when the S-Man goes away, there always comes a moment. A moment when FurGirl mosies over to the leather couch, places one paw carefully on the forbidden cushion, and then gives me The Look.

The Look means:

Okay, we both know he's gone. I watched him load up the suitcase myself. How about you show a sister some love and let me curl up for a little nap on this here cool, soft couch?

And, I would, I really would.

Except way back when FurGirl was but a wee lass, back even before we moved to this house, FurGirl and I had a little secret.

Back in those days, the S-Man was the first to rise on work day mornings and take a shower. FurGirl, asleep on her special rug beside the bed, would routinely wake up, and the minute she heard the shower start, would stand, and execute one of her graceful, gazelle-like leaps from the rug, landing noiselessly into to the bed next to me. Together, we'd snuggle up and enjoy those last blissful fifteen minutes of sleep before I, too, had to get up and face the day.

And, even though FurGirl would be in a dead sleep, the SECOND the S-Man slapped the lever to turn the shower off, she would immediately jump up, do a reverse leap back to the rug, and be arranged exactly like she had been earlier by the time the S-Man returned to the bedroom to get dressed.

This arrangement went on for quite some time. Until one fateful weekend, I woke up uncharasteriscially early, and decided to get up and make breakfast. I was cooking away in the kitchen when I heard a terrible ruckus coming from the bedroom.

By the time I got there, poor FurGirl was cowering in a corner and a shocked, confused and, exceedingly PISSED OFF S-Man was propped up on one elbow in the bed.

ME
What happened?

SATAN

Your bitch! She just all of a sudden JUMPED INTO MY BED!

ME
You're kidding!

SATAN

OF COURSE I'M NOT KIDDING!

FURGIRL
(I got confused! Holy sh!t! Save me, Mommy!)

ME

Strange.

SATAN
Yah, I'll just BET it's strange. Have you been letting this dog GET IN MY BED? Because, if this dog has been getting IN MY BED....

ME

I'm fixing breakfast!

SATAN

(stuttering...)

ME
Pancakes!

SATAN

These sheets! I paid...

ME

'Comon, Furgirl! Let's go potty...

SATAN

...thread count...

FURGIRL
(Takes a last panicky look at the livid S-Man and then manages to somehow propel herself toward me, her big furry body only an inch or so off the ground.)

SATAN

(Takes a furious swipe at her from the bed...)

FURGIRL

(Reaches the bedroom door, slinks out onto the hardwood in the hallway and immediately tries to run. Her feet find no purchase on the slick floor, however, and she stays unmoving in the same spot, her feet working furiously under her. I give her a helpful push on the ass with my foot as the S-Man leaps from the bed toward her...)

ME

Now, now....

FURGIRL

(Reaches the front door and arranges herself in the "Good Girl" sitting posture, panting hopefully.)

ME

See? She's a good girl!

SATAN

Good girl my ass.

So, yah. Ever since then? I figure I'm just better off not encouraging her.

But, I have to say. I'd have paid a dollar to have witnessed that moment when a poor unsuspecting FurGirl leapt into the bed only to find....SATAN! And the same moment when Satan rolls over to find...FURGIRL!

BwaHa!