| Christmas, 1990.
Cat in the Hat, Nooooo.....
The house burned to the ground right
before Christmas. Luckily, I had run out of chocolate while
baking cookies for friends, and had taken both dogs to the store when
the fire occurred. Having both dogs with me caused an automatic
arson investigation. When the fire marshall told me a couple of
days latter that I didn't set the fire, I assured him that if I had
been going to set the fire I would have taken more than the dogs -- a
tape recording Chet had made that I hadn't listened to (found the
charred remains in the office rubble), photos and videos, client
records, and my mother's cookbook -- which was found smoke damaged but
intact on the kitchen cabinet. The neighbors offered their guest
room including allowing Jack and Cindy to stay inside (their dogs were
outdoor dogs).
I would quietly get up each morning
urging Jack and Cindy to silence, turn off their alarm and let the
dogs out the back door. I smiled at the 20' Christmas tree with
homemade family ornaments among the designer ones surrounded by mounds
of carefully wrapped Christmas packages waiting for Christmas
morning.
Before I could open the back door, a
black streak headed for the Christmas tree closely followed by Jack
and Cindy in full hunt battle cry. The family cat whose upstairs
sanctuary was protected by a kiddie gate had ventured to the living
room misguessing our wake up time. Up the tree went the cat with
Jack and Cindy in full pursuit -- packages scattering on the
way. The tree tilted precariously as the rest of the family
rudely awakened, rushed to see what the commotion was. We
finally got both Jack and Cindy under control and the cat wisely
decided to make a dash for her upstairs apartment where she
stayed until we moved out. The tree and presents survived and we
all had an early breakfast.
Cat in the Hat, Noooo..... Cat in the
Christmas Tree.
Jack the Greeter
My office is at home and occasionally
clients drop by. I'd quickly learn which clients really loved
dogs and which clients required the dogs staying in the back
room. One particular older gentleman, about 6' tall, would
insist that he just loved dogs. Jack, the Greeter,
would politely sit right at his feet and the client would bend down to
pet him as he discussed his taxes. Each time he would raise up
and quit petting, Jack would immediately nudge him in the most
attention attracting spot, and as I'd offer to put Jack in the back
room, the client would assure us he just loved dogs and
would resume petting. Debbie would be watching from her desk behind
the client ROFL while I had to keep a straight face and pretend I
didn't see Jack's on target nudges. Just as actors perfecting a
movie scene, this scene would be replayed over and over until the
client left. Each time this client would drop by, Jack the
official greeter would sit adoringly at the client's feet.
Jack couldn't hide his smile as the
client drove away.
I'm not doing anything, honest, Mom!
Mealtime had Jack at one end of the
kitchen and Lady at the other. Almost always it seemed that Jack
would just happen to lie down next to Lady's abandoned
chew bone -- the very chew bone that Lady now wanted to reclaim --
none of the other zillion chew bones in the house would do. Lady would
start to bark and I'd glance at Jack who would just smile insisting
"I'm not doing anything, honest, Mom!". Jack would
really grin when he'd hear, "Lady, quiet!" The barking
would stop for a nano-second and then start again louder until she
reached her pinnacle, high "C", glass breakage detector
shattering bark. If I glanced at Jack quickly enough, I might
catch him snarling viciously and barely detect his almost silent
growl. Just like little kids, he loved getting Lady in trouble
and knew exactly how to push her buttons.
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