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I have a catdog

September 19, 2012

We have a very cute beagle-Bassett hound mix named Lucy. We got her from the pound around Thanksgiving or so last year, and they estimated she was roughly a year and a half old at that time. Dawn was the one really wanting to get another dog at the time, but when we went to the pound to go check her out, Lucy [almost literally] attached herself to me instantly, so it was all, “I guess we’ll be taking the beagle”. She kind of became “my dog”.

Yeah, that lasted for about a week.

I love her to pieces and want to bury her in a shallow unmarked grave in the back yard at the same time. She does typical dog things (most of which piss me off), such as, among other things, begging for food (the #1 capital offense a dog can commit, in my eyes), digging 8-inch-deep holes in the yard, barking for no apparent reason at things that aren’t there, trying to eat everything in sight, including dog shit, rabbit shit, birdseed, squirrel corn, grass, leaves, and crayons, to name but a few.

SIDE NOTE: Dogs that eat crayons produce dog shit that looks like Little Debbie™® Cosmic Brownies.

However, I truly believe Lucy is really a cat in an incredibly lifelike dog costume. I just can’t find the zipper. I present the following as evidence of my theory:

  • She begs, often rather vocally, to go outside. Then when we let her out, usually she’ll take about four steps and then turn around and wait for you to let her in. Cat.
  • She is a Jedi master at that whole “serpentine between your legs as you’re trying to walk” thing. Cat.
  • She climbs all the FUCK up in your business when you’re reading, or eating, or knitting, or doing pretty much anything. Cat.
  • She walks back and forth along the couch, the footboard of our bed, and other furniture, rubbing her body against it as she walks. Cat.
  • She is constantly cleaning herself. Constantly. CON. STANT. LY. Cat. Friggin’ nasty-ass disgusting cat.
  • She puts her nose right up in your face and just sniffs you. Cat.
  • Whenever you attempt to pet her, she instantly rolls over and grabs your hand and tries to rip it to shreds with her teeth, as though she were a lioness that just caught a wildebeest. Cat.
  • Glance for a split second in her general direction and she teleports herself to you in the blink of an eye, yet when you call her, she looks at you like like she’s Travis Bickle. Cat. (Go ahead and Google ‘Travis Bickle’. I’ll wait.)
  • She’ll be sound asleep and then suddenly, instantly has to be in another room RIGHT GODDAMNED NOW. Cat. (I believe “vacuum activity” is the term for that particular phenomenon. Ba-dee, ba-dee-dee.)

She really is an adorable “dog”, but I am convinced she is actually a cat. Franklin, my 11-year-old golden retriever, is simply confounded by her. He never knows whether to play with her, as she always tries to start shit with him (she exhibits further cat behavior by sneak attacking him and then running off underneath something where he can’t get her), or to simply swallow her whole and just take the ass beating as being “totally worth it”. Personally, I couldn’t really blame him if he did.

Stupid cat.

One Comment leave one →
  1. May 9, 2013 1:07 pm

    John I think this may be one of my most favorite pieces on here! I have a true favorite and I will gladly head back up and comment on that one! Well written my friend.

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