When the Cat Strikes

Well, let’s see…

The morning got off to a jolly good start when the most obnoxious of the neighborhood cats tried to stage a siege of my tiny backyard.

Unfortunately for the feline contingent, my 15 pounds of snapping, snarling, I’m-as-big-as-a-mac-truck little dog was currently in said-backyard.  

Fortunately for the Chloe contingent still in her nightgown, there was no actual brawl. Only hisses and barks were exchanged before the cat retreated angrily back over the fence, foiled once again in its attempt at world domination.

Alas, my flower bed with its floundering daylilies (who really, REALLY hate my dirt and who threaten suicide weekly) paid the price for the cat vs. dog dispute. Who knew 15 pounds of raging fury could do so much damage with four little furry feet?

Thankfully, I believe all the daylilies will survive… even though I suspect at least one of the lily-darlings threw its depressed-self purposefully under the aforementioned four little furry feet.  (Yeah, trust me to have flowers with death wishes. *lol*)

To further brighten my morning, my dog (who was quite rightfully darn proud of herself) came strutting back into the house expecting not only a treat but a whole bonus meal as well.

After a long, face-to-face talk about 15-pounders needing to stay 15 pounds, that particularly matter was finally put to rest with only one of us left pouting on the couch.

At this point, I had been out of bed a grand total of twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes.

This can’t bode well for the day.

*sighs and bangs head firmly against the wall*

Until tomorrow (I hope)…

Chloe

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