First, I got this blanket. It's red and real fuzzy and warm, and mom and I used to sort of share it. She'd nap with it and then leave it there for me to roll around in and sleep on. Now? She calls it the "nursing blanket" or some such nonsense and it's always on the back of the couch getting barfed on. That baby spits like a volcano. You can't even sit too close to it or you wind up with yak all up in your fur. Anyway, now when I go to use MY blanket, it never fails that baby's gotta eat and here comes mom with that screaming boy and she starts hollering, "Gus! Move! Go!" And then I have to go sit on the cold end of the couch or she sits on me... right on top of me. The cold end! Honestly. I have lost all clout.
So usually, I choose that time to go exploring. I've done right much exploring lately on account of being shipped off to the cold end and all. Oh....and! I almost forgot this part! They didn't take me home for Christmas! I got left here with a babysitter! On Christmas! I have never been treated so poorly in my life. Which is what began my exploring habit. While everyone was gone and I was right lonely, one of my babysitters left the pantry open. I like me an open pantry, now. So's I went on in there and nosed around until I found something new. Something different. Something intriguing. It looked like this:
Well! Talk about an easy open package! I'll tell you what.... I got after a couple of those bad boys. The contents? A little gritty, but a generally smooth, satisfying snack. A tasty treat, if you will. Made a bit of a mess around the house, but who am I to complain? My palate was pleasured.
So then today, things got serious. I think dad tried to kill me. I'm not lying. See, the weather around these parts has gotten real, real cold. Like below 32 degrees cold. I don't know about you, but Augustus Mortimer does not set foot outside in this type of weather. Even if it means I don't drink all day, I will not go out. Anyhoo, I tried to make it apparent by my dramatic shivering that I was cold and would like for them to turn up the heat. Instead? They pack me into some ridiculous shirt. I do not wear clothes. Makes me look like some kinda sissy lap dog. After several attempts to communicate that I was still chilled, dad turns on the fire. I LOVE me a good fire, what good dog doesn't? I was happy as a pig in mud until.....well, this is where it all starts to get a little fuzzy. I remember a lot of yelling in the background of my stumbly fog and I think I recall mom yelling something like, "The FLUE! The FLUE!" and something about natural gas, but the next thing I knew, I was getting lots of pets and I had found my way back to my beloved red, fuzzy blanket. I suspect there was a near miss as a hit was taken on my life, but lucky for me, it's all a hazy blur.
Until next time,