Hard to believe it's been less than three weeks since we said goodbye to Tasha. Our remaining four aminal friends have grieved, and otherwise acted out, in their own ways. Here are a couple of reports about those.
For a few days following Tasha's non-return, our remaining dog Ebony stopped eating. Twice-a-day got cut down to once-maybe, until I had the brilliant idea to add small tongfuls of cat food to her bowl (since she never ceased interest in destroying the metal and labels of the kitzels' cans if we ever left them within her reach).
For a week or so, this worked. Ebony cleaned her plate so long as I put a little trace of Nine Lives in it. The past few days, though? Less so. She still ate all the cat food, but left trace quantities of her own food in the bowl.
Two mornings back, it went like this:Me-- :: Remove kibble from bowl before cats start attacking it (and eventually pooping it)::
Ebony- :: Look at Daddy with mournful eyes, as if to say, "Whatchoo doin with my FOOD, Willis?::
Me-- ::pour kibble back into bowl::
Ebony- ::devour remaining contents::
So it's gone for at least two mornings 'round 5:30 a.m. There's also been a weird ritual earlier than that, where the dog wakes me up even earlier, close to 0500, by scratching at my door; this wakes me up and gets me out of the rack, but as soon as my feet hit the floor, Ebony comes over to greet and kiss me, and immediately heads back to her sleepy spot, as if to say "made ya look!" I therefore get close to an extra half hour of weird-dream-filled eye (more Up than Shut) before relenting to the quieter but more annoying fores of the three cats on the other side of said door.
The cats also continue their human terrorism.
We're pretty sure, now, that Zoey, the youngest, isn't
the one who has been dragging kitchen napkins/placemats/dishrags into the hallway as improvised penalty flags. I locked her into Emily's room the other night and the talismen continued to appear. Ultimately, though, the remaining two feline suspects established their respective guilts/lacks thereof.
I was in here earlier today, drafting documents. Tazzer, our oldest boy (and until recently the most Likely Suspect) was asleep in here to my right. Periodically, I'd hear the "Mrow MRow MROWWWWW!" of Michelle, the middle (and evil) child, pissed that she'd been evicted on account of her regular efforts to plant her ass on my wrists while I try to get work done.
After a particularly loude MROWWWWW!, I opened the door to be sure she wasn't dying in a fire. No, but there at my feet was one napkin, one dish towel, and the equivalent of a signed confession.
So it's her. No idea how to punish her for these cries for attention other than by ignoring them, which might be the worst punishment of all....
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