Misty's Diary: a bundle of irritation called Lucy

Another entry from Misty’s diary. In which he has to come to terms with an existential shock.

March 2015

He thinks he’s so damned smart, that domestic number 2. And he’s actually so damned dumb. He may find that out later today.

He was off getting thrashed at some silly sport or another this morning, and then number 1 headed out too, so I was left alone. Again. Not that I’m complaining or anything, just that I think when they go on about my unfriendly behaviour and all that, they ought to think what it’s like being left on my own with no idea how long that’s going to last.

Amazing they whinge about my using claws on them so much.

But when number 2 got back, while I was quietly having my late mid-morning snooze, he decided to disturb me with some incomprehensible rambling. 

“You’d better get ready for a shock, Misty my boy,” he announced. “A big shock.” 

Quietly minding my own business
But what were the domestic staff up to?

He delivered this weird pronouncement with some satisfaction. You can imagine, can’t you? As though he was getting something over me, just for once.

Well, I didn’t say anything. Partly because I can’t see any point letting him know I can speak. It’s bad enough he knows I can write. But in any case, I didn’t want to say the only thing that would make any sense.

“You can’t prepare for a shock, you poor fool, can you? If you could, it wouldn’t be a shock, would it? It’s like checking with a friend whether Thursday night would be convenient for his surprise party. The whole point about shocks is that they take you by surprise. And so there’s no preparing for them, except by just being generally alert, but I’m alert all the time anyway.”

Instead, I just gave him my look. You know, the baleful one. Should leave him withering on the floor, but it never does: you can’t imagine how weak on sensitivity he is.

But then, when number 1 got in at last, I realised what he’d been on about. A shock? This was nothing short of majorly infuriating.

She’s foisted on me… this… this smelly, runny-aroundy bundle of fluff. A… a… well, I can’t think of any other way of putting it. An animal of the canine persuasion. A bloody dog.

Now I can imagine people might say to me, “well, you liked Janka, didn’t you?”

First of all, I didn’t like Janka. I just got used to having her around. I thought it would make her feel better if from time to time I walked round her, rubbing myself against her, and purring. Even if her response when I did that was to stand rooted to the spot looking, poor clumsy oaf that she was, a smidgeon uncomfortable. I knew that at heart it mattered to her that she should feel appreciated by the boss, so I’d give her a little appreciation from time to time.

I was used to Janka. A companion, not a dog

And I’ll admit it left a bit of a Janka-shaped hole in our lives when she decided to clear off and not come back. Without a word of goodbye or anything. Just there in the morning, gone in the evening.

So if Domestic number 1 brought Janka home again, I’d not complain. I was used to her. I’d be happy to see her back again.

But, and I can’t stress this too much, she wasn’t a dog. She might have smelled like a dog, and barked like a dog, and behaved a bit goofily like a dog, but that didn’t mean she was a dog, it meant she was Janka.

This new arrival? This thing that’s just been dumped on me? They call her Lucy to make it sound like she has a personality, but in reality she’s just all dog, through and through. The little variety, I think, a puppy, but honestly, I can’t really tell one dog from another. Either way, she means I have a chore ahead I wasn’t planning for.

Interloper. Imposition. In my house.
The so-called Lucy

I’ve got to start out on my training work all over again. Breaking her spirit. Cowing her pride. Cutting the crap, basically, sorry for the language.

Hard work, and not what I want to start off on at my time of life.

What an imposition. They really have no idea. I think I’ll pop out. You never know, if I stay out long enough, things may be back to normal when I get back in.

And if they’re not, then it’ll be time for Domestic Number 2’s lesson.