Toffee's diary: when Number Two went away

Something odd happened, and I couldn’t work out why, or what it meant.

We were all just fine. That’s Luci my sidekick poodle, Misty our mighty cat, our two humans, and me. That’s – two humans. And then suddenly there was just one. Our number two just vanished. Gone. No sign of him.

No one said anything. It was like they didn’t want to mention it. Weird. After a while, I even started to forget about it. After all, we still had the number one human and she’s the one who understands about dogs and looks after us properly. But it was a bit sad not to see number two anymore, because he’s, well, he’s…

“He’s a wimp.”

That was Misty our cat, who has this way of stalking me when I don’t know he’s there. He was reading my diary over my shoulder, which is pretty sneaky really, and he shouldn’t do it.

Anyway, “wimp” sounds a bit nasty. Our Number Two’s not bad. I’d say he’s a softy, which is a bit sad, but good for us. I mean, there’s no one better for treats. He gives Luci and me treats for having our leads put on, and for having our leads taken off, for reaching the park, for getting back home, sometimes just for being us. If we want an exra one, all we have to do is give him our sad look. That always works.

Besides, no one else lets us lick their face or bite their fingers. Got to be good to have a human that lets you do that, isn’t it? I was sorry that he was gone.

Well, he came back! It was great. Luci and me were jumping all over him and even Misty came out to say hello (he doesn’t do much jumping at people, our Misty).

I decided it was silly not to talk about things, so this time I asked.

“What was all that about? He was gone and all that? And we didn’t say anything about it?”

“Not mentioning the human in the room?” said Misty with the tone of voice he uses when he’s being funny, but I have no idea what he meant.

“Sometimes,” he went on, much more seriously, “people go away. And don’t come back. A long time before you were here, before Luci was even here…” 

He seemed quite sad. I was trying to understand: Luci’s aways been here.

“Before even Luci was here we had a nice dog in the house called Janka. She was fun. Not noisy little runts like you and Luci. She knew how to behave properly to a cat. But then she went away. She’s never come back. That’s why I don’t talk about it when people go away. You don’t know if they’re coming home.”

“So… what happened?”

“For a while there was just me and the Domestics, and I thought that was terribly sad. Until Luci turned up and then you, when I realised I should have been happy when things were quiet. Be careful what you wish for, that’s the lesson I learned.”

“Oh, Misty, you don’t mean that.”

“Huh,” he said, and stalked off. He’s very good at stalking, including stalking off.

Still, he must have been happy to see Number Two back because he went and lay in the suitcase with all the human clothes in.

Misty occupying the suitcase.
But is it really to stop Number Two clearing off?

“That’ll stop him leaving,” he explained.

“That’s good of Misty,” I told Luci.

“Yeees,” she said, in that tone of voice that doesn’t really mean yes, “it’s kind of him to think of keeping Number Two at home for us all. But I think he may have other reasons for doing it.”

“Other reasons? What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s always running the humans down, calling them the Domestics and everything, but he’s a lot more attached to them than he makes out, and there’s nothing he likes better than resting surrounded by their smells. That’s why he likes to climb into their wardrobe.”

It’s true. I’d noticed he did that.

“So… the suitcase… it’s like the wardrobe?”

“I think there’s a bit of that.’

“But that’s not what he says.”

“You can’t always trust what people say.”

“What?” I asked, thinking I was being clever, “not even you?” 

“You’ll have to make up your own mind about that.”

Anyway. It’s fun having number two back. He’s taken us for a couple of walks and there were lots of treats. But there was one boring thing too: he made me put on a coat to go outside.

He calls me “Toughy Toffee” which is right enough. So why does he think I need a coat? Luci doesn’t wear one. He thinks I can’t cope with a little cold? I’m tough. Cold means nothing to me.

Me in my silly coat. And look, Luci doesn’t have to wear one

He’s a softy, but not soft enough, I think. Training, that’s what it’ll take. He’s accompanying me to the class on Tuesday. I’ll start knocking him into line there.

He may be nice, but he needs to learn what being Toughy Toffee means. The hard way, if necessary.