Please read part 1 here first.
So the next morning when I got up I asked where Cherise was; the kids had let her into Grandma’s. OMG I ran down to Mum’s calling Cherise. Mum told me the 3 dogs were outside (3 because although Charlie likes playing with the dogs for a little while, terrierists are too energetic for a delicate Spaniel to spend too long with). I was panicked, Cherise was with that dangerous brute and they were not even supervised.
I called to Mum ‘Get them in quickly!’
Mum let them in, no blood; my baby was safe for now. I then proceeded to explain to my mother what had happened. I reassured her that while we didn’t blame her or her vicious mutt for what happened, we just felt it wasn’t safe for Cherise and probably Charlie to play with him for a while.
Meanwhile was my poor traumatized Princess avoiding the big ruffian? Yes of course she was; in her own ladylike way. Apparently prodding him constantly with her snout and stealing his toys is some weird form of canine avoidance.
‘But they never made physical contact!’ she said.
‘You were there?’ I asked.
‘Yes! They snarked a bit; your kids started making a fuss and so the dogs started making a lot of noise.’
So the great bloodletting was all in my kids’ imaginations. They all admitted they all thought that was what was about to happen. No, they weren’t lying; this is this magic part of Autism were fear becomes more real in memory than reality.
This brings us back to my original diagnosis of the cut millimetres from her eye. From puppyhood she has scratched at her eye when she is allergic. The entire family tries to stop her and she takes antihistamines but she still scratches her eyes and sometimes a claw catches.
Cat’s fault; she is in charge of administering the antihistamines, ever since she claimed she could do it better than me and then obnoxiously proceeded to do just that when challenged. She forgot! Catherine forgot her own little Princess Cherise who she claims to love more than the rest of us combined. I can tell that you share my disgust for the terrible Catherine, and will let her know that she has earned your public approbation.
Next I had to inform Cherise’s Daddy of her duplicity. He felt betrayed; she, not being a good liar, trembled at him and tried to get more sympathy. But she had done her dash. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me! Wait a second stop patting that evil dog.
‘Oh, but she didn’t mean it! And she’s sorry now! Look at her sad little face!’
Men, they are hopeless. And this is why they can’t be allowed out of the house. Under my supervision it’s an evil little terrier who wants pats or a doddery old senior citizen who needs something lifted. Out in the real world it could be a blonde with a flat tire or a brunette with an itch to scratch. He is not allowed out of my sight!
Cats don’t bother to lie.
Orion waited patiently next to his father’s empty coffee cup until he saw him coming into the room. He then swiftly inserted his head into the cup. Using his head as a lever he rolled the cup off the table. Male outweighs feline in the gracefulness curve, besides we must applaud any male who finds a use for his head.
Orion was undoubtedly yelling, ‘Catch, Daddy!’
Then my clever little kitten looked amiably down at his Dad who had made a great sliding catch and saved the cup.
Now that’s what you want from a pet, honesty!