Postcards From Another Point Of View -1

 

Postcard From Bruce:   3 September 2016

This is our third week with Smoothy. He’s doing well, growing, and purring a lot, and loud. He sleeps in the top of one of our two cat trees, preferring the one by the window at night. Daytimes naps are taken in the other by the kitchen. He is happy to sleep in our laps, and be petted. This is something wife and I both wanted. Smoothy used the sandbox from the first time he saw it—no problems there, but nothing is easy. His claws and teeth are like needles. Collateral damage so far is: one lamp that used to sit on a window sill, wife’s scratched wrist, water soaked desk and papers. One of the bedroom curtains is down, along with the rack and screws that held it, pulled out of the wall. Not sure how to repair. We need to keep the cat out of our offices and bedroom.

My wife and Ellie are off to a dog show today, sixty or so competitors will come from all over Sweden, Germany and Denmark. People bring tons of gear to these events, brushes and combs and dishes, food bowls, plastic poop bags, water, small tents . . . leashes. Raingear— always good to have in Sweden, documents and forms filled out, cages with wheels—and locks.

There was a dog napping at one of the last contests. Owner left her dogs inside their cages in a locked station wagon. Someone, or ones, grabbed them, cages and all. She is heart broken, all her work, and loving care, and training grooming—gone.  I feel so sorry for her. Owners and their dogs— intensity of love is scary. Gossip theory is, the dog-napped dogs, two Labradors, would probably be shipped to Russia, where they would have their I.D. chips removed, and resold.

 

Postcard From Smoothy:    3 September 2016

Everything is going well. I’ve pretty much scoped out the house, but there is a blocked off area—closed door opens to a garage and stairway. What the hell is up there? The two rooms with desks are more or less off limits. I knocked over a small flower vase, full of water while I was using the keyboard on mom’s desk.

The bedroom is also off limits. I was climbing a curtain and the whole dam thing came down. It might have killed me. I was able to get under the bed before it hit the floor. Housewoman was pissed, but she got over it pretty fast.

Ellie’s okay— an ego as big as Brazil, but she’s nice, polite you might say, except when it comes to her food. She’s a bitch about food, but we’ve been getting friendly, and we play sometimes.  Ellie and mom are at a beauty contest today. The houseman has used the door to the garage and gone upstairs. What the hell does he do up there?