|"I'm a good girl." - Miss Fantasia Dog.|
I'm not sure if you realise this, but I'm a very good girl.
I'm always good.
Oh, unless there's cupcakes involved, or cupboard doors I can open. (I wonder why Mum and Mr D put that childproof catch on the animal food cupboard?)
Mr Bumpy, on the other hand, is very, very bad.
Today, Mum and I were playing "chase the squeaky piggy". Well, I was chasing. Mum doesn't chase very well, she just throws. But, even allowing for Mum's lack of chasing ability, we were having quite a bit of innocent fun chasing the piggy down the hall and back. I put in a few spectacular high leaps, as well.
(Oh, the picture, that's not the piggy. That was my cuddly bunny. I loved that cuddly bunny very much. Then it suddenly spontaneously exploded and there was bunny stuffing everywhere. I don't know how it happened. It happens to all my soft toys, eventually, no matter how much I love them.)
Well, as I said, there we were, innocently chasing a squeaky piggy down the hall, when I heard and smelled something odd. I stood still, looking towards the back door.
Mum was squeaking the piggy, saying, "Fanta, Fanta, ready to catch the piggy?"
But I wasn't looking at Mum. I was looking the other way.
"What's wrong? Had enough playing?" Mum said, just as Bumpy sauntered in, dragging a bird.
He watched to make sure Mum had seen what he was doing and started to run (well, Mum can't really run, but it was a fast limp.) And he darted into her room and under the bed.
Bumpy planned this out really well. He did it just as Mr D had left to go to Brisbane. He knows Mum can't get under the bed.
I really don't understand Mr Bumpy. I certainly would never think to kill another animal and bring it into the house. I'm just in shock.
Really, Mr Bumpy is a very, very bad cat.
On the other hand. I am a perfectly good doggy.
Now, I think I'll get under the bed... just to tell Bumpy what a bad cat he is, not to make the problem worse in any way.
Good-bye for now,
Miss Fantasia Dog.
(Call me Fanta.)