Vicious Killer

                                                  [Harmoni makes a pretty good pillow.]

Ruru the Cat here.  Harmoni the Puppy is both my good buddy and a pain in my cute, fuzzy butt.  I really like that she has body heat and shares it with me.  I like that she lets me groom her sometimes.  I don't like that she suddenly barks at one of us cats just because we're suddenly, I don't know, a different cat than we were a second ago.  Nor do I like that she suddenly barks at a person just because they are a stranger OR someone who hasn't been here for a while OR coming in from the outside, even three times in a row, very same person, OR touches or stands near the door or sometimes just shuffles around a bit.  Seriously, Harmoni.  You give dogs a bad name sometimes.  But mostly, we've made our peace.  She's okay.  We'll pretend she's one of us cats because it's easier to do that than flip out just because she exists and just so happens to be a canine.  Okay, Cass, the newest in our elite feline club, and Maya, the oldest in our club, sometimes get picked on or chased around by the dogs.  So they aren't quite as happy about the arrangement.  But none of us can do anything about getting rid of nutty, excitable  Harmoni, so we survive.

                                           [Baby using Dodger as a brain-dead fur blanket.]

Dodger the Pomeranian, however, is a bit of a throw rug.  He makes Harmoni look like a genius.  Heck, he makes a rock look like frickin' Einstein.  I'm not clear on why the humans keep this useless puffball around.  We tolerate him, but he doesn't seem to care about anybody but my person's mom.  His sole job in this house seems to be to sit around and worship her.  When she walks out of the house for like a minute or something, he throws a welcome party, running around in circles and barking until all of we cats want to throw him in the toilet and flush.  Basically, he's useless.  Kind of like a hairball but with less personality and certainly no IQ to speak of.  We cats would have to turn in our cat badges to call him one of us.  

                      [Dodger growling at the object of his worship because she got too near his turkey.]

But today, he turned into a monster.  He did this once before, like someone pressed the meanie head button, and he turned from useless hairball to attack-beast.  When he does this, he grabs a turkey bone and growls over it anytime anyone just looks at it.  He acts like he is going to rip out the heart of anyone who thinks at his turkey.  I snuck up and tried to get just a sniff and maybe a nibble, and that vicious killer went for me like I was so much doggie kibble.  I don't get it.  Most of the time, he's just a useless fur blanket, but give him a turkey bone, and watch out.  I just don't understand dogs at all.  And I think I'd rather keep it that way.