Picture it - it's a perfectly beautiful 70 degree morning. The sun is shining, the humidity is low, there's a small breeze carrying the smell of someone cutting grass to start the day.
(Sidenote: I'm torn completely by the fact that that is one of my favorite smells and the recent meme that hit Facebook telling me that that smell happens because the plants are in distress that we are murdering them)
Anyway, I have decided that it is the perfect kind of day to whip open my doors and prop open the back door for the dog so he can go in and out, and hang blankets on the line because how can you not on a day like this?!? Beautiful (if murderous) smells, cleansing breezes, and doggie freedom.
I'm enjoying the breeze as I work. My dog is enjoying the freedom of in and out. He randomly checks in for love. And I absentmindedly give him love.
What a lovely day.
IN ANOTHER PERSON'S WORLD!
BUT NO! THIS IS MICHELE WORLD.
My little furry fucker comes back in for love, and I started petting him with my foot as I continued typing stuff.
As I was finishing up what I was doing, an odd reality started slipping in. The dog's fur didn't feel right. The dog's size didn't feel right. Hell, the dog's shape didn't even feel right.
Fear seized me for a moment. I froze.
What. The fuck. Isundermymotherfuckingfoot?!?!
It was like a scene from a really bad horror movie. My leg was in mind air, my hands clenched the arms of the chair. I held my breath. And I looked down. And I shreiked. I threw my body back. I may have slobbered. Or peed. Or maybe it was gas. It was a mess of movement and sound.
And the strange cat that welcomed itself into my house and my affections looked at me like I was a total asshole before he ran out of the room and hopefully out of the house.
And finally, Max let me know he was upstairs curled up in my bed as I heard him sluggishly drop to the floor and slowly not rush to protect me by barking from the top of the stairs.
Because he cares.
And will I have learned anything from this?
Unlikely.
