A letter of complaint

It has come to my attention that our 'young' dog, Jazz - aka all the names under the sun - is most displeased at the slinky black creature who now resides in our laundry.

For almost two months, we kept Tabitha a secret from the dogs. Pepper was easy. She's as deaf as a post. But Jazz? Razor sharp of tail and senses? She knew something was afoot. She'd hear the bell on Tabby's collar and you could actually see, at those moments, something in her brain zero in on the noise to try and identify it. Jazz had never come across a cat before Tabby. She doesn't know what to do with them. But she tried and tried to understand that tinkly noise. And she'd hear it, inside or on the other side of the garage door, freeze and then look absolutely crestfallen as she realised she didn't know what it was. She'd come and bounce off us (yes.... literally... the dog ricochet's off people, verandah posts, fences, she's not fussed, and given that she is around 26kg of muscle, it's no wonder we call her The Horse) as if to say, "Did you HEAR that?? I hear bells! Oh pleeeease, tell me you hear bells!" It's quite delicious fun to know it was tormenting her. About time something did.

So now, the cat has met the dogs. She doesn't care to meet them again, but she isn't above letting them know she lives here. In fact, she taunts them about it. Little biatch. And Jazz isn't going to go down about it quietly.

Look what I found tucked in to her collar this morning:

Dear Doggy Tribunal,

My name is Jazz The Horse Shithead Mrs Whippy Clydesdale The Bloody Dog. Yuh. I think that's it.

Listen, I don't complain much. I mean, I know I bark if I don't get my way. Oh, and I always get a last bark in if I'm told off and I'm not in agreeance. But apart from that.... and barging my way inside when I'm not allowed, and whipping my kangaroo-power tail into people's legs and into Peppy's eyes that makes her squint and wince and sometimes fall over, and ok maybe I steal Peppy's food when she's not looking - she's so easy these days - and I'm generally a, a... what was it? "Good for nothing layabout", yeh, that was it. And ok, if I get distracted while I'm drinking, sometimes I slobber water all over people (because I just can't help putting my face on their legs, it's just a thing I do), and my favourite game is getting a toy or a ball and pretending I can't find it under the bushes and digging a hole the size of a car to get it out when it's right on top the whole time (oh BOY that is such a fun game)..... But apart from all that as well, I would like to think I deserve better treatment than I am receiving.

See, my life was pretty carefree. I could assume the top dog position as long as Peppy was distracted. The older she gets the better I have it. But then... that thing. That black slinking, tinkling, green-eyed thing arrived. SHE gets to sleep inside. SHE gets to go on their beds. SHE sits at the window narrowing her eyes at me. And frankly.... I do-woh-woh-woh-WON'T like it. She treats me like I'm beneath her. I know! Me! Jazz The Horse Shithead Mrs Whippy Clydesdale The Bloody Dog!

I want it to go back to how it used to be. I want to know that there's only one other creature in this house getting any food, any possible left overs, any attention. I can't handle another pretty young thing coming in and stealing my self-imagined thunder.

If you can just make her vanish, so that I don't have to fight the urge to charge at her or sit and bark belligerently at the window (that always gets me in trouble and I always forget I'm not allowed and then it takes even longer for me to be allowed inside again), I would really wag you to death.

Waggily yours,

Jazz The Horse Shithead Mrs Whippy Clydesdale The Bloody Dog

 And wouldn't you know, Pepper had one all drafted up too! Hers was a bit scrunched up and I'm pretty sure she's finished but doesn't know it.

Deeyah... Uh.... Dear..... (note to self: check what that bloody dog had on hers)

I'm writing to complain about the ..... oooooh! Butterfly!

Where was I? Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof.

What? Oh. Was I barking? Oh. What?

Where's the water bowl? Ow, my face hurts, ow, my face hurts, ow, why does my face..... oh that's better, she's moved away and stopped wagging.

Belch. I'm tired.

Snooooooooooooooooore.

I hate to break it to them, but not only is the cat staying, we appear to have acquired another look-alike Tabby. Identical to her, this is a sort of more muttley-looking fella. He just started turning up about three weeks ago. Yesterday, I almost let him inside. Not on purpose, mind. I just honestly almost mistook him for her. I thought it was odd that I couldn't see "Tabby's" collar or tags. And when I walked to the door in front of him - he'd full-on lined himself up at the security screen and was peering in - I said to him, "You're not Tabby!" I think my fists on hips stance scared him. His eyes widened and he darted off the porch in a puff of dust like a cartoon cat. I think I even heard him say "SCRAM!" as he fled.

I think he's a stray, unfortunately (for the local wildlife). But he seems to think this is a lovely place to take a kip and he loves to sun himself on the top of our water tank and take long cool drinks from our frog pond. Er.... help yourself, buddy!?

Now to break it to the dogs.....


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