The Trouble With Bernie

It's a Dog's Life - 3

Now, as the cat sat in front of him, yawning, her mouth wide open, her entire throat exposed, Weezer felt the full impact of her insult. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to her cruelty and didn’t let it bother him all that much. But today he felt vulnerable, and when she laughed at the idea of dogs catching squirrels, he had to admit, she was right. Neither he nor Rex, nor Streak, and most certainly not King George (the Cunningham’s Chihuahua) had ever actually caught a squirrel. Sometimes they bragged that they had, and the other dogs pretended to believe it was true, but no ... squirrels, like cats, were just too sneaky and slippery.

“Furthermore,” said Dreamer, twitching her tail to get his attention, “it’s about time you had a bath. You stink!”

Weezer rolled onto his side so he would not have to look at her. He thought his fragrance was just right, a unique blend of all his many adventures. One sniff of him and any dog could tell his habits and hobbies, his likes and dislikes. That’s the way it was meant to be. Why the humans and the cat thought he should smell any other way was a mystery to Weezer.

He stole a quick glance at her, to see if she had read his mind, another unique ability of cats. But Dreamer was busy with something else. At that moment she was in midair, jumping to catch a fly that buzzed along the window.

Chomp! She got it on the first try. She mangled it in her powerful jaws and quickly gulped it down. Then she smiled a self-satisfied smirk and daintily licked her paws. “You really ought to try a nice juicy fly sometime,” she advised him, with a flicker of her whiskers. “They’re simply delicious. A wonderful snack for a spring afternoon.” Then she leaped away, back to the couch, before he could remind her of what they both knew: that first-of-the-season flies were always slow and easy to catch. Even a dog could get them.

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Katie's drawing of Weezer
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