It started last night when Mook B took me out for the final walk of the day. I was still hungry, even after my supper, so I did what I always do: ate everything. But here's the thing: the Mooks have decided that when I stick something in my mouth they're going after it no matter what. So one or the other pounces on me and yanks my mouth open and if I don't immediately drop what I have in my mouth—like if I try to swallow it—they keep going after it into my throat.
Last night was no exception. I just jammed that delicious-smelling something in my mouth (soft and fresh and aromatic was it) and Mook B was on me like white on rice. We were almost home and we were doing battle on the street but—boom!— he lost, I swallowed.
Then he let out a howl: "Oh! My! God!" But it was a howl of disgust, I think. He got me into the house and yelled for Mook A to bring him paper towels quickly because he had gotten what I had eaten all over his hands. Mook A, as he threw down the towels, yelled, "What was it?!" B: "What do you fucking think it was!" A (exploding): "You fucking disgusting little animal! What the fuck is wrong with you! You just ate, God Damn It! Why the fuck would you eat..." Yadda yadda yadda, same-old, same-old, same-old.
However, this time it was a bit different. Mook A spent the next ten minutes washing his hands under steaming water like he was fucking Lady Macbeth trying to get rid of the blood and Mook B wouldn't come near me for a post-walk cuddle (as he is wont to do). In fact, the two of them didn't want to touch me, and if I brought my face near theirs they just cringed away. This was getting personal.
Well, what goes down, must, sometimes, come up. And it did. In one big blob. Mook A noticed and let out a little girlie shriek and Mook B, trying to recover from the episode of the walk, lying like a swooning Victorian lady on the sofa, whispered, "Is it...?" and when A said, "Yes," B just curled up into a fetal ball on the sofa and whimpered.
The mess was cleaned up and until bed time neither of them wanted to come near me. Oh! I tried to cuddle or play with them (nip at their fingers or kiss them) but each time they became OCD and dashed into the bathroom to wash and rewash their face or hands.
At bedtime, Mook B, who likes me to curl up with him, kept me at the end of the bed and told Mook A, "He's hard to love, isn't he?"
Jeez, guys, get a grip! It was just something everyone produces! Even you!
Susan Boyle Eat Yer Heart Out
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