May 21, 2009: Of Neurotics and Rogues

I think I may have finally pushed Mook A over the edge today. I pissed on the bed for the second time in three days and he lost it. Now I've heard of dogs getting beaten, and kicked and punched about, but what Mook A did was scarier because it was so fucking controlled.

He took me by the scruff of the neck (it doesn't hurt, but it's not my preferred way of travel either) and brought me to the pee on the bed, and instead of whining and pleading and wondering why I was doing things like this, he roared at me (and that's the only way I can describe it). Then he carried me to my own little ottoman, put me on it, pushed my ass and back down so I was lying down and roared again. Not really words, just this hideous guttural sound emanating from his guts. Scariest fucking thing I ever heard.

You can bet, now that he's shown some balls, I'm going to pay a little more attention around here. The last couple of days I've been having a fine old time, amusing myself no end with both Mooks. I had gone ten days without incident and they were "very proud" of me, yaddayaddayadda. It was time to regain the upper hand. 

So I'd piss on the bed here, and took a dump on the floor there. The thing is, I didn't need to do either thing. It wasn't a lot in either case. In fact, with the dump, it was like one of those dumps humans take when they're not going for a dump but rather just going for privacy to read that magazine article they've been wanting to finish, or that romance novel with the good part coming up. It's a recreational dump. I thought I almost had them over the edge when I ate the earphones from his iPod. Nope.

The iPod earphones: the sponge earbud covers were particularly tasty.

The effect, though, was hilarious. The Mooks were going slowly insane. They have a lot of crap in both their lives right now and if you exploit that right then the next time you escape from them they might just let you go. (I think that's what happened with my last owners; the pound told the Mooks no one had ever claimed me.)

But it has to be very subtle. You don't want to become that dog after all. You know what I mean: the dog no one likes because it's always shaking and peeing when it's nervous (which is all the time) and zipping it's head around looking for danger (and danger, for a dog like that, can be a Kleenex falling on the floor). No, what you want to be is the rogue dog, the dangerous dog, the unpredictable one. You want them to think you're the kind of dog who'll maul the toddler or eat the kitten or budgie. You want to be sinister, not tiresome.

But let me tell you: in all my doings with the Mooks I had not expected what happened today. I mean, talk about sinister! 

That roar...I won't forget that in a hurry.

So I'm in the doghouse, so to speak: confined to the little ottoman. Time to pour on the charm. Cutes it up a little. 

Wish me luck.

Step one: Pouring on the cutes