Paradise Lost

(Apologies to John Milton)

Ralph and Celeste had it made.  They had the run (literally) of the house.  They had their own schedule for meals and treats.  They had the choicest spots on the bed at night, and all my attention.  And then that ratchafratch dog arrived and ruined everything.

We all know the fable of the camel in the tent.  That's GB to a T.  He came into the bedroom yesterday just to ask to go outside.  This room had been off limits to him and I liked that he respected boundaries, but when a guy's gotta go.....  Uh huh.  He came back in and went right to the living room.  Good boy.  I was still at the computer when I heard a thump and the rattle of his tags behind me.  Guess who was on the bed.  Guess where he slept last night.  Guess which cats are not one bit happy with me.

GB and I went to DMV yesterday.  This is him in his traveling suit.  Florence called it his bra.  I think of it as his girdle.  He knows he's going somewhere when he gets dressed.  (Why-oh-why did the groomer leave that enormous ruff around his head?)  He was once again a perfect gentleman and it was a successful trip, so successful (I got my driver's license renewed) that I stopped at KFC on the way home, something I've never done, and got some chicken tenders for the two of us.  Nobody blinked an eye when my dog came in.  I wish the cats could be so accepting.  Yeah, and if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

At least for GB and me, it was a good day.