There are just not words adequate to describe the sucklitude that is getting shocked awake from a dead-sound sleep at 4:12 am by the howling and window-banging of demon M-Ah as she throws herself against our bedroom slider in a feline-behind-glass war with a night visitor kitty outside.
It's completely awful, particularly when you can't find the light switch and it therefore takes experiencing the whole bizarre episode, groping and flailing in the dark, before you figure out who or what is making those hideous noises.
Welcome to my world.

Anyway.

On another subject, Boy and I enjoyed a lovely evening out the other night, a business dinner with co-workers and bosses that provided great conversation with fun and interesting people. And to attone for our anticipated absence at walk time, I had taken PupCake on a five mile run earlier in the afternoon. He was dragging and exhausted by the time we got home (he is a cool weather running companion exclusively, and it was unexpectedly warm that day) but fully rested up and whappy-tail excited by the time he figured out I was getting ready to go somewhere. He was completely convinced that he was going to get to go with because that is the the standard more often than not, and it seriously burst his bubble when I got in the car and left without him.

Anyway, out we go, dogless, to enjoy our nice dinner. Fast forward to a few hours later and we get home and PupCake is excited and happy to have us back, although slightly more pant-y seeming than usual. And as I come in the door to receive my doggy welcome, I notice that the mud room floor is covered with little droplets of something wet, like someone had just come in and sprinkled the floor with water.
After a survey of potential sources, eventually I deduce that it had to have been the dog, despite the fact that everything else seems in order and he has never been anything other than fine and and perfect and chill about being left alone. But Greyhounds are prone to hypersalivation, you see, and although PupCake hasn't had an episode of full on drooly panic since his very first truck ride on his very first day with us, there was just no other explanation. But there were also no other hints as to what could have gotten him so worked up so I sort of forgot about it.

Anyway, back to the demon kitty story.
So we are shocked awake at 4:12 am and after shooing our M-Ah away from the battle at the window we're trying to return our heart rates to normal and go back to sleep. And as I'm turning off the light I happen to notice PupCake isn't in his bed. I think nothing of it because he has a habit of moving between his upstairs bed and his bedroom bed during the night and I figure he must have gotten annoyed with the commotion and gone upstairs. Because Greyhounds take their rest very seriously, you see.
So back to bed we go, but M-Ah is having none of it, and she's back at the slider sounding like she's ready to bring it all over again about a minute after I turn off the light. So I get up again, turn on the patio light and this time attempt to drive the visiting enemy outside away by banging on the glass. Mind you, we've been fully awake and on high alert for at least five minutes or so at this point, and I'm getting a little annoyed.
Once the kitty-shooing mission seems successfully accomplished, I figure I might as well save myself the future annoyance of having to get up to pee later, so I head into the bathroom, not seeing much of anything since I didn't have my wits about me enough when this all began to find my glasses. Anyway, I sit down to pee and then notice PupCake standing in the most hated, awful, no-I-don't-want-a-bath and I'm never, ever setting foot in there unless you make me places, the shower... fully tail-tucked, shaking like a leaf, and drooly. He had a look on his face like he was certain he was about to be murdered, and for a dog who avoids the shower and our bathroom in general like the plague, it took some serious convincing on my part to get him to come out.
Twenty minutes, one trip outside, lots of pets and ear scratches and a dog bed-relocation later, PupCake has stopped shaking and is finally willing to trust the situation enough lay down and go back to sleep.

Sucks to be a neurotic Greyhound in a time of kitty war.
And I guess the droplets on the mud room floor mystery is solved.

Here's the crazy-ass beast in all his artful sunbathing glory:

Because you wouldn't want your whole body in the sunbeam or you'd get too hot. Duh.

p.s. once again, apologies for the loooong time away. I'm running my own personal little sewing sweatshop in preparation for the Casket Arts show...only nine days to go! Eeeekk!

p.p.s. Greyhound neurosis in all its splendor. No more middle of the night kitty shocks, but PupCake is still having on again, off again anxiety about sleeping in his bed next to the war zone. The "get up and move my bed away from the bad place"deal is slightly annoying, but I will say that he's much more polite with his wake up calls than M-Ah.
Greyhounds. Sigh.

Labels: dog stuff, greyhound, pupcake