or, Dogs have masters, Cats have staff.
So as is usual in the morning, I’m standing in my bathroom, getting ready to brush my teeth. Gimi, also as usual, saunters in and lets out a little yelp as he launches his big fatt butt up onto the sink counter. I fill my drinking cup with some fresh tapwater and power up my nice electric toothbrush. Meantime, Gimi sticks his nose into the cup and starts lapping up the water like he hasn’t had a drink in a week (although there’s a full water bowl over by his food dish).
A minute or so later, I finish up, spit, and turn the faucet on. Gimi keeps on drinking. I cup my hands under the water running out of the tap and rinse my mouth out.
I am well trained.
I found it interesting. How old is Gimi ?
Our one-year-old marmalade Tom adores our old black lab – who dotes on me – and doesn’t much want attention from people.
When a few months old he and I got into an argument over the propriety of his presence on the table which resulted in his airborne ejection from the premises. Subsequently he shit on the floor in my room and pissed in my roomie’s bed : relegation to the outer realms of the porch then became permanent.
Now he’s an eccentric who constantly announces his presence. In the country that might well be regarded as putting out a sign : “Lunch available !”