There is a beast that lives in the cellar. I don't like it. It eats fire, it makes a loud noise, and sometimes it bangs. The beast has a purpose. It exhales hot breath throughout the house keeping us warm. But the beast has become sick and has to go away. The beast slayer is working on it now. Then we will have a new beast to keep us warm.
Friday morning Mommy and Daddy weren't working. I don't know why. They feel no morale obligation to keep me informed of their schedule. When we get in bed I placate Pocket with a little playing, then start licking all the good tasting things that have attached themselves to Daddy's skin off of him, and finally crawl down to the end of the bed to sleep while Pocket sleeps cuddled with Mommy.,
Sometime during the night, usually Mommy's first time to pee, I go under the covers with her, kick Pocket out of the warm snuggle spot she has made, and spend the rest of the time sleeping next to her. Thursday night, I woke up earlier, and even with my permanent hairy coat I knew it was cold. I got up, and began pawing Mommy until she lifted the covers. It was so cold I didn't even move Pocket from her spot, just snuggled up and joined her there.
I woke Mommy up enough to make her need to pee, and Pocket and I went right for the spot she was lying. When she came back she was saying "it's cold, it's cold, oh crap it's cold." She got into bed, grabbed both of us, and put us next to her like little furry bed warmers.
Daddy was the next one up. Pocket shook her head and whispered to me: "I may pee a lot but I don't do it in the middle of the night and wake us up." I nodded. When Daddy came back in he grabbed the big blue quilt that is our last line of defense against the cold, snatched us and put us next to him. We knew we were going to spend the night getting jerked back and forth like a catfish on a line between Mommy and Daddy seeking warm furry snugglies.
By the time the alarm went off we were all huddled together for warmth. Daddy said he thought the furnace went off. "Do you think?" I asked. Mommy told him he should go downstairs and feed the beast it's morning fire so he will breath the hot air and warm the house. He agreed, then we all fell asleep again for two hours.
Mommy awoke again, smacked Daddy, and told him to go light "The Pilot," which must be the Beast's name. He ran downstairs, in nothing but his knickers, fed the beast, and ran back upstairs, telling Mommy it was 48 degrees, then grabbing Pocket, who had gone to the end of the bed, and sliding her under the covers.
I took offense to this, attacked her and we fought. Mommy grabbed me, Daddy grabbed Pocket, they held us apart, put us down, and we went at it again. They separated us, Mommy holding me as I licked my leg, Daddy kept Pocket on his chest, until whatever had turned on our aggression switch was turned off, and we settled next to each other, licking our wounds.
For the next half hour the four of us lay together, the cold air slowly warming, as we shared our body heat, perfectly snuggled. It was the safest I ever felt.
We finally got out of bed, when the temperature reached a balmy 60 degrees, and get this, then I got a bath. I don't appreciate baths on warm days, never mind when it's barely above freezing.
I got a bath Friday because Saturday Daughter #2's husband came over with grand daughters #1, #3, and #5. He is a licensed beast killer. He went into the basement. Grandbaby #1, the artist, took my picture, hopefully to use as the basis for another drawing. Babies #3 and #5 got the Barbie Dolls (Pocket loves chewing their shoes; the Barbies, that is,) the building blocks, and tightened their shoes for some first rate Pocket harassment while I settled into Mommy's recliner to watch the action when suddenly a loud sound emanated from the basement scaring us still; the beast slaying had begun.
The banging, the screeching as the beast fought back, the hammering as he beat against it, and the whaling made our heads hurt. Then Grand Baby #1 took Mommy's new Mario Brothers Wii game and taught her how to play, and the loud music and squeals meshed with the screeching and banging making a symphony of confusion in our little Yorkie minds.
Daughter #2 came to pick up the girls and now we're sitting, in the falling temperatures, as the fight continues downstairs. I do know if you ever have to fight a Heat Beast you do need a great deal of nourishment known as Bud Light. Pocket has spent the last five hours, shaking, trembling, and whining with each bang. When she wasn't on Mommy's lap, she was on Daddy's shoulder, and even his head. Son in law #2 says he's almost ready to fire up the new beast, so I better post this before he blows up the house.
Hopefully we will be blogging again tomorrow.
Oh crap! The smoke alarms just went off. Pocket is shaking so hard she invented the vibrating recliner. Remember us all when we were young a beautiful!