I watched Pocket heading to the wall on the other side of the street and I knew she didn't pay attention when she crossed the road. I ran up to her, took her by the paw and helped her across the road.
As many of you have commented Pocket and I are too tiny to scale a wall. "We could just go around it," Pocket said. We just went around it.
And where did we emerge? Was it on the island with Ben and Hurley? In the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz? To some, but to us it was just the state mental institution.
Now don't go jumping to conclusions. The kitty hadn't gone crazy. The kitty had gone wild.
At the State Mental Institution they were called feral cats. These are bad cats. The kind of cats who knock over cigarette trucks and sell the cartons on the cheap . The kind that run shine out of the back of the old maintenance building. The kind that don't get spade. The kind that stay in heat so long the eventually go poof in an orange ball of flame on a hot summer day. The kind that call themselves "Good Kitties" like " this is Snowball, she's a good kitty." The kind no Yorike goes near.
But Pocket is not just any Yorkie. She's nuts. The maintenance men, long ago, guys with names like Sid and Ike, began leaving food and water for the stray cats on the site, in an old maintenance shed. Soon the maintenance men abandoned that shed. But the kitties did not. And although all those old maintenance men were long gone, someone still feeds those kitties. Some told tale of the ghost of Sid filling the kitties' bowls every morning. Then again this is the state mental institution so let's not get carried away.
Pocket saw two kitties, leaning up against the old maintenance shed, smoking Lucky Strikes, and spinning a mouse on a rotisseree over a fire. I shouted at her to wait but she began to run towards them. Really? What is it with her and all the running? She ran right up to the cats. She asked if she could go inside and look for a friend. "I could be your friend, Buttercup," one of the kitty toughs said. "But you're not white and gray," Pocket answered.
I walked up to them and said I wanted to go in. They asked me what the password was. "Swordfish," I answered. They stepped aside.
"How did you know that?" Pocket asked.
"The password is always swordfish," I said.
"Well what 's the point of that?" she asked.
"Look Pocket, we're in, stop over analyzing this to death."
We entered the room. There were several playing pool. Some were licking catnip right off the bar. Several others were enjoying their own private parts. I know, we all do it, but in public? Unprofessional. Pocket was ignoring it all; She saw the brown and white kitty being given a big bowl of milk by two rough looking kitties and hurried over to her.
Fearless, or senseless, Pocket ran right up to the kitty and told her that her Mommy missed her and she had to return home.
"Buzz off hairball," one of the older cats said. "This here is our prag, and you are getting in way over your head."
"Yeah," the kitty said. "You go back and tell my Mommy I'm never coming back. I'm sick off her stupid rules. Don't get on the couch. Pee in the litter box. Stay off the bed.. I don't like rules."
I sauntered next to Pocket. "Maybe we should leave her alone. Her Mom seems like a bitch." But Pocket insisted that the kitty belonged with it's Mom.
A fat cat wandered over and told us it would be best if we leave, but Pocket insisted the kitty come with us. Then I saw one cat who had been eyeballing me. He walked over, spit some hair out at my paws and told me he remembered me. "Five years ago you chased me up a tree and I got stuck there for a week. The fire department had to come to rescue me. I was humiliated. And now you dare to show your face in here."
"That wasn't me," I said. "I had a sister who looked like me. Bad dog."
"No that was you Foley," Pocket said. "I remember you telling me about it and laughing."
"I think it's time you were chased up a tree," he said and the kitties surrounded us.
We were in deep vick now. I knew we shouldn't have gone over the wall. Then we heard the squawking. The Canadian Geese Police had arrived.
I told Pocket to head for the door but she grabbed the kitty in her mouth. We ran for the door, got outside with the scrambling cats and pecking police, broke away from them, went around the wall, and returned the kitty home. We brought the kitty in the house and told the woman to let the kitty on the couch, the bed, and to let her pee where she wanted. "But this isn't even my kitty!' she said.
"It sure as shit is now!" I yelled.
Pocket and I ran hard towards our doggy door and hit it hard before we realized we didn't have one. Ouch. We climbed in through the window.
We both sat down on the couch breathing hard. Pocket looked at me. "There's one thing I don 't understand," she said. "Why were the Canadian Geese police?" she asked.
I put my paw on her shoulder. "Because sometimes Pocket you just need to find your way out of your blog."
As many of you have commented Pocket and I are too tiny to scale a wall. "We could just go around it," Pocket said. We just went around it.
And where did we emerge? Was it on the island with Ben and Hurley? In the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz? To some, but to us it was just the state mental institution.
Now don't go jumping to conclusions. The kitty hadn't gone crazy. The kitty had gone wild.
At the State Mental Institution they were called feral cats. These are bad cats. The kind of cats who knock over cigarette trucks and sell the cartons on the cheap . The kind that run shine out of the back of the old maintenance building. The kind that don't get spade. The kind that stay in heat so long the eventually go poof in an orange ball of flame on a hot summer day. The kind that call themselves "Good Kitties" like " this is Snowball, she's a good kitty." The kind no Yorike goes near.
But Pocket is not just any Yorkie. She's nuts. The maintenance men, long ago, guys with names like Sid and Ike, began leaving food and water for the stray cats on the site, in an old maintenance shed. Soon the maintenance men abandoned that shed. But the kitties did not. And although all those old maintenance men were long gone, someone still feeds those kitties. Some told tale of the ghost of Sid filling the kitties' bowls every morning. Then again this is the state mental institution so let's not get carried away.
Pocket saw two kitties, leaning up against the old maintenance shed, smoking Lucky Strikes, and spinning a mouse on a rotisseree over a fire. I shouted at her to wait but she began to run towards them. Really? What is it with her and all the running? She ran right up to the cats. She asked if she could go inside and look for a friend. "I could be your friend, Buttercup," one of the kitty toughs said. "But you're not white and gray," Pocket answered.
I walked up to them and said I wanted to go in. They asked me what the password was. "Swordfish," I answered. They stepped aside.
"How did you know that?" Pocket asked.
"The password is always swordfish," I said.
"Well what 's the point of that?" she asked.
"Look Pocket, we're in, stop over analyzing this to death."
We entered the room. There were several playing pool. Some were licking catnip right off the bar. Several others were enjoying their own private parts. I know, we all do it, but in public? Unprofessional. Pocket was ignoring it all; She saw the brown and white kitty being given a big bowl of milk by two rough looking kitties and hurried over to her.
Fearless, or senseless, Pocket ran right up to the kitty and told her that her Mommy missed her and she had to return home.
"Buzz off hairball," one of the older cats said. "This here is our prag, and you are getting in way over your head."
"Yeah," the kitty said. "You go back and tell my Mommy I'm never coming back. I'm sick off her stupid rules. Don't get on the couch. Pee in the litter box. Stay off the bed.. I don't like rules."
I sauntered next to Pocket. "Maybe we should leave her alone. Her Mom seems like a bitch." But Pocket insisted that the kitty belonged with it's Mom.
A fat cat wandered over and told us it would be best if we leave, but Pocket insisted the kitty come with us. Then I saw one cat who had been eyeballing me. He walked over, spit some hair out at my paws and told me he remembered me. "Five years ago you chased me up a tree and I got stuck there for a week. The fire department had to come to rescue me. I was humiliated. And now you dare to show your face in here."
"That wasn't me," I said. "I had a sister who looked like me. Bad dog."
"No that was you Foley," Pocket said. "I remember you telling me about it and laughing."
"I think it's time you were chased up a tree," he said and the kitties surrounded us.
We were in deep vick now. I knew we shouldn't have gone over the wall. Then we heard the squawking. The Canadian Geese Police had arrived.
I told Pocket to head for the door but she grabbed the kitty in her mouth. We ran for the door, got outside with the scrambling cats and pecking police, broke away from them, went around the wall, and returned the kitty home. We brought the kitty in the house and told the woman to let the kitty on the couch, the bed, and to let her pee where she wanted. "But this isn't even my kitty!' she said.
"It sure as shit is now!" I yelled.
Pocket and I ran hard towards our doggy door and hit it hard before we realized we didn't have one. Ouch. We climbed in through the window.
We both sat down on the couch breathing hard. Pocket looked at me. "There's one thing I don 't understand," she said. "Why were the Canadian Geese police?" she asked.
I put my paw on her shoulder. "Because sometimes Pocket you just need to find your way out of your blog."
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