Sometimes I don't understand my parents. This week they allowed a tornado into the house and expected me to play with it. I am a Florida girl, and I know a tornado is a most unwelcome guest.
This Tornado took the form of a plastic treat puzzle. I think the Tornado considered itself wise to take an unlikely cast, but the word tornado was on the packaging—a tornado's downfall usually springs from not reading the fine print.
As soon as the Tornado was removed from the box, I knew it was trouble. There were three levels, each with an opening for treats to hide. To get to the goodies, I had to spin the Tornado manually. I am not going to stir up a tornado to get a treat, and I ignored the thing.
I felt terrible that many of my tasty treats were caught in the swirling vortex; I wanted to free them from the awful Tornado and give them a home in my belly, but if I tried to intervene, I could get sucked in and then thrown miles away, where I wouldn't be able to find my way home.
The worst part was my parents sided with the Tornado. They told me to rescue the treats out of it, and I cautiously stayed ten feet away. My right front paw is the brave one, and it kept stepping forward, but my other sensible claws pulled me two steps back.
My Dad decided to face down the beast. He got on the floor and put his face on top of the Tornado. He pretended to eat my food to show me it was safe. Jeepers! I knew how to eat. He was wrong if he thought he would convince me to trust the Tornado. Sure, it didn't have the power to lift his big butt off the ground, but I was one-five hundred of his size. A mighty wind might not knock over the tree, but the leaves will be blown away.
My parents retreated to their chairs. I kept looking at the Tornado, wondering if I could steal a treat. I slowly snuck up on it, backed off, charged, extended my neck, and saved the treat. Having done it once, I did it again and again until all the kibble was safely in my tummy.
The thrill of victory was short-lived. This following day I found out that the treats had moved back to Tornado Alley and needed saving.
"Once again into the breech," I announced as I sprung into action to save my treats again.
Honestly, the Tornado never had a chance.
oh boy... we had such a thingy and da phenny drove it agains the furnitures till da sh*t tornado gave up... the lid broke and all the treats came out... yeah victory...
ReplyDeleteI'm actually smiling at this, picturing it. You were very brave in the end! But gees, that's a lot of work for treats, don't you think?
ReplyDeleteI really appreciate your stopping by with such beautiful words of condolence on Derry's passing. I've been a cat mom for 22 years and it's a hard to know how to pick up the pieces and carry on. I miss him desperately, and I know all pet parents understand the grief. Make sure your humans lavish you with extra attention and treats, because life is far too short.
You are so brave to conquer that wicked tornado and rescue your treats, Ruby Rose.
ReplyDeleteOh I am so impressed with your bravery and acumen, You figured out right away how to vanquish that tornado!!!
ReplyDeleteRuby Rose after I read this " I am a Florida girl, and I know a tornado is a most unwelcome guest." I laughed so hard I had to get a kleenx for my eyes
ReplyDeleteHugs cecilia
The best kinds of toys are the ones that dispense treats, Ruby! You conquered it!
ReplyDeleteYour humans are just like my mom...she makes us eat out of puzzle bowls to slow us down. You will beat that tornado and come out with all the treats!
ReplyDeleteHow we would love to see your Dad in action with the Tornado - BOL
ReplyDeleteWoos - Lightning, Misty, and Timber
You conquered your tornado fear, Ruby!
ReplyDeleteAt least as far as treats are concerned.
You can't be too careful with stuff like that!
ReplyDeleteBailey used to just smash the puzzles against the wall to get the treat to fall out. It was so effective that the peeps stopped buying the silly things.
ReplyDelete