Not Listening to River Song Proves Disastrous for Her Parents

Nobody listens to the Griffon.  Do you know what you get when you don't listen to the Griffon?  You get trouble. My parents learned that the hard way.

Do you remember when I complained about the cats under the house? Of course, you do. You remember everything I write. I am the Charles Dickens of middle European originated dog bloggers.

Since it first became apparent last summer that we had a crisis In the southern part of our house where cats were streaming into our crawl space to escape the cold and prepare to steal our heat come winter I have advocated for my parents to replace the flimsy skirt which surrounds the house with a wall.

"Oh the cats aren't hurting anyone" my parents,  the snowflakes, said. It would be nice to live in their fantasy world where cats can live in harmony with humans under their house, but I live in the harsh reality where cats under the house destroy the home.

Lately, my parents had noticed that our furnace was not holding the temperature.  They concluded it was because of the extreme cold. I told them "I bet it's the cats."  Again, they refused to listen opting to believe it was a mechanical problem which would work itself out.

On Friday night my dad came home from work.  He doesn't have many talents, but he can tell if the house is at the wrong temperature.  The temperature was four degrees below what it was set for He went outside to check the unit.  It was blowing a lot of hot air but not into the house. My father came back inside and retrieved the small space heater from the closet.  "Well, it's Friday night. We will pay triple for someone to look at it now. We can get by with this little trusty. space heater for the weekend." It was 15 degrees outside, and the heater was more decorative than functional. My mother and I shared a skeptical look.  "We'll have someone take a look at it on Monday. It's probably just a belt or something," Daddy said in that authoritative tone men use when they have no idea what they're talking about.

For two days they clumped about the house in sweaters, jackets, and blankets.  The living room and kitchen weren't too cold. The bedroom was in the '40s. Even bundled under blankets my parents would fight to have me next to them because I was the warmest thing in the bed.  If they were unable to wrest me from the other's grasp they had to settle for whatever heat spindly little Pocket could muster.

Mommy said the bathroom was the coldest.  They showered quickly. Mommy complained about the cold toilet seat.  I told her to try and pee in the snow as I do. She acted like she didn't understand what I was barking about.

The repairman came to our chilly home on Monday morning.  He trampled through the snow to the unit. He took a single look at it.  "I'll tell you what's wrong; some little creatures been sneaking between the skirt and the unit and ripped the heat duct off."

I heard the diagnosis from the recliner where I was keeping Mommy warm.  "Cats cats cats cats," I barked. I told them this day was coming, but no one listened.  Vengeance was mine, and its name was Kitty. (Granted, I am going to have to work on my catchphrase).

The technician wrestled the unit away from the opening. He reattached the duct put a cord around it and additionally fastened it with five metal screws.  "That should keep whatever vermin is getting under the house from ripping it off.'" It hurt my heart to hear this. Of course, the cats would damage it again.  They were relentless. I knew if those, like the technician, on the front lines of the cat battle thought they could be so easily stopped then explaining the threat to my neophyte parents would be even harder.

My father came back inside. Sheepishly, he admitted it was the"harmless" cats who caused us to suffer more than 48 hours of frigid temperatures.  I was prepared to be told that I was right. Instead, my parents glossed over their guilt and my due apology. They began to discuss how best to make sure our southern border secure.
"Perhaps," my dad said, “we could make some structure to blocks access, maybe stack bricks near the opening."


"What, like a wall? I barked.  Per usual they ignored me. I grumpily settled on Mama's lap.  I was done giving advice. Someday when they awaken to find that a group of rogue cats had stolen the entire unit, they might listen to me.  But until then it was not worth wasting my barks.