So this week there are no pictures to tell the story. My words will have to do.
I have mentioned before that Maxwell and Stewart do not get along. They are the cliché dog and cat. Seriously, cartoons could have been based on these two. I still do not fully get it, though. Max is so "undog" in so many ways. But this is the one thing he got. His instincts are honed. Cat = bad.
There are no pictures of the trauma and drama that surrounded last Monday with these two furry babies. I was shaking too hard to hold the camera.
Stewart has become too brazen for his own good. He does not see Max as a worthy adversary. He can usually outrun him, but most of the time Max is in his own world and does not notice the cat that is strutting through the room. But on Monday, Stewart was reminded of why we have a baby gate at the bottom of the stairs.
I did not see how it started, so I cannot tell you what triggered the madness. All I heard was the tell-tale bark of "Hunter Max" and some angry, guttural meows from Stewart. I went running toward the horrible sound. What I found was a fight underway in the laundry room. But not out in the open where I could see what was happening and try to stop it. Oh, no. Stewart had either started out behind the washer OR had retreated behind it when Max gave chase. Whatever the case, I was unaware that big, old Max could even fit back there. I guess anything is possible when you are properly motivated. So I can hear the scary noises coming out of my precious babies, but I could not see anything. I am standing there, helpless, terrified. I am trying to think. Do I our water on them? I have to get back there. So I pull a huge Lynda Carter-esque Wonder Woman move. I lifted the corner of the washing machine and pulled it away from the wall, thus creating a large enough space for me to see the fur flying. At the same time, Stewart who has some really smart moments, intertwined with his audaciousness, hurdled the white tornado of fur that was after him. He ran safely to his baby gate and escaped to his upstairs haven. Max, ever the pokey puppy had to back up his portly body to escape the tunnel behind the washing machine. I closed him in the laundry room while I searched for Stewart to make sure he was OK. He was. His paws were bloody, but it was not his blood.
I found a shell-shocked Maxie pacing the laundry room with his snout and nose covered in blood. I put him on the kitchen counter so I could rinse the blood out of his formerly white hair and check his eyes for damage. It was all flesh wounds, and he was alright. The kids were so upset and worried about Max. They started to call Stewart mean until I explained that Stew was simply defending himself. I stopped shaking about an hour after it was over. It was all too much. Lucky I do not have a weak heart. . .
So the effects of this tousle between 2 of my furries are far reaching. When I tried to put the washer back, without my adrenaline to aid me, I was unable to move it. That thing is heavy! But I did not think too much about it.
Fast forward to Saturday morning. I am preparing to get caught up on a whole weeks with of laundry. I had something soaking in the washer and before I started the first load, I set the cycle to spin to drain the soaking water. Guess what happened? Well, apparently I am like Bam-Bam Rubble, and I do not know my own strength. When I yanked the machine out to expose the scrappers, I also yanked (pardn the technical term here) the drain hose thingy out of the back of the washer. So, when I told it to drain, it did as it was told. Just all over the floor instead of out the hose thingy. What. A. Mess. Thankfully David was home to help me figure out what to do. We spent the morning cleaning up the mess after he reattached the end of the hose thingy to the back of the washer. Fun times. Oh, but he did move the machine back into place AND it is so close that neither pet can easily get back there now.
I am telling you; these animals sure are lucky I love them so much. . .
No comments:
Post a Comment