For me that is.
The other night that wretched Ralphie wanted to go out of the room.
He did his usual krrstkrsstkrsst scratchy thing on the covered brick that keeps the door propped closed.
Mom got out of bed and opened the door for him.
Oi! Watch it!
I smacked my tail on the floor to alert her that I was not slumbering in my baskie but draped over the tiles, cooling down a bit.
She grovelled around in the darkness and located my head.
She gave me a pat.
Hullo Fudges, she said.
I thought she was going back to bed, but noooo…. she was on her way to the bathroom instead.
Somehow her feet got tangled up in my blankie that had accompanied me onto the tiles.
Her frantic grasping to try and save herself from thundering down onto the floor and crushing the very life out of my fragile little body was thwarted.
She thundered down anyway and made a lot of noise whilst doing it.
How rude!
Alpha shot up out of bed and put the light on.
Think he thought we were being attacked.
Not “we”… merely I was being attacked.
Mom sucked in a deep breath and got to her feet.
Jeez Fudges – that’s the third time I’ve tripped over you – are you trying to kill your momma huh?
Me kill you?
I think not!
It’s the other way around I think.
Luckily this time she did not dent or break anything like she did last time. Just herself!
I took myself back into my baskie – much safer there.
Yesterday we went for a walk around the complex instead of in the veld.
But after breakfast (and I should add I only got a weenie bit of delicious cheese griller instead of a huge chunk like I would have had before) they said “Come on Fudges.”
Come on where?
We’ve already had our walk today.
But Alpha put me into the car anyway and off we went…. aaarghhh to Dr Dean!
But instead of actually seeing him – they had me hop onto the scale.
Those little red numbers winked and flickered… 32… 33… 34…. 33…. 34……
They settled and stopped.
Whoohoo Fudges – you’ve lost three kilograms at least.
Mom and I did the slightly skinnier wiggly pig happy dance.
