He ventured into Em’s garage cave and dug out a big fat cardboard box.
He chopped it up to make it the right size and positioned it nicely under the window.
I watched with interest as Alpha wriggled into my box and Mom helped him tape it up so it would stay the right size.
Check it out Fudges, said Mom.
Your very own safe spot where you can hide from the Thunderdog and that nasty old motorcycle dude across the road.
And look… you can’t bash your head on anything in here.
She smoothed a carpet into place and gave it a pat.
Come see.
My big brown eyes stared at both of them.
Nope. I’d rather get under the bed.
Well Fudges – that’s not going to be happening anymore.
Mom gave me the evil eye and lifted up the side of the duvet with a flourish.
See!
I saw.
She had taped boards together and Velcroed them to the base and the legs of the bed.
This bed, I should tell you – was bought when Mom and Alpha first got married – a few years before my time.
It was coined an “entry level bed” by the salesman because it’s got a wooden base and it’s not at all fancy.
They’ve wanted to replace it many times in the past but don’t because it’s always been my hidey hole when the Thunderdog roars.
But that was before I started having epileptic fits.
Mom did the dirty on me and rolled my ball into the box.
Without thinking I dashed inside to retrieve it… hmmm… not too shabby in fact.
Took a look around and tried out the carpet.
Scrunched it up to make it more comfy.
Might even do.
As life happens, of course, there were no scary noises all week – so I slumbered in my baskie and when it got too hot I’d go lie by the door that leads out to the balcony.
There’s a cool draft that wafts in from outside.
Then that wretched Ralph jumped onto the top of MY box (as if it’s not enough that he steals my baskie half the time anyway) and caused it to cave in.
Honestly, that cat is such a fatso.
He needs to go on diet.
Alpha had to do some renovations to make it Ralph proof.
