We live with several animals. I say several for we have two large and slobbery dogs, one she's-not-overweight-she's-just-fluffy cat, and the Mystery Beast.
The Mystery Beast wakes us up in the night to let us know in a booming voice that everything is all right. Neither dog will have anything to say when the light comes on except "Who, us?"
The Mystery Beast eats unmonitored breakfast toast and leaves a trail of drool leading away from the toilet bowl. The Mystery Beast leaves a warm spot on the no-dogs-on-the-sofa. The Mystery Beast will eat baby green tomatoes straight from the vine. The Mystery Beast eats the cats' food when the cat isn't looking. The Mystery Beast has gas.
This Beast is not yellow or black and tan or orange and white. This Beast, to the best we are able to guess based on the sizable dust bunnies under the kitchen table each morning, is grey in colour and, apparently, likes the taste of shoes.
The Mystery Beast has never been spotted by a Two-Legger although the dogs and cat claim to see him on a regular basis. Like the Boogie Man of house pets, the Mystery Beast lurks behind our doors and under the stairs, waiting for any opportunity to clear the counter of unwanted loaves of fresh bread or to carefully tie the sewing machine thread to the toaster oven. Although we have never seen it, we know that the Mystery Beast is here to stay and while it may cost us a few slices of peanut butter toast, it is still far cheaper than the Rottweiller, who still owes me for a $400 dental retainer.
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