Spy v. Spy

There is a battle being fought, right here under my roof.  A battle in which the lines between good and evil are blurred and the struggle for ultimate power shakes my home to it's very foundation.


My cat really hates my rotti-dog that much.


Fritti is a creature of serenity and grace.  Each ear flicker is a meditation upon whiskered perfection.  There is never a hair out place on her marmalade form.  The white star on her forehead is a physical manifestation of her other-worldly thoughts as she drinks in sunlight and stares, peacefully, out at the streets she owns simply by gazing upon them.


Jesse is 100 pounds of moron.  


Fritti has harbored a hateful grudge against her since the moment the dog stepped into our home and has successfully endeavored to make a creature 10 times her size afraid to even glance in her direction when she enters the room.  I have watched as my rotti-dog has stepped into a sunbeam occupied by Fritti and settled for a nap in the farthest corner of the ray.  Minutes later Fritti will stride over to her nose and proceed to beat merry hell upon it while Jesse skates for purchase on the hardwood, trying to flee.  Jesse, blessed with the heart of a lamb and the brain of a goldfish, will repeat this two or three times in an afternoon and each time will come to us for comfort as Fritti gazes disdainfully at her with narrowed eyes from across the room.  We think Fritti thinks Jesse is simply too big, slobbery and needy to be tolerated.


Our best guess is that Jesse thinks Fritti is made of sugar coated dog treats since in two years Jesse has still not learned to leave the cat alone.


This war wages when we are asleep, evidenced by debris on the floor come the dawn.  The battles are fought over pillows, sofa cushions, laps, who gets to nap on Husband, and the water bowl.  I don't know who is winning but this morning Jesse scored a few points by using one of the Yellow Dog's tricks:  sneaking up behind Fritti while she is drinking and sneezing.  Nothing is faster, madder or funnier than a wet cat trying to chase a rotti through puddles on the kitchen floor.


I am not saying I am rooting for one side over the other, that isn't the way a pet owner's heart works.  But I have to hand to Jesse; what she lacks in brains, ingenuity, cunning, stealth, maneuverability, speed, guile, strategy and basic memory skills she makes up for in enthusiasm.


She's going to need it.