The snow is coming down outside and we’re hoping this is the last snow storm before spring. We woke up with our new cat, Uno, in bed with us — but so was our dog, Rascal. For the last two weeks Rascal and Uno have been at odds, but they seem to have negotiated an uneasy truce. At the animal shelter, we purposely picked out the biggest, scariest cat we could find, hoping to put the fear of the feline in Rascal (who generally regards them as furry playthings). Uno is approximately the same weight as Rascal and they are evenly matched; Uno might even have the upper hand. It’s added a lot of excitement to our house lately.
But this morning it is cold, windy and a torrent of wet snow is coming down outside. Rascal, with his terrier genes stretching back to the rugged Scottish Highlands, is giddy with anticipation: this is fine hiking weather in his mind, perhaps the best that one could hope for. So I took him out for a long walk in the miserable weather and he was enormously happy, having a blast outside. We walked down to the Mystic River and I let him off his leash: a cardinal mistake, as he quickly dug up some foul-smelling rotting fish to roll in. After a good hour we returned home, and Rascal was reluctant to come inside despite the fact that the snow storm has gotten worse. I finally coaxed him back to the house – but he didn’t pass Morra’s smell test. That means two options: the basement or the bath. So right now we’re sitting in the basement, sticking up my beloved entertainment system with the smell of putrid fish, until I work up the nerve to undertake a titanic battle of the wills also known as bathtime. Morra has settled in her study to write papers, and I’ve got various projects, work and otherwise. And a fine, fishy Saturday it is.
As If It Matters 