Daisy the Drama Queen

I've mentioned how Daisy has personality. That's in comparison to Luna, who does not. And bedtime is just one of the many opportunities to observe it. My routine before heading upstairs goes something like this:

- Feed damn cats who have been crawling over me for last couple of hours, caterwauling for their nightly "Fancy Feast" feast.

- Lock damn cats in basement.

- Open back door. Luna trots out and does business. Daisy does not even raise one droopy eyelid where she lays in complete repose on my sofa, while I holler repeatedly at her. I walk across room and take hold of Daisy's collar, at which point she springs down with remarkable litheness considering how deeply asleep she was pretending to be. She makes it just over the threshold and simply cannot go any further. She collapses on the step. Again I take her by the collar, she pops right back up, instantly revived, and I accompany her down to the grass where I cheer her on and dump loads of praise on her for killing the grass. I run back inside.

- When she's good and ready, she very s l o o o o o o w l y comes back up the steps and inside the house. This all requires the expenditure of more energy than she believes she has, so she slumps in a heap on the floor, in her best I-just-cannot-go-on dramatic flourish. If we ignore her, she makes a rapid recovery and resumes her place on the sofa.


Last night as we headed upstairs, E gave her a right good guilt trip of some sort and made her leave the cushy sofa to come up to her crummy dog bed in our room. She skulked in and promptly creeped into my dark closet to implement her very own self-imposed time-out. I'm not sure if she was punishing herself or us though. I turned the lights on to get a quick photo, otherwise she was just laying there feeling sorry for herself in the dark. When she thought we were both asleep, she slunk out of the closet to sleep on her lousy dog bed.



(Sidenote: My mother will begin uncontrollable twitching at this point because of the slightly slovenly state of my closet. This gives me a sick sort of pleasure.)