Hi, light square people. I just figured something out about Mama and it made me super sick to my stomach. Like, I almost didn’t eat dinner, but then I did because dinner is tasty. So, you guys, I just found out that my mama is a witch.
Now, some of you out there who know my mama, and maybe went to school with her, or live near us, are bobbing your heads up and down and saying, “yes, Sophie. She is a bitch.” But I said WITCH. I’m not talking about mean and grouchy, or female dog. I’m talking about magic. My mama has special powers, and she just acts like a witch. Here’s my proof.
The most magical thing Mama did was train Morris how to beg. Everyone knows that you can’t train a CAT!
See, my mama IS a witch. This kind of scares me because witches love cats and can even become cats. You never see a witch with a dog, even a pretty black dog like me. So, I hope Mama doesn’t try to turn me into a cat. Then, I would eat really slow and make snake noises. Humans, please leave a comment for Mama and tell her not to be a cat witch. Thank you. Sophie
Help me. I saw my Uncle Andre and Aunt Sophie use their toes to type to you on this light box, and I hope you will read my story, too. The human they call mother is actually my grandmother. The boy is my father; he adopted me when he was still short and playful, and I was a puppy.
I’ve been a member of this family for ten years, and I’ve always loved it until now. There’s no nice way to say it. Look at what grandmother told the beauty shop lady to do to my hair.
This is ridiculous. I do like my hair short so it doesn’t get tangled when I hump Uncle Andre AKA the Kitty, or play with Aunt Sophie, but I don’t want to look like a boy, or worse yet a Chihuahua. Not that there is anything wrong with Chihuahuas, aside from them looking like rats. There. I said it.
I don’t deserve this treatment. I do a lot for this family. I bark whenever the wind blows to alert my family to danger. I also lick everyone because they don’t clean themselves good enough. I help with litter box cleaning by eating tasty nuggets.
I helped to train Aunt Sophie when she first came to live with us.
Humans out there, if you are reading this, please come and help me. If you can do weave and have some Maltese fur, even better. My father will pay you to fix my hair. He keeps looking at me, and shaking his head, and saying, “Lola, honey, no!” I feel the same way.
I’m pretty sure that’s your name cuz Mom always yells, “Leave my kitty alone” when I try to play with you. Anyway, Lola told me about that blog you wrote about me. I can’t read, but here it is: Mean Kitty Blog . You confuse me, Kitty. I have a lot of questions about you.
Lola told me that you said I was crazy and you were trying to kill me. If I’m the crazy one, why are you the psychotic murderer? I don’t want to kill anyone except my toys, but even I know they aren’t real.
I know why you are so mean and it’s not cuz of anything I do. Mom says it’s cuz you have trouble pooping. I’d be mad too if a bunch of poop were stuck in me. That would mean I couldn’t eat it. Poop is yummy. So, why don’t you just poop?
I think you also get mad cuz everyone thinks you’re a girl. You want to be all manly and stuff, but you’re just too pretty. Being a girl is the best though, so you shouldn’t be mad. Why aren’t you just happy to be pretty?
You confuse me, Kitty. You wag your tail at me, and then you hit me. If you don’t want to play, don’t wag your tail. Are you trying to trick me with your tail?
I also don’t understand why you sometimes sound like air is leaking out of you. Are you a balloon? Mom says you sound like a snake when you do that, but we live in Ohio, so I don’t know what a real snake is. I’m going with balloon.
Why do you always try to steal my daddy when he’s paying attention to me? Mom always says you are her favorite. She thinks I don’t hear her, but I do. So, just sit with mom and let me have daddy.
Kitty, you make my head hurt. I need to go lay down. Just be nice or just don’t hit me, OK? I just want to play with you, and maybe sniff under your tail a little.
Let’s just be honest. You are not MY dog. So, stop following me around like we are BFF’s. We aren’t; OK? Don’t get me wrong; I don’t HATE you or anything. You’re a sweet dog; I just like the cats better.
The cats don’t chew the baseboards or the dining room chairs. Seriously, why do you do that? You have oodles of toys. You do not need to chew our house. You act like you just quit smoking or something. You constantly have to have something in your mouth.
The cats also do not eat poop, ever. You actually tried to bring a frozen turd into the house today. INTO MY HOUSE! What is wrong with you? That is gross, and unnecessary. We have tried EVERYTHING to get you to stop, including giving you extra treats. I feed you enough throughout the day to keep a small farm animal alive. Well, at 74 pounds, I guess you ARE a small farm animal.
My favorite thing about you, Sophie, and yes I have one, is that you are NOT allergic to peanut butter. YES! This allows me to stuff it in Kongs or those hollow bone things to get about 27 minutes of concentration time. You see, Sophie, I work from home, and in order to, oh say, work, I need to not have to let you in and out of the back door every 16 seconds. Really. Pick a side of the door and stay there a while.
You’re probably thinking, “Work? All you do is stare at that square thing. You should chew it. That would be work.” Actually, Sophie, if I don’t stare at the square thing, AKA work on the computer, you would not have as many nice toys to ignore while you are eating wood and poop. Man, I wish they would just come out with a Nylabone shaped like a turd. And without my square staring job, you could forget about the Blue Buffalo food and doggy daycare visits. I do love those daycare days. Sigh.
When you are actually here with me ALL DAY LONG, you could do me a couple of favors to help me concentrate. First, stop barking at everything. The wind has been blowing for millions of years. Barking at it will not make it stop. If that worked, the people along the East Coast would put you on the beach during hurricane season. Also, other people live on this street. I’m not happy about it either. They, too, are dumb enough to have big dogs. Those dogs are sometimes in their own yards. Your barking at them is not going to make everyone move to a new neighborhood.
Another thing you could do for me is stop trying to be friends with Andre. He simply does not like you. He is NOT playing with you. If he had opposable thumbs, I am certain he would jump on the counter, grab a knife from the block, and attempt to stab you. Of course, you would probably think he was playing and would take off running with the knife and the cat stuck to your back like you were in some kind of big dog rodeo.
Thanks for reading, Sophie. Now, if you could just keep chewing that gross dog bone you are busy destroying for the next few hours until daddy gets home, that would be dreamy. You are DADDY’S dog. The boy will be home soon to love on your for a couple of minutes, too. Monday is going to be a daycare day for you, girl. I think we both need it.