I really wasn't in the mood to write anything funny after Willoughby and all, but these little hairy varmint critters won't hold still and let me grieve in peace. This is too good not to share.
We live in a large townhouse, with a large living room/dining room combination downstairs, the kitchen to one side, and a two-car garage attached. The rest is upstairs. Next to the garage is a hallway leading to the downstairs bath, then a staircase going to the upstairs rooms. The staircase is partially open underneath, just enough to let the critters pass through.
A few minutes ago Sasha was sprawled out in all her glory in front of the fireplace, Cherokee was measuring the back of the couch, and Mac was wandering around with a bored look in his eye. Cherokee spotted the pup and decided to play chase.
He leaped off the back of the couch and scared Mac half to death. The poor pup broke into a run with Cherokee hot on his heels, almost but not quite running fast enough to catch him. It would spoil the fun of the chase, don't you know. Every time Mac slowed down and tried to turn around, Cherokee would swat him on the butt and have him once again racing for territory that didn't have a cat behind him. Sasha snoozed, blissfully unaware, perhaps dreaming of a never-never land full of frisky toms and lots of catnip.
Finally Mac rounded the end of the stairs, raced down the hall, ducked under the staircase, ran out the other side and right over Sasha, knocking her arse over teacup. She sprang to her feet, outraged and ready for a piece of pup, then Cherokee ran up her back and over her head, flattening her in the process.
She hisspit and dared them to fight, shaking a paw at their retreating backs as they disappeared around the end of the staircase.
Almost immediately she heard the sound of a thundering herd approaching her from behind, from underneath the staircase, and without thinking she broke into a wild sprint just as Mac appeared once again.
She didn't run far; she realized almost immediately that she was running from Mac and spun on her heels and attacked him head on. Poor Mac slammed on the brakes only to get trampled by Cherokee, who was right behind him. The momentum was just too much, and before they knew it the three of them were in a wild, tumbling, squalling, yelping dog/cat pile.
When the dust cleared Mac was under the couch, Cherokee was on the mantle, and Sasha was alone in the middle of the room daring anybody--ANYBODY--to come out and fight. But they all had other concerns elsewhere.
What'll they do next?