We just got a new puppy, and things will not be the same for long time. Toby is an eight-month-old, black-and-tan dachshund that just fills the palm of my hand, and he doesn't (yet) know the meaning of fear.
Patty carried him in the house and set him on the floor, expecting him to run and hide or at least be fearful of new surroundings. Not Toby. First he ran up to Cherokee and began barking furiously at him, ears flapping madly with his efforts. Cherokee just looked at him. The pup was bouncing off the floor in the frenzy of his greeting, making a half-circle in front of the cat.
Cherokee is real laid back, full of dignity and decorum. He just sniffed at the obstreperous mutt, then turned and started to walk away. Junior was having none of that. He wanted to be NOTICED! Toby began biting Cherokee's heels and in general making a nuisance of himself. Cherokee's head settled a little lower and his ears went back, but he continued stalking across the room. Then the pup leaped up and grabbed a mouthful of Cherokee's belly fur and hung on. Cherokee started growling down deep in his throat and kept walking.
He walked behind the couch, out of sight, then suddenly there was a "YIPE!" and Toby ran back to Mama and hid behind her feet, peering fearfully about. One ear seemed to be cocked higher than the other, which appeared to be plastered down with cat spit. Or maybe it had been swatted down, vigorously.
Samantha walked in about that time, wondering perhaps what the ruckus was all about. Oh, Boy! A new playmate. With renewed hope and vigor Toby charged at Samantha and was a little tardy throwing on the brakes, bumping hard against the fluffy Siamese and bouncing off. Undeterred, the hardy little fellow repeated his attempts at play, yapping furiously and trying to coax Sam into a romp.
Sam romped. She reared up and came down hard with both front paws on Toby's squeaky little head, leaving only his pointy little nose sticking out. She held him there until he quit squirming, raised her paws, and "Hissspit!" right in his face. Back to Mama.
There was only one more left to try. Pussy jumped down from her perch on the mantle and ambled toward her food dish, either oblivious to or uncaring about the ongoing whoopeejamboreehoo. Immediately the needle-nosed terror ran up behind her and tried to get her to play, barking his little brain out. At the first yap, Pussy leaped about three feet straight up, did a 180 in midair, all four paws going at once in different directions, and streaked for safety.
Toby was alone on the battlefield, triumphant at last.