Polly recently visited us for a week while Meme and Papa were out of town.
Henry packed up and stated we would never see him again unless we “disposed of” the dog. I said, “Henry, we are not going to dispose of the dog. And her name is Polly.”
He said, “Whatever,” and left.
Olive, however, happily rubbed herself against Polly’s legs (making the dog horribly nervous) and proceeded to show her how things operate around our house.
Polly was alternately fascinated and terrified by Olive. Sometimes Polly would stand stock still, her gaze riveted on Olive’s current activity, drool running down the side of her jaw. Other times she followed slavishly nose-to-tail wherever Olive wandered, shying immediately away if Olive should switch directions toward her.
Olive was particularly pleased with Polly’s bed, which the dog brought with her since it was an extended sleep-over. Olive immediately claimed it for a nap, saying, “What a nice present for Olive!”
Which caused really the only argument they had the entire week.
Polly mumbled, without looking Olive in the eye, “It’s not your present.”
To which Olive brightly and earnestly replied, “Oh! It is, though!” She smiled. “Everything is Olive’s present.”
Polly blanched at the sight of Olive’s pointy fangs and said in a teeny, tiny doggie voice, “That’s my bed.”
Olive got a small wrinkle on her forehead, remembering the times her humans had told her the very same thing. And I have to say, she got just a wee bit ferocious. I hadn’t known Olive actually had any of the normal cat genetic material, but clearly she does.
But there were no more disputes about the bed.