If Fur Were a Nickel

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“When a dog wags her tail and barks at the same time, how do you know which end to believe?” — Barry Levinson, Man of the Year (via Wikiquote)

Even though the giant, cozy bed could likely hold 30 properly aligned Wickets and Pixies, they like to lay about in such a way to destroy any design I might have for easily squeezing in and making myself comfortable alongside them.

In fairness, Wicket’s not so bad. But Pixie? She’ll happily stretch right over my spot when I’ve gotten up briefly to brush my teeth. I return to try and coax her to reconfigure herself into a position that would benefit the both of us, but she’ll have none of it. She plays dead weight and I may as well be trying to convince a plate of egg salad to bring me the remote control.

On top of this rejection, the two of them conspire to leave trails of fur on the carpet wherever they may roam. I know that I need to get them proper furcuts, but the groomer hasn’t been returning my calls! Maybe they’re equally mean to people who don’t happen to be me? And, if so, should I not take it so personally? Perhaps if I sent them a get well gift basket?

Maybe they’re just tiny, fuzzy jerks! :)