No, it's not raining here in the Windy City. It's cold. As in, "I think winter's trying to push fall out the door" cold. 34 degrees Fahrenheit with a hard frost warning for tonight. Brrr...
I love my dog. Not in a "do anything for her she's really just a child with fur" sort of way, but she is a sweetie (most of the time), and it does make me sad when she has trouble getting up because her hips are (already) giving her problems and she's not even a year old yet. Princess Poopy Puppy has made herself part of our family: the four-legged Queen of the House.
We used to have a cat. A sweet, black kitty named Boo. Cats and dogs, as anyone familiar with either will tell you, are completely different personality-wise. Boo was the Queen of the House, but she was not the benevolent ruler that the current monarch is. Boo ruled from on high (the stereo speaker tower, to be precise) and deigned to let us pet her silky coat and allow us the privilege of feeding her and cleaning her toilette. This servitude did have its perks, however. Cats make great footwarmers at night. Of course, being nocturnal hunters by their nature, they also feel the need to attack the very same feet in the middle of the night.
But I digress.
Dogs tolerate all kinds of humanizing, like dressing them up for Halloween, wearing warm coats and little booties in the winter. Cats, on the other hand, are not so excited to be models for the latest haute couture. Witness Bianca, Midge's kitty in her new chapeau.
If looks could kill...