Baggage

At my age, one must expect that any new relationship is going to arrive with baggage.

That might be a hostile previous partner, mad children, deep seated emotional problems or any number of things that are bound to intrude on one’s formerly tranquil existence and create challenges for a fledgling couple.

In my case that baggage has arrived, literally, in a small backpack.

With a creamy body, big brown eyes and adorable expression, the Love Interest has come with another woman in tow ... his small jack russell, Q.

Now I have never been a dog person. I think the problem started when, as a child, a dog ate my pet rabbit Peter (my goodness, what imagination there!). Then there were the two standard poodles with halitosis breath that I had to endure frequently as a friend of my mother's drove us up to our country ranch. And, of course, there was the incident of the unfriendly rottweiler and my left buttock just last year ...

So I have always had cats, and have lived happily with Butch and Fang for the last 9 years. Q has seriously upset this arrangement.

Q is one of those rare dogs that you simply cannot fail to fall in love with. She has completely won my heart and has free range of the house whenever she visits. Much to the cats' disgust.

A typical visit, from the animal's perspective must go something like this ...


Q: Oh Goody! Going to Aunty Betty's house! That's the place where I get spoiled with chicken wings and steak and pate and can run around the garden with interesting smells! Oh look! There are the cats! Maybe if I run up and say hello they'll be my friends!

B & F: Oh %*&@#!!! Incoming! Incoming! It's that yappy thing again. We're outta here ...

Actually, the cats have developed a sort of sixth sense and now vacate the premises before Q even arrives. Quite handy really, as I have realised that the mad rush for the cat door generally means that the Love Interest is about to pull up and Q is going to come bounding in with the eternal optimism of a small canine that this time the large hissy things might want to play ...

Of course the cats also know the instant that Q has left the building and return with yowls of reproach and expressions that say "how could you, mother" before reclaiming their rightful place on the bed and going to sleep.

I wonder what will happen if Q stays for a sleepover ...