Monday, July 19, 2010

Next, She'll Want Me To Rent "The Godfather" For Her

The beast with whom I share Casa de Acorn is extremely opportunistic. She knows that when I get in the shower, she’s got a 10-15 minute window during which she’s free to wreak whatever havoc she chooses to upon the house, and she does not often let it pass without event. I’m certain that in her neurologically mis-wired "brain," she rationalizes her actions with some twisted logic about how she’s the victim because I enable her by not locking the garbage can inside the safe in the office (which she can probably open anyway).

Anyway, usually it’s the garbage, but recently, she’s taken to licking certain plates clean that I’ve left on the bar counter, where I generally eat. Not all plates, mind you … I haven’t changed anything in the configuration of my house, so she’s always been able to hop up on the couch, which is located on the opposite side of the wall from the barstools, and access whatever remains I’ve left there. But for some reason or another, she hasn’t really taken advantage of the configuration. Chicken burger? Not interested. Deli-type sammich? Meh.

No, the plates that are invariably cleaned up are the ones with the balsamic vinegar and olive oil that I’ve been mixing lately and using to dip Italian bread into. Seriously … it’s as if she thinks she’s Sicilian and she’s finally back in the Old Country. I’ve detected a bit of an Italian accent in her barks lately (and it’s really pathetic, and quite insulting, as it’s really just the worst of stereotypes that she picked up from watching the restaurateur on The Simpons – “barka barka barka BARKA!” she’ll say, to the cadence of “That’s-a spicy spicy meat-a-ball!” It’s really embarrassing.

Worse yet, she seems to have developed a taste for the finer oils … a generic virgin won’t do. I was a bit terrified the other day when I was unloading the groceries and she began snarling and biting my calf. It took a while to figure out what she wanted, but once I went back and got some Pompeian Extra Virgin, she seemed fine. These things have a way of progressing, however, and I’m a bit afraid that soon she’ll demand Lambda or Manni, like some crazed addict for whom yesterday’s fix isn't enough today. Quello è uno stupido cane.

Sweet jeebus, I hope she can’t read that. The last thing I need is the Muttfia after my ass ... can you break somebody's kneecaps without opposible thumbs?


Niamh B said...

Sounds like a cultured vulture you got there - and she's trying to help with the dishes, obviously doing her best to pull her weight in the house. You should be grateful!!

My dog has taken to eating dirt from the flower pot.

The Dead Acorn said...

Her culinary leanings are quite aristocratic, but her taste in art is a little more base ... she really likes those "dogs playing poker" paintings. But she is quite helpful and doing her best, I'm sure. She doesn't help with the floral arrangements like yours, though. They all have their own skill sets, I guess.

Jonny Hamachi said...

It's probably not dirt in the flower box. It's probably kittly pâté.