Mr. T Thinks He’s a Dog

Spring, 2007 By Cutter

Herding. Napping. Eating.

Dogs have perfected these activities over millennia.

So why does Mr. T think he invented them?

I swear, I’ve even caught him sniffing my butt from time to time. That’s not normal, is it?

Look, life is good at Longtheway. I have no gripes about the quality of my canine companionship from Crow and Schuyler. I enjoy the nuanced bouquet of manure de cheval. There are a million things to eat, endless opportunities to dig, and countless sites to scent mark.

But don’t you think something is seriously wrong with a place where the top dog is a cat?

I’m not going to be one to tell Mr. T to step off my turf. I value my eyes too much. I’m just saying that everyone else should open their eyes a little wider and take a look at the situation.

That cat weighs – what? – ten pounds, but he’s got all of us by the short hairs. People think the horses whinny all the time. They’re not whinnying; they’re laughing – at me, at Crow and at Schuyler. It’s humiliating.

Something’s got to change.

(Just make sure it’s not feline Internet access: If Mr. T reads this, I’m cat food.)

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