Lucy's back, this time only for a few days. The usual mayhem began instantly like a shot out of a gun: she and DJ began playing with a stuffed leopard, each pulling on one end, a canine tug of war over a fake feline. My cats naturally went into hiding—one downstairs and one in the closet, preferring a safe nest to the threat of getting underfoot or maybe being mistaken for an unfortunate toy.
But by day 2, the cats had reappeared, and were lounging on the dining room table like it was a pool side chaise. I was working on my laptop, and after a time, I realized they were watching. Not me—the show. My two cats were watching DJ and Lucy wrangle through their play; chasing, pulling, boxing (Lucy is a Boxer after all), jumping, sliming, you name it, the cats appeared amused. It was as if they had bought tickets and ordered drinks at the sky box above this new kind of gladiator. Johnny, normally somewhat fearful, was even dangling a paw above them, as if to say "keep 'em coming", "give us a good show, chaps!" while Charlie eventually moved to the floor, stretched out like a king, watching at home plate.
Finally, the dogs took a break—well, more like DJ took a break and trotted over to the front hall to lay down on the cool tile floor, panting. Lucy, Johnny, and Charlie, all watching, waiting for the next round.
