Sunday Can't Come Soon Enough

Oh my god, you guys. This animal situation is getting completely out of control. Now, if you are a frequent reader, you know that Brian and I have enough furry animals in our house to assemble some sort of small, fuzzy, domesticated army (if only I could motivate them to do anything other than sniff each others’ assholes and ruin my life).

Our Cast of Quadrupeds:

Jericho: The wise old dog who knows everything about life, yet continues to take his morning piss on my euonymus plant, knowing full well that I will chase him down and scream in his face for doing so. Also known to poop in inappropriate places including (but not limited to): Petsmart, a crosswalk in New Brunswick (as the light was turning green), and center field at the annual Firefighter Turkey Bowl. But NOT at my wedding, and accordingly, is the house favorite. By a long shot.

Skittles: The deranged, serial killer cat who will cut you if you fuck with her, or even if she’s just in a mood. Known to be handleable only when her surface temperature reaches 3462346952234 degrees Fahrenheit after sitting in front of the fire for countless hours. Is anticipated to kill us in our sleep one day.

Tiger aka Pumpkin aka Fat Girl: World’s fattest cat. Can be found sitting on my laptop case 24 hours a day, exposing her lady bits and licking the fur off of her engorged tummy. Believed to be the incarnate of my Dear Aunt Peg (may she rest in peace), and as such, is alleged to speak with a throaty voice developed after years of chain smoking, and probably calls everybody “doll.” Also has a testicle-stomach.

Milo: The scourge of our house, and the bane of my existence. Is 11 months old, not yet fully potty trained, and 100% untrustworthy when left alone for even a second. Exuberance is matched only by his ability to digest anything and everything, including books, crown molding, antique chests, windowsills and window frames, shoes, bras, pillows, blankets, dog beds, bills and other paper goods, and various plastic sundries. Has been known to scooch his crate through multiple rooms in our house and run six miles at once without tiring. Will likely be the death of me.

So, considering this menagerie, is it any wonder that the addition of another animal is seriously giving me a heart attack?

Enter Bandit.

Bandit: Beagle belonging to in-laws. Neurotic, spastic, clingy, and prone to baying that will make your ears bleed and your eyes pop out of their sockets when he is left alone. Has a serious Napoleon complex and thus, splits his time between staring down and attacking Milo and running from Milo with his tail between his legs. Designated “Weirdo” and habitual shedder. Not even that cute, to be perfectly frank.

Bandit is staying with us through Sunday while my In-laws go on vacation somewhere in NY.

Oh, joy.

When he’s at his home, he sleeps in my In-Laws bedroom room on the floor (I think). Sleeping arrangements are already tight in our house, so you can imagine that adding an additional…eccentric…animal to the mix is not conducive to sleep. Or sanity.

At first, Bandit was determined to sleep on the bed with Brian and I. Unfortunately, that piece of prime real estate is already monopolized by Milo and trust me, there ain’t room for one more. So Bandit jumps up and theres all kinds of whining and staring and a few snarls as Milo and he negotiate the terms of his lease.

When the grumbly growling doesn’t stop, I make an executive decision to boot Bandit to the floor, and would you believe it? He GROWLS at me. Like, seriously snarls. I saw teeth and crazy-eyes. So Brian shoves him to the ground and then…
The pacing starts.

Back and forth across our wood floors. Bandit is trying to figure out where to sleep.
*click click click click
Like the Tell Tale heart, but VERY MUCH NOT MY IMAGINATION.

And for the record, I was seriously considering burying him below the floor boards at this point.

But finally everybody settles down for the night.

Unfortunately, Milo decides that 2:00am is a GREAT time to wake up and stare down Bandit from the top of the bed until they resort to fisticuffs.
So there’s more growling and snarling and you know what?
Don’t fuck with my sleep, you little hairy bastards!

Milo gets the boot out of the room, and I crawl back in bed and try to sleep.
Thing is, I keep imagining all the stuff he’s getting in to out in the living room.
So I sleep, fretfully, until Milo throws himself at the bedroom door, barking, around 3:00am.

So in Milo comes and he’s back on the bed, but he’s all squirmy and wanting to play and I had to beat him...er...pet him until he acquiesced to stay still and “go the fuck to sleep,” as I so tactfully put it.

So that was my night.
And we have three more to go.

Bandit is also unable to regulate his food intake.

In other words, he’s a fat, greedy bastard.

So Milo and Jericho’s food, which is usually down 24 hours a day, has to come up. And Bandits food has to be measured and put down twice a day, without allowing my dogs to eat it.

It’s fucking retarded. So what if he want to eat himself to death? I say sit back and let the process of natural selection occur.

Brian put down Bandit’s food this morning while me, Milo, and Jericho were sleeping in the bedroom. Sure enough, it’s still on the floor when we emerge, and as soon as Milo gets a whif of it, he runs to the kitchen and FLIPS THE ENTIRE BOWL OVER.
Then he starts eating it off the floor.

(I hate this dog).

So I clean it up and put it back in the bowl, and I have to watch Bandit eat to (slowly, nugget by painful nugget) make sure Milo or Jericho don’t sneak a bite. And then I have to put Milo and Jericho’s food down to make sure that Bandit doesn’t eat it, and they’re all, “What is this shit?” Because they’re used to eating at their leisure.

Ugh.

So I’m pretty sure Jericho didn’t eat at all, Milo ate half of Bandit’s food, and Bandit ate the other half of his food this morning.

I seriously don't have time for this when I'm struggling to make it to work by 8:45 am.

So if anybody needs me, I’ll be at a hotel until Sunday.

Brian,
If you’re reading this, Bandit gets a cup of food twice a day. Oh, and Milo’s shock collar is in the closet.
Have a great weekend!