Partners in Crime
This story is loosely based on real events… last night’s events, to be exact.
It was a typical spring day in Cleveland – cold and damp. The rain was banging on the windows of a gray colonial house, while the tree branches brushed back and forth frantically against the glass, like a hyperactive housewife that has read too much Flylady.
The house itself was empty except for two animals. One was a yellow puppy who saw everyone as his friend and looked at the world with wonder and curiosity. The other was an aging male chinchilla, with razor-sharp wit and teeth to match, experienced and cynical. In normal circumstances, these two were unlikely to ever meet, much less become friends. Yet there they were, having an intense conversation.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” – the chinchilla inquired, his whiskers bristling. – “We need to get rid of the enemies.”
“You mean the humans? But why? They are very nice people, Nicky.”
The chinchilla hopped up and down in rage. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use that stupid name they gave me?! For the last time, my mother named me Furry Delight! And, you will address me as “Sir”! I’m older than you; besides, I was here first! Which is why I get to choose the rooms I will have for myself when the bipeds leave. You get what’s left. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mister Furry Delight, Sir!” – the puppy was sitting straight, trying not to look worried.
“Now, to your misconception about them being, quote-unquote, “nice people”. Yes, they may look nice. But what are they really? Why, nothing but our captors! Like animals, they lock us in cages,” the chin had been listening to his youngest owner’s hip-hop CDs a lot lately. “They hog all the food and give us some lame pellets and dry hay and maybe a few raisins a day. But have you seen what they eat? Steak! Shrimp salad! They drink fine wine! And when I try to come and get some of it, what do they say? “Get out of the pantry, Nicky!” “Get away from that food, Nicky!” “Scram, Nicky!” Can’t you see how evil they are?”
“But they play with us… they take me for walks… they give me treats…” the puppy timidly offered.
“AND THAT IS NOT ENOUGH!” – thunderously retorted the chinchilla. “I see where you’re going with that. You’re willing to sell yourself into slavery in exchange for some play time and a couple of walks and a treat or two. You, sir, are a sellout!”
“I am sorry, Mister Furry Delight, Sir,” stammered the poor puppy. “What can I do now?”
“You can listen to me and do what I tell you to do. And don’t talk back!” - and Furry Delight showed his teeth. The puppy’s apology seemed to calm him down somewhat.
“Okay, here’s the plan. When they come home today, they will feel sorry for me sitting in the basement, so they will open the basement door. That is when I attack. I will bite them on the feet. If they try to catch me, I’ll bite their hands. If they get too close, I bite their faces, their private parts and whatever else I can get my teeth into. I want to see human blood flowing! I want to hear humans screaming for mercy! They will run, but they cannot escape from Furry Delight. Like their death, I will be upon them, no matter which way they turn. Are you with me, dawg?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Now, let’s review your part. When they walk in, you start crying. They will feel sorry for you too (like the pathetic creatures they are) and they will let you out. But they won’t spend any time with you, for they will be busy running away from me. That is your cue. How much can you crap at one time?”
“I can cover the whole first floor, Sir.”
“Good. Now, you start with the dining room. When you’re done there, go into the library, then the family room. Don’t waste your time on the tiles, just do the carpet – it’s more damage that way. Don’t stop for nothing, don’t slow down. Just keep running and crapping. Can you do that?”
“I think I can, Sir.”
“Good. Will your crap be liquid enough and stinky enough?”
“I don’t know, Sir. How can I tell?”
“Hmmm. Here, have some raisins. And here’s some chinchilla food for you. Hey, you can eat some of my bedding for good measure. There, now you’re good to go.”
“But, Sir, after I crap everything out, and you bite everybody, what happens next?”
“Are you even listening to me, fool?! What happens is the humans move out. They leave. And we stay. And we get the house and all the food all to ourselves. Now, I get the basement and the second floor. I don’t want the first floor, ‘cuz it will smell like dog crap. You can have it. Oh, and I get to cut every phone cable in the house. They never let me do it, the human bastards. Well, they’re going to pay. They’re going to regret they kept old Furry Delight away from the cables. They will be, “Oh Nicky, please chew on the cables, please!” But it will be too late for them. Too late!!”
“But, Sir, what will we do when all the food in the house runs out?”
“Don’t you worry your silly little head, little dog. You are lucky to have someone smart to do all the thinking for you. I know where they keep their credit cards, so relax. Wait… I hear a key in the door! Quick, on our positions! Remember, we start as soon as they let us out.”
And that was pretty much how yesterday’s evening went in the Goldie household.
We haven’t moved out yet, but that’s only because we’re tough. After all, we grew up in Russia. Bet ol’ Furry Delight didn’t count on that, huh?
It was a typical spring day in Cleveland – cold and damp. The rain was banging on the windows of a gray colonial house, while the tree branches brushed back and forth frantically against the glass, like a hyperactive housewife that has read too much Flylady.
The house itself was empty except for two animals. One was a yellow puppy who saw everyone as his friend and looked at the world with wonder and curiosity. The other was an aging male chinchilla, with razor-sharp wit and teeth to match, experienced and cynical. In normal circumstances, these two were unlikely to ever meet, much less become friends. Yet there they were, having an intense conversation.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” – the chinchilla inquired, his whiskers bristling. – “We need to get rid of the enemies.”
“You mean the humans? But why? They are very nice people, Nicky.”
The chinchilla hopped up and down in rage. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use that stupid name they gave me?! For the last time, my mother named me Furry Delight! And, you will address me as “Sir”! I’m older than you; besides, I was here first! Which is why I get to choose the rooms I will have for myself when the bipeds leave. You get what’s left. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mister Furry Delight, Sir!” – the puppy was sitting straight, trying not to look worried.
“Now, to your misconception about them being, quote-unquote, “nice people”. Yes, they may look nice. But what are they really? Why, nothing but our captors! Like animals, they lock us in cages,” the chin had been listening to his youngest owner’s hip-hop CDs a lot lately. “They hog all the food and give us some lame pellets and dry hay and maybe a few raisins a day. But have you seen what they eat? Steak! Shrimp salad! They drink fine wine! And when I try to come and get some of it, what do they say? “Get out of the pantry, Nicky!” “Get away from that food, Nicky!” “Scram, Nicky!” Can’t you see how evil they are?”
“But they play with us… they take me for walks… they give me treats…” the puppy timidly offered.
“AND THAT IS NOT ENOUGH!” – thunderously retorted the chinchilla. “I see where you’re going with that. You’re willing to sell yourself into slavery in exchange for some play time and a couple of walks and a treat or two. You, sir, are a sellout!”
“I am sorry, Mister Furry Delight, Sir,” stammered the poor puppy. “What can I do now?”
“You can listen to me and do what I tell you to do. And don’t talk back!” - and Furry Delight showed his teeth. The puppy’s apology seemed to calm him down somewhat.
“Okay, here’s the plan. When they come home today, they will feel sorry for me sitting in the basement, so they will open the basement door. That is when I attack. I will bite them on the feet. If they try to catch me, I’ll bite their hands. If they get too close, I bite their faces, their private parts and whatever else I can get my teeth into. I want to see human blood flowing! I want to hear humans screaming for mercy! They will run, but they cannot escape from Furry Delight. Like their death, I will be upon them, no matter which way they turn. Are you with me, dawg?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Now, let’s review your part. When they walk in, you start crying. They will feel sorry for you too (like the pathetic creatures they are) and they will let you out. But they won’t spend any time with you, for they will be busy running away from me. That is your cue. How much can you crap at one time?”
“I can cover the whole first floor, Sir.”
“Good. Now, you start with the dining room. When you’re done there, go into the library, then the family room. Don’t waste your time on the tiles, just do the carpet – it’s more damage that way. Don’t stop for nothing, don’t slow down. Just keep running and crapping. Can you do that?”
“I think I can, Sir.”
“Good. Will your crap be liquid enough and stinky enough?”
“I don’t know, Sir. How can I tell?”
“Hmmm. Here, have some raisins. And here’s some chinchilla food for you. Hey, you can eat some of my bedding for good measure. There, now you’re good to go.”
“But, Sir, after I crap everything out, and you bite everybody, what happens next?”
“Are you even listening to me, fool?! What happens is the humans move out. They leave. And we stay. And we get the house and all the food all to ourselves. Now, I get the basement and the second floor. I don’t want the first floor, ‘cuz it will smell like dog crap. You can have it. Oh, and I get to cut every phone cable in the house. They never let me do it, the human bastards. Well, they’re going to pay. They’re going to regret they kept old Furry Delight away from the cables. They will be, “Oh Nicky, please chew on the cables, please!” But it will be too late for them. Too late!!”
“But, Sir, what will we do when all the food in the house runs out?”
“Don’t you worry your silly little head, little dog. You are lucky to have someone smart to do all the thinking for you. I know where they keep their credit cards, so relax. Wait… I hear a key in the door! Quick, on our positions! Remember, we start as soon as they let us out.”
And that was pretty much how yesterday’s evening went in the Goldie household.
We haven’t moved out yet, but that’s only because we’re tough. After all, we grew up in Russia. Bet ol’ Furry Delight didn’t count on that, huh?
