This morning, I came to the realization that Echo has a stubborn streak. There were a few weeks right after Joe left that he was allowed to sleep on the bed. Mostly it was because I was too tired to chase him off throughout the night. This all changed, however, following the increased number of sheet washing required to keep my bed fur-free, his ability to take up the entire bed regarless of the fact that I have a third of his weight on him, and the purchase of new sheets and quilt…
He’s been pouting ever since. Don’t feel too bad for him though, I have made sure that he’s still the spoiled pain-in-the-ass he’s always been, and have relegated him to the sheep skin rug at the end of the bed. Yes, the rug that you can only professionally clean at $100, that picks up everything, has been used as a fancy dog bed, as of late. Maybe I should have stuck with washing sheets.
Over the last couple of nights, I’ve noticed that he’s been curling up at the very-bottom-corner of the bed, where he is least likely to be detected. I let him go, thinking that he’s tricked me (and mostly because I don’t want to have to get up, talk to him, and physically push him off the bed as he looks at me with his “what are you talking about” horse-eye expression) and wait until the morning to push him off.
So this morning, we go through the whole ordeal of “Echo, get off the bed” pause “Ech, come on, get off the bed” slight nudging with foot, he groans and reshifts to avoid contact “Echo…off!” me sitting up, him turning his head so that he can’t see that I am talking to him “Echo…down!” as I kick him off the bed. Meanwhile Murphy, all curled up, darn cat – Echo, I know!, finally looks up, uninterested, stretches his fat body out and roles back over, burrowing his head into the pillow. I lay back down and Echo comes up to the bed, putting his face near mine and starts panting I’ll show her…haha, I know what he’s thinking…to combat this intrusion of my air, I turn over, praying that he’ll just go lay down and let me snooze my alarm for the next 20 mns.
That would just be too nice of God to let happen. Echo, frustrated (yes, I know that I am projecting emotions onto my animal) goes to the end of the bed and places his head ontop. Murph, at this point decides that he’s going to parade the fact that he can go anywhere on the bed. Knowing this, I kick him off as well. Freakin’ cat, rubbing it in the dogs face… So, now, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am fighting a loosing battle. As the last of my precious sleepyness leaves me, Murph and Ech have officially tag teamed my dumb ass as they are both trying to get on the bed at different intervals. Giving up, and letting the less of two evils (the cat – and only because he’s smaller) back on, Ech starts again with his head on the bed. Two minutes later and I see that he’s got his front paws on the bed…so conviniently snuck up under his chin…
Well, he’s already gotten up this far (see, I KNOW what he’s thinking!), so he shifts as if he’s trying to get comfortable…all the while avoiding eye contact with me, and pretty soon the only thing on the floor are the tips of his back paws. What the hell. And here I was, thinking that my dog was stupid.
So, I beat him at his own game. I throw back the covers and let out “come on boy!” He tears out of that room like only a dog knowing he’s going for a walk could, and I shut the door. He-hehe. No sooner does my head hit the pillow, then I realize that he’s figured out exactly where in the door to hit it so that flies open. Nice. Realizing that I’ve lost, we go for a walk. It’s only when I turn back to attempt to find socks that I realize that Murphy is curled up in the warm spot where my body had just been. Purring his heart out.
And I walk…contemplating the possibility that the cat was the master-mind behind the whole ordeal.