The Holy Terrors never met a Sunday newspaper they did not like. They are especially fond of the ones we haven’t had a chance to read yet and leave on the coffee table.
Yes, they shredded the whole thing, and this picture only shows a portion of their four-hour reign of terror. This is a prime example of what little fuckers they are. Alas, Boston terriers are just like potato chips ~ you cannot have just one.
I neglected to mention that we no longer have Three Beotches. Kittle, the youngest pussy, unexpectedly passed away a little over two weeks ago. While she was 11ish years old, she was very healthy. The vet seems to think that she went into cardiac arrest based on some symptoms Boog had witnessed a couple of days prior to finding her lifeless body. She is the first pet we have lost as a couple. I dislike it more than I can verbalize at the moment. It hurts. Period.
Before I go any further, please note that if anyone sends me a link to “The Rainbow Bridge” I will rip you a new one.
While our lives have been disrupted, we are slowly moving on. Xora and Pekoe are not. In fact, they are rather distressed if you ask me. Yes, non-pet owners, pet grief is real. We are doing our best to give them individual attention and reassurance; however, this has been a challenge with their undeniable fear and loathing of The Holy Terrors. While they have not always been the most sociable cats, Xora and Pekoe are searching, crying out (yowling and meowing incessantly), and pining for Kittle. There appear to be some sleep pattern changes, loss of interest in favorite activities, sulking and separation anxiety, depression, and eating pattern changes. Both weight and hair loss and inappropriate toileting are also evidenced. In a nutshell, they are mourning. We can only hope that time will heal their wounds and silence their increased vocalization. I do not know how much more of this “chatter” I can take and am considering using a little music to soothe the savage beasts breasts in the next room.
How is this for a little rainbow connection?
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.”
While there are so many things I should and need to write, all I want to do is show off my new little girl, Zelda. She’s six weeks old, weighs three pounds, and grunts, sleeps, and poops all day. No, she is not named after the video game. I read banned books, remember? I would like to think she is more like Fitzgerald’s wife. Only time will tell if she is glamorous yet unstable like her namesake, but I am sure it wouldn’t be a stretch. After all, she is a Boston Terrier.
The Terrorist is less than impressed with her, and I am pretty sure his eyes have turned a little green since yesterday. She, on the other hand, loves her big brother. It is only a matter of time before we are referring to her as La Terrorista.