“Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.” (Agatha Christie, Death on the Nile). Like I said in my previous blog about me being able to speak and tech-know, I go into hideout by joining my robot dog friend Robby in the hyperloop. By now everyone should know how loyal we dog are to our human masters. “The world would be a nicer place if everyone had the ability to love as unconditionally as a dog.” (M.K. Clinton, The Returns).
The hyperloop place is cluttered with all sorts of machines and being a miniature dog I can slip in without being noticed. It is three in the morning and everyone is sound asleep. They do not keep a dog but there is a tiny pet entrance at the back kitchen for a cat. Yes, there is a cat there. Her name is Meanie (aka Goliath) the Plop. The drone carries me over the wall smoothly. As I approach the cat entrance I can smell the Plop. But I am not afraid. “What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” Dwight D. Eisenhower (34th President of the United States). Like my master, I am oozing oily quotes/misquotes from every pore and oil myself to the floor. (My Fair Lady) My master has done a good job daily drumming them into his and my head through repetitions during meal time.
I enter the house without a sound. But the Plop seems waiting for me. “What have we here? Haha a miserable intruder!” She hisses. She is huge for a cat. Sleek and huge. Grossly overweight. “My, a miniature dog! What is that on your back? Hand it over!” Her size is colossal. She stands up and arches her back, opening her menacing mouth, sticking out a blood red tongue. Her claws are long and sharp. Shifting into a war pose she blocks my way. What else can an otherwise peace loving decent dog do in this situation?
I won’t describe the Dronesville brave (dog) and the Goliath Plop of a cat fight scene. it is not pretty. Losing is not my game so eventually I signal my companion brave (drone) to land on her head. She is shocked beyond words. The crash landing of the drone knocks her out. By then Robby has appeared and leads us two braves (dog and drone) through a dark tunnel to his hideout. I spend the rest of the night and many nights thereafter licking my wounds. I shall not rejoin my master until I am whole again.
I must admit I do plop myself down on the hard tiled floor and sulk for sometime. Then I cheer up. Robby the robot dog seems trustworthy. He is good in finding food too (for me of course). The drone is my assurance. He is like a security blanket a toddler must carry around. I need his mobility and later communication with my master who probably will be frantic when he discovers that I am missing. Hahaha, my turn to laugh and congratulate myself for my ingenious scheme to help my master, despite the Plop’s nasty interval. My human master will be proud of me. Tomorrow will be a brighter day! (Misquoting Gone with the Wind). (To be continued)