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“Reorge?!?” Fido called, obviously in a state of high consternation.
“Here I am!” I said, padding in from the hallway. “What the heck is going on?”
“There is something here that you should see, and I don’t think it is a good thing at all.”
I looked about, here and there, up and down, side to side.
“Fido, I don’t really see much out of the ordinary here, really.”
“Then what is that THING?” Fido wanted to know.
He pointed his worried big browns toward the table.
“Oh that? It’s just a small, little animal carrier, that’s all.”
“An animal carrier?”
“Not every pet can just jump into the back seat,” I said. “Sometimes humans need to put smaller animals in a small carrier, or kennel, to move them from one place to another. It’s all about the animal’s safety.”
“But … but … but …”
“Holy Moley, Fido. Why the concern?”
“Are we going to take a small animal somewhere?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“I am becoming more confused than ever!”
“First of all, it’s not at all about you, you big red lug. There is no way you could ever fit inside that thing, first of all, and secondly, you’re a good boy and always travel in the back seat. It’s not about you.”
“Well then who’s it about?”
Fido sat on his haunches, with his paws drawn up to his sides in what looked awfully dramatic, like that time right before the woman we like to call “What’s-Her-Name” threw that waffle iron at me.
“For all you know, Fido, it could be that we have one of these things so we can lend it to a friend, who might need an extra carry-kennel for the holidays.”
“What kind of animal?”
“Well, this is the kind of thing that he or she might use for a hamster, say, or a bunny rabbit.”
“I doubt it,” Fido said.
“Or,” I said, “someone might use it to carry some other kind of animal, like a marmot or a snake or something. Maybe a squirrel.”
“You’re reaching, Reorge,” Fido said.
“Well, Fido, since I say I don’t know, what do you think?”
“What do I think? I think it’s for a C-A-T!”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it says ‘Kitty Carrier’ on the side.”
“Well, even if it were for a cat, what’s it to you?”
“Here’s what I think,” Fido said. “I think you are going to go to Whitmore Shelter, look over the cats and bring one home. That’s what I think.”
“Oh, Fido, I’d never do that without checking in with you first.”
“I think you’re pulling my leg,” Fido said, an air of finality in his voice.
“Me?” said I.
Fido lay on the floor, his eyes still fastened on the Kitty Carrier.
“As the old, wise Zen Master at the shelter used to say,” Fido intoned, “we’ll see.”