Trouble in the Barking Lot

Last night I made tortilla soup and we sat down to watch out NetFlix movie. It’s a very good thing NetFlix doesn’t charge late fees, because I’d had “It Happened One Night” for a minimum of seven months. Usually we watch one a week, but the Oscar screeners came and Chris left and Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable just sat on the table. It was really good and the soup was amazing and it was just a lovely evening.


After, Chris did the dishes and I cleaned up and went into the study to check email before heading upstairs. When I got to the bedroom door I could hear CRUNCH-CLANG-CRUNCH-CRUNCH-CLANG-RATTLE.


Gracie, she who is the most spoiled of all cats, is the Queen of the Bedroom, and, as such, she is allowed to have her bowl of food up there. Plus she’s very small and underweight, so we try to make her eating experience easy. The bedroom door is kept closed and she goes in and out by exiting and entering via the third story window. She is not a loud eater.

And the bedroom door was ajar. I entered and there was Chris, in bed, oblivious and happy, reading his book, with Gracie curled at his feet.


And in the bathroom was Bernie, the World’s Slowest Dog, all 70 pounds of him, scarfing down Gracie’s cat food.

(Bernie, not looking guilty)

I looked at Chris and said, “Please don’t let the dog eat Gracie’s food.”


And he said, “Hunh? I thought that was her eating.”


I looked at Gracie, sitting there wondering why the hell Chris wasn’t protecting her food. Chris looked at her too.


“Oh,” he said.

(Gracie wondering why Chris isn't protecting her food.)

At which point Bernie ambled out, kibble still stuck to his ears.


“I thought she was kind of loud,” Chris added.

(Bernie, sleeping it off.)

This reminded me of an episode many many many years ago, when we were living in Berkeley. It was Saturday night and we were watching Creature Feature. Pete had made a cheesecake for the occasion and it was absolutely awful. How does one make an awful cheesecake? Well, it was early in all our culinary careers. Thor was sniffing around, hangin’ out being the happy dog. I got up to use the bathroom and told Chris, “Whatever you do, don’t let the dog eat my cheesecake.”


I returned to find Thor face-down in my plate, slurping up the last morsel.


“Chris!” I said. “I told you not to let the dog eat my cheesecake!”


“Oh,” he said. “I thought you said to let the dog eat your cheesecake. I thought that was kind of rude, even if the cheesecake isn’t very good, but I figured that’s what you wanted.”


So now I know. My husband is deaf in the arena of animal eating.


Gracie got more food. I did not get more cheesecake.