Indoor Trees

Today started as any other day. Tucker the sharpherd woke me up prematurely with his incessant barking, so yes, I woke up grouchy. From there I decided to get on with my day and my morning ritual, staring down one of the squeaky women in order to coerce her into giving me her bagel. When I do this, my eyes remain fixed on the bagel despite her high-pitched and demeaning taunts, for the bagel and any part of her finger attached to it is my prey. The sharpherd also attempts to secure the bagel, and his methods of persuasion are nothing short of pathetic. He wimpers and makes his "good dog" eyes at the woman, even doing the most juvenile tricks, like sitting (who can't do that if you have a tush), lying down, and giving "skin," which is nothing more than shaking hands. I must admit it is indeed effective, but so below me it makes me want to scream, which I do very often by the way. Does his success make me jealous? Well, let's just say I always manage to win the war of wills with the squeaky woman, and I eat my fair share of bagels. Point, Zoey. Game, set, match. Ha!

Now on to other business. Today the people once again left me in solitary confinement while they went about their pseudo-busy lives. What they do, I don't know, nor do I care. When they returned, I was stunned to see the man, whom I despise (I cannot stress that point enough), bringing a freaking tree into the living room and setting it in the exact spot where I took a leak three and a half months ago. I did not know whether it was just another exercise in stupidity for the fool or if he was placing it there to get back at me, knowing how I love to sniff trees outside the house; perhaps he never cleaned up my urine in the first place and was now tricking me into smelling my own pee by placing the tree in that spot. His fiendish plots to foil me never seem to cease.

I learned later that this ritual seems to be an annual tradition, not another example of the man's idiocy, and it totally intrigues me. In fact the tree and I are kindred spirits in a sense. The people masked the tree in lights and trinkets in an attempt to change its identity, as they take great pleasure in decorating me in various outfits with ridiculous sayings stitched into them, like "Socialite," "Naughty or Nice," or my personal favorite "Local Celebrity." How will anyone ever take me seriously when nonsense like that adorns my ill-fitting clothing? It was even easier to empathize with the tree when they robed me in my newest costume, one made to make me look like a jolly elf or, as the stupid man put it, a miniature "Santa Claus." I don't know who this "Claus" is, but based on his clothing taste and the fact that the comment came from the man, it can't be good. Maybe the poor tree will become an ally in my attempt to get revenge. I will need to learn its language and esuage its pain in order to make that happen. I will have to interrogate the sharpherd, who has prior experience from which I can possibly draw. Perhaps I can tempt him with one of the bones I have filched from his stash buried in the flower bed. The dope.

I will be sure to inform my loyal readers of my progress with the tree. It already allows me to drink from its stand, so I think a kinship is growing. Soon I will be able to convince this tree it should fall on and crush the man. Until then, stay posted and don't let your momma dress you funny.

Out like G.W. in a few weeks.
Z.