Slowly but inexorably down the ersatz oriental rug runners comes Mr. Midnite as he certainly will every time I sit down and put my feet up; walking thru the tiled entry way past the master bedroom door down his personal thruway to the sliding doors to the backyard, his personal poopdom.

As he lopes past me, he pauses and glances my way. I catch his eye which causes him to continue to the door, standing and waiting, ever so seemingly patient but certainly demanding service to those who understand.

As I reflect on this ritual and my inability to pretend I don't understand his unspoken request, there is a tap at the door, just a reminder tap not a demanding "get your ass in gear" tap. That will be next!

"OK, OK, I'm coming! I live to obey your every command, you big black bastard!" I exclaim, as I lever myself out of comfort.

I open the door and watch as he walks a few steps then turns and gives me that "Aren't you going to come and keep me company while I do my thing" look. Seeing me slide the door closed he saunters off with that smug wiggle his rear end makes when he walks. Actually it's more arthritis than arrogance these days.

I sit back down knowing it's futile, as surely "what goes out must come back in". (Midnite's first law of thermodognitus, the second being the reverse, what goes in (the mouth) must come out (the butt). I trust you can see the relationship between the two.)

And so he does signal with that insistant tap on the glass, though not before I'm comfortable again, his desire to be readmitted. It's amazing this ability to convey his desires nonverbally.

Big Middy on the doggie thru way.

Doggily catering all day, Curiouoso*