Babysitting bulldogs…

Her name is Jelly.  Jelly Bean.  Jelly is blind in one eye, mostly deaf and breaks wind as only an elderly bulldog can.  She is in our care until Monday.  She is a french bulldog and, according to Rissa, near perfection.

Essence de Jelly.

“This dog.  THIS dog.  Is the BEST dog in the entire world.  I will have a dog like this of my very own one day.”

The three cats in the house have differing opinions.  Steve, for one, might want to have a contract put out on her, but he isn’t the sharpest claw on the paw if you know what I’m saying.  Minuit has placed herself on a self-imposed hunger strike for fear that she might run into Jelly at the food bowls.  (As Minuit is the size of a raccoon, this might not be such a bad thing.)  And Lola?  Well I’m pretty sure that Lola might be the one who called animal services to inform them of a rabid dog on the premises.  She’s crafty that one.

Lola – plotting from doorway.

We’re living in the midst of a Mexican Standoff.  The tension is high when they’re in relatively close proximity to one another.  And by close proximity, I mean that the dog stays in one place, completely calm, and a cat is usually in an adjacent doorway ready to puff tail, blow fur, growl and race away the minute that Jelly’s breathing hitches.  Half the time Jelly can’t even see them.

I shall hug this Ikea basket – it will give me strength.

Steve’s the bravest, but again, not so smart.  He’s my sloppy tomcat – who executes a shoulder roll to have his belly rubbed the minute you’re close.  Strangely, he has not tried this manoeuvre with Jelly…  there are still a couple of days to go though – it could happen.

Only the cruelest and most unkind of humans could resist this face.