So, I've been going to my friend's house for a weight workout. Her husband is our trainer. We meet upstairs in this great big room all set up with weights and such. This is over a very big warehouse that we have to maneuver through to get there. On the way up the stairs we pass by boxes and boxes of supplies and big drafting tables and all sorts of things that make his business run.
Upstairs it's comfortable with racks and racks of clothing on the side that we pass by to get to the room in the back and there he sits waiting for us behind his desk. I swear he's been up all night devising schemes to make us sweat. He is very professional and serious making us write down everything we do. From time to time I can see a hidden half smile as we whine and complain about his well thought up torture. He doesn't seem to care. Sometimes he just tells us to clam up and get working. Sometimes I ask him what weight he's giving me and he won't tell me until afterward. Once he sees me handle it, it's mine to keep.
Anyhow, I took my dog Quincy the first day with me. They both love dogs and loved Quincy. Who doesn't? Well apparently their cat. They have this little black and white manic cat. I've seen signs before that said "Beware of Attack Cat" and would laugh like there really was such a thing. Laugh no more. This tiny little cat is the most aggressive cat I've ever seen. My dog is afraid of her. Heck, I'm afraid of her. Months ago when I first came to their home out of the air this cat landed on my back evidently jumping off from somewhere high, claws digging into the back of my neck. I about freaked out having no earthly idea what could possibly be coming at me from above and behind. I couldn't see the enemy. I did the dance and everything. I thought Lisa was going to wet her pants laughing. It doesn't help they live in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere and reminds me of "Little House on the Praire." I mean who knows what could be in that house. We're talking very rustic living here.
At first I was worried Quincy may have tried to go after her. Well that thought changed real quick when I saw her, this little itty bitty thing, stalking him. She would get close and lay and stare at him. She'd move in closer. And then she'd start circling around the desk to get behind him. He would get up and move away, far away but she would be back. He couldn't get away from her.
At one point he was walking between these clothes racks on one side and a wall on the other that made for a very narrow 12-15 feet in length of walkway. Well the mode of attack was well planned out. At the right time, she jumped out and up at him spewing her hatred from inside the clothesracks. He was scared out of his wits. His tail between his legs. We're talking 55-60 lbs of lean muscular dog to a maybe 5 lb, when soaking wet, kitty cat. It got to the point where he was panting heavily and sitting at the top of the stairs, back to the wall and pleading with me with his eyes to go. He had it. This was embarrasing.
So today I took him again. This time all the wiser he lay under the desk under the trainers legs. He wasn't playing around and neither was he going anywhere near that little narrow hallway where danger lurked behind all those clothes racks. At one point they put the cat outside. The deck doors were directly behind the desk and she was trying to get in by stretching herself on the glass trying to reach the handle. She'd look in and just stare at Quincy who was still hiding out behind the desk. He saw her. At one point I saw him turn and put his back to her. He didn't even dare look at her. I didn't realize what a wussy dog I had before this. I mean, he just killed a rabbit for Pete's sake. I would think he'd have a little bit of something in him. Nope, nothing is coming. I mean, like nothing.
This is one cat that gives dogs nightmares.