In the early morning darkness, two cats sit face to face at the end of a driveway, staring intently into each other’s eyes. Their two forms take shape, disappear into the darkness, and take shape again beneath a flickering street lamp. And yet, as they purr at each other and bat their eyes, there is nothing “on/off” about this romance. This is happening – it’s “on.” They move closer, purr, move closer still.
A ball of white fluff slices through the darkness, ears raised, tongue lolling. Into the sky, the canine hoists her Swiffer tail – which has a mass of dead leaves tangled into it – and sprints forward, dragging her slow, sweating human behind her.
SUPERDOG! Reporting for cat population control duty!
In an instant, she is almost on them.
“Foul! Foul!” the felines yowl, baring sharp teeth and claws. And yet, spell broken, they scatter. One cat retreats to a nearby roof, the other leaps a chain link. Two hearts, two bodies, almost one, now solidly two again.
At the site of the almost-romance, SUPERDOG! jams her snout to the ground and sniffs forcefully, inhaling particles of dirt and rocks and insects that once scurried, and now scurry no more. SUPERDOG! hops forward, curses the pull of the leash at her neck – if not for her state of enslavement, oh, the felines she would chase! – and scans the horizon for the enemy. No cats. Mission: Accomplished.
SUPERDOG! looks back to her human, pants loudly, and gives a proud growl. Then she pulls a pair of sunglasses from her Swiffer tail, and in the tradition of Horatio Caine, says:
“Looks like those two romantic kitties aren’t any match for puppy love.”