the pup has been here two weeks tomorrow and it feels like we are living in a rock tumbler.  i get that he’s a puppy and puppies run around and chase things, and god knows the gal bought him a truck load of toys to fetch and chew, but this woofer has some crazy notion that a cat is a toy.  the femmes fatales have got the ability to slow him down by simply not running from him, but lordy are they dim.  he bounces in their direction and they move like they’ve been shot out of a cannon, which is like shouting, “come and get me!”  and don’t you know, he’s happy to oblige.  if they’d watch how i handle him, they could stop burning all those calories.  I don’t run; i don’t even walk fast.  i just give him the look.  you know what i’m talking about, don’t you?  it’s that face that says “don’t even.”  the face is meaningful because his first day here he acted like he wanted a piece of me and i gave him one–a scratch with the sheath of one claw sticking out of his forehead.  the gal had to dislodge my little gift, and to my surprise, she didn’t scold me.  she scolded the pup for running into my paw!  since then, pup and i have had an understanding.  i’m a little worried about Sputnik, though.  he’s the same age as the addition, and he really, really wants to play, but pupster is twice his size and soooooooo  enthusiastic that Spit always winds up in trouble.  i keep telling him, “use the claw, kid! use the claw!”  sometimes you have to decide how much you’re willing to risk for a friendship BEFORE you introduce yourself.  purr, y’all