I never need to worry about suffering from ‘empty nest’ syndrome between Harold, Patches and Peepers, I never seem to run out of children in this house. No, I have not completely lost my mind and realize Harold is supposed to be a full grown adult, Patches a dachshund and Peepers a cat; I shall explain the intent behind my statement. I think not a person out there will raise any argument once I submit my case and all the facts are before you in print.

I think I have talked about how easily bored Harold gets and for a time he had taken to doing things inside this house let’s just say I would have preferred he not do, such as rearranging things in the cabinets so I never saw things like the pepper shaker again. With some gentle persuading he curtailed his need to lose all things dear to me and moved on to doing dishes. It is my belief the male gender is far more intelligent than they would like us to believe and in fact, are quite ingenious in calculating just how much the female can take of a certain behavior. I believe with all my heart Harold knew just how many dishes with food still stuck on them put away as clean it would take before I would ask him to never touch another dish with soap and water. You see, my dear ones, his helping was not what he really wanted to do at all but a ploy to get permission from me to do as he pleased without feeling guilt about what actually needed doing. Yes, I know…genius indeed! Now he doesn’t ever do dishes and has a great excuse…he is horrible at doing them!

Patches loves cats. Patches loves Peepers. Peepers detests Patches and wishes he would magically disappear, runaway, get picked up by the dog catcher (if he actually ever roamed free) or just went poof and was gone. Our dilemma is the two must live under the same roof, both have love and attention and both well cared for. Do any of you know how loud a twenty pound cat can be when he wants attention? You know those battering rams they use to knock doors in? Imagine the sound because that is how loud he is and he is relentless. When we are in the living room we see his huge paws reaching from under the door and a few times I thought he was going to lift it right off its hinges. Once I heard Patches scream "timber" as he ran down the hall for shelter in my bedroom closet. The other night Harold thought he would try letting Peepers out while Patches was sleeping on the couch under a blanket, his reasoning was that we were in the room and what could possibly happen…yeah, right!

Watching that huge mountain lion of a cat was fascinating. He was anger walking around seeking revenge on his enemy. We’d closed off the living room but Peepers was on the hunt and we knew exactly what prey he was after. He took a quick look through the glass of the back storm door window but I suppose since it was dark outside he surmised we would never allow our precious ‘baby’ to wander out at night and he quickly abandoned that search. The look on Peeper’s face when he got to Patches’ bed can only be described as pure disdain. He did not step on it, only peered over it, nose in the air, sniffing and then putting his ears back, tail twitching wildly turned and ran toward the fireplace and jumped up onto the hearth. I almost had a heart attack because his doing so gave him easy access to the couch and Patches under the blanket. It was almost as if he were telling me I know that little brat is under that ridiculous quilt, mom, and I could so pounce on him and kill him right now if I was so inclined but I am a cat and I will play with your mind first! I didn’t wait for things to happen because I have way too many Peepers’ scars on my arms from removing his claws; I was not about to wait to try to remove him in the process of mutilating poor unsuspecting Patches. I told Harold his time out of his cell block was up and while it was fun seeing how wild animals react in suburbia, he needed to go back to his cage. I guess the truth is I would be sad if my nest was really empty but there are times I wish my little fledging’s would mature rather than digress.

The good news is like a true child Harold has taken to working harder at helping our very dear neighbors, Joyce and David Mitchell, and leaving our things where I can find them, (remember when you couldn’t get your kids to pick up their socks but they would help the neighbors reroof a house?) I love you guys and I will be back next week as long as no one moves this laptop, kills each other or drives me over the edge.