Poochie Poo

The big orange tabby cat emerged from the pet door and slowly strode out onto the enclosed back porch.

“Rapi!  Watch out,” I shouted, my eyes bulging from my labmix skull.

The feline stopped and turned his gaze on me, his face contorted into a puzzled expression.  I held my breath and waited for the inevitable. 

“What?”

“The door!”

He turned to look back just in time to see the white door swing outward on its hinge.  It rose in an upward arc narrowly missing the cat’s nose, but close enough to graze his whiskers.

“Yikes,” the tabby called out taking a step forward and following the object on its skyward journey with his eyes.

“Gravity Rapi!  Gravity,” I barked as sternly as I could.

“Jeepers!”

I jumped to my feet and dashed like a mad beast towards the cat, knocking him out of the way just in time to miss the door on its downward swing.

The feline climbed to his feet and dusted himself off, then turned towards me, his eyes squinted and fiery.

“What you do that for?”

My mouth dropped open.  How clueless could someone be?  How incredulous?  How rude?

How …

“Well?”

He drew closer to me, this agitation not seeming to wear thin.  Whoosh!  The door swung open on its return trip coming a hair breadth away from smacking the cat in” the tail.

“Woah!  That was close,” the cat squeaked.

I dropped to my butt and let my tongue droop out the left side of my mouth, Rapi is my best friend, but sometimes, he just makes my fur stand on end.

“Now, what we were talking about,” the cat asked.

I had no words, so I planted my paw firmly in the middle of my forehead and shook my head in defeat.

“Meh, it doesn’t matter,” he said, plopping down in front of the door with a thump. 

I was just happy that he was away from that hazardous pet door. 

“C’mon Cindee, sit down with me.”

He reached out his paw and patted the spot next to him on the carpet.  His yellow-green eyes were nestled about his ample fuzzy cheeks.  The way they sparkled in the sunlight just made you want to snuggle the heck out of him.

I had taken his invitation and stretched out next to him.  A hush fell over us and we used that moment to take in the sights and sounds of midsummer.  The aroma of purple hydrangeas and red roses hung in the air.  Cleopatra Jones’s father had just finished cutting the lawn and the smell of fresh grass mixed with the floral bouquets. 

A gentle breeze chose that moment to stir, waking up the wind chimes that hung above us.  The long aluminum tubes began to dance and lightly bumped into one another sending a relaxing harmony out in the air. 

It took only a moment or so before those delightful notes reached a row of birds perching on the fence top at the back of the yard.  One by one the feathered creatures’ heads popped up and their eyes filled with joy.  Their heads swayed to the melody and soon, they were adding their own lyrics to the tune.

Rapi and I were being drawn into the symphonic masterpiece that was being performed by mother nature herself.  We could not help but smile and tap our paws to the rhythm.

We were on the precipice of surrendering ourselves to the intricate aria that was unfolding around us when the din of drums began to rumble from inside the house, followed by the thundering noise of distorted chords being played by an electric guitar.

Rapi and I looked at each other then spun our heads in the direction of the pet door in time to see it fly open.  A creamy-white beagador stumbled out onto the porch and began to frolic awkwardly, crashing into chairs and tables in the process.

“Rock and roll poochie poo,” he screeched in a voice that was shrill and sounded much like fingernails running down a chalkboard.  He called it singing.

“Mylo,” I shouted.

Nothing.

“Hey Mylo!”

Rapi had tried his hand at getting the dogs attention, but with no success.  I had enough.  I reached over and snatched the cell phone from his collar and hit the pause button.

“Rock and roll poochie poo!”

The words tumbled from his mouth before he had the chance to register that the music had stopped.

“What are you doing?”

I had asked not because I was curious, but because I was frustrated.

“Listening to my favorite song. Is that okay with you, old lady,” he said, face contorted into a scowl.

I could feel the vein in my forehead going thumpity thump.  I love Mylo, but sometimes he can be a jerk.

“Fine!  Just take it inside and turn it down a little, will you?  Rapi and I were listening to the birds sing.”

The puppy’s face scrunched up and he frowned at us.  He was not happy at all.

“You don’t have to be so indignant about it,” he huffed.

“Indignant,” I mumbled looking to Rapi for clarification.

“Probably learned it from Yehudi,” the tabby answered.

A vision of the small book smart tuxedo cat schooling Mylo popped into my head.  I thought about it, and it seemed like something Yehudi would do.  While I was pondering this, Mylo grabbed the phone from me and ducked back into the house.

“Rock and roll poochie poo,” he sang the chorus to Rick Derringer’s song again.

“It’s hoochie koo!”

Rapi had become so annoyed he could no longer contain himself and felt the need to correct the young dog.  Mylo burst through the pet door; his eyes flashed with rage.

“You can hoochie koo and I will poochie poo!  Hump!”

“Mylo,” I barked at the top of my lungs.

He shifted his focus so that he could glare at me

“Watch out for the …”

Whack!  The puppy yelped the moment the door caught him squarely on the butt, dislodging the cell phone that he had just tucked back into his collar.   

We all watched in shock and disbelief as the electronic gadget first bounced then skittered across the floor before cartwheeling down the steps and finally colliding with the ground and smashing into hundreds of pieces.

“My phone,” the young canine cried out in a pained voice.

“I am so sorry Mylo.”

I meant what I said, but I am not so sure if the way it came out of my mouth explained the depth and truth of my words.

“Now I can’t hear my favorite song,” the beagador said, falling to his butt.

Rapi looked at me, but the best I could manage was a shrug. 

“Maybe the birds know the song,” the cat said, his face not at all looking optimistic.

Mylo stared expectantly at the birds for a moment, then hung his head in defeat. 

A lone sparrow, however, sat on the top of the fence between a couple of robins.  The birds exchanged looks, then the sparrow inhaled deeply and chirped out the first couple of notes.  The robins joined in and before long the entire fence was lined with birds singing Rock and Roll Poochie Poo um, I mean Hoochie Koo!

In that moment, all of us danced and sang.  That is how life is at 6 Autumn Lane.  We are a family living from moment to moment.  Sometimes we get angry, upset, or frustrated, but at the end of the day, we love each other and that is what is important.

Author: H. Scott Moore

H. Scott Moore is a native of Western New York, where he grew up enjoying the rhythm of life in the changing of seasons. Intrigued by his pets and curious about what they were thinking led H. Scott to combine his passion for animals and love of reading and writing to create a world where everything is experienced from their point of view. When he is not working or creating, H. Scott likes to spend his time in nature with Cindee, Mylo, Rapi, Mommy, and the rest of the gang!

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