Walking my Dog Fleetwood

This is my dog, Fleetwood:

Do not let his cute fuzziness fool you.  Behind that furrowed brow is the mind of a maniac,  an evil genius so twisted as make Hannibal Lecter  look like Peewee Herman.   While I would like to report that his voluntary conversion to ‘dogdom’ two years ago is a result of his devotion to a scriptural tenet of “loving thy enemy”, I cannot.

I have been coerced into a pact with the Devil.

Unlike others of his ilk, he does not attempt to hide his ability to read or to operate stereo systems.  It is not surprising, then, that he knew before I did about  a new municipal ordinance limiting each residence in the city to no more than three (3) cats.  My residence had four (4).  His response was swift:

Waiting until I had dozed off on the couch one night soon thereafter, he began the torture phase of my indoctrination:  Kneading my bladder rhythmically,  he purred heartily as he used his mind to bore into my soul.  (Nightmares still recur of the pain; the purr…. and the intense desire to once again own a dog.)

I awoke a zombie.  PhotoShop; Paint; Word and a “Snag-It”  tool were all already open in cascade format across the computer screen.  Once the necessary documents had been forged and printed, I sleep-walked through nameless offices at City Hall and exited with the official license tag for a dog.

He awaited in the front window and as I came up the driveway I could see a smile so evil and so evincing of a deep contempt for my human limitations, that I hesitated before going in.  (His nefarious bidding done, ” does he even need me now?” I worried.  “Will I see tomorrow?”)

“Papers!!”  His mind shouted through dilated pupils into my soul.  Presenting them, he confirmed the name change:  “Fleetwood”  ( a name of his choosing…his sardonic reference to the all night gas station on Fleet Ave, where, in the form of a stray kitten, he had snared this pinkish ‘meal ticket’  ).   “Tag!!” , he demanded.  Fumbling to obtain a purchase on his collar, I gasped as he seized it from me, and,  like Napoleon crowning himself,  affixed it to the collar himself.

The purring was ominous.  The plan for world domination would continue unobstructed by pesky mortal laws.  The evil alien being formerly known as ‘Plan 9 From Outerspace’ had fastened evil claws ever more deeply into his captive victim hosts.   It is an existence more bizarre than any episode of ” Twilight Zone“.   My bladder is putty in his claws.  He taunts the three true cats in the house, but suffers their presence as a convenient ‘cover’ for his fiendish designs.  It is a gruesome evil indeed which can amuse itself in the irony of taking on the legal persona of  one of “mans’ best friends”.

I pray this missive gets out, like a note in a bottle from a castaway. ( He has hacked my FaceBook page, and taunts me by garbling the spelling in my e-mail ‘draft’ folder).

I do not think he knows about the blog-site, though.   If you happen on this post,   I beseech you!……alert the authorities; save humanity from certain alien domination and….make the music stop!!

(thanks to http://humour.200ok.com.au/image_cats-and-their-personal-stereos.html)



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