Sunday. Today I found my novelist packing a suitcase! It could mean I will be accompanying her to a relative’s place or…oh, no. This might mean she is going on vacation…without me. Without me! That means I am on route to the sitters. I don’t want to go to the sitters. I will be alone without her for who knows how long. I cannot tolerate it. I must have my novelist, I must.
She is putting the carryon suitcase in the car. I can see her putting it in the trunk from the window. It is not just the carryon she has. She’s carrying her smaller under-seat suitcase in her hand! When she’s carrying her under-seat suitcase in her hand that means she’s going to drop me off at the sitters and leave me for who knows how long!
She’s coming back inside. I must investigate…oh, no. She’s getting the leash. She’s getting the leash from the closet, and she is not putting on her tennis shoes. She’s wearing new shoes. She’s putting the harness on me! All hope is lost! She’s carrying me to the car. Tears are running down my beautiful curls and dripping onto the sleeve of her sweater jacket.
Sunday: Thirty minutes later: My tears are flowing again. We arrived at the sitters. I can see the ivy-strewn gate. The sitter is blowing away the leaves in the yard that will become my prison cell. She walks around and opens my door. My bed and blanket are under her arm. She leads me on my leash to my home away from home for who knows how long. “Don’t worry,” she tells me. “I will come back for you.” I take these words into my heart and lock them in my special heart vault. They are the only comfort I will have until this ordeal is over.
We walked to the gate and up to the porch. The sitter turns off the leaf blower and greets us. “Hello, Empress Gigi,” the sitter says. In the big window behind the sitter a gigantic beast suddenly slams its massive paws onto the window and barks at me. At first, terror grips me, but then I recognize the creature. The sitter tells my novelist Emperess Gigi will be staying with Ollie, the Great Dane. I happen to know Ollie. We have bordered together before. I realized Ollie just wanted to greet me. Sadly, I must greet him back because my novelist bids me adieu no matter how much I jump up and down. Then she bids the sitter adieu, turns, and forlornly I watch her walk down the path to the ivy strewn gate.
Monday. I wake up in my hotel room alone. I hear Ollie howling next door. A sad homesick howl. I howl quietly to myself and let out a silent sob. I am lonely and I miss my novelist. After I brush my teeth, groom my curls, and adjust my collar, I get up and ask the sitter if my novelist called or texted. “No, Gigi, she hasn’t,” the sitter tells me. “Perhaps you would like to take a stroll outside in the yard with Ollie.” I agree to this suggestion as something to do after breakfast.
Ollie and I take our meal out on the porch. He sets his giant paw on mine, which is uncomfortable to be honest, me having petite paws. He says, “I do not like my owner leaving me alone but if I am going to be alone, I am glad to be alone with you.” This is, of course, touching and I am genuinely touched. “I am glad to be alone with you too, Ollie,” I say and slowly slide my paw out from under his. He looks at the sky. “It is not as nice of weather as I was hoping it would be today,” he says. “It is probably prettier where my novelist is,” I tell him. A large sad somber tear drips from his eye. “It is prettier where my human is too.”
After breakfast and a short romp around the yard, Ollie and I return inside, and I decide to retire to my room to play solitaire with a pack of cards I secretly zipped into the lining of my bed for just such an occasion. Shortly after Ollie knocked on the door. It sounded more like a jackhammer with his big paws. I opened it. His sad eyes told a volume of stories. I let him in and we played rummy. He wanted to play slap jack, but I feared great injury so after rummy we played go fish instead.
Tuesday: I spent most of the morning inside again. I have become an indoor Canis lupis familiaris during my visit. I watch Ollie romp about in the yard from the window where he kicks up the yellow maple leaves, an act which brings him joy. He makes a motion for me to come out and join him, but I shook my head and trot over and hop into the sitter’s lap. It is not my novelist’s lap and therefore not my first choice, but it will do for now. I asked the sitter if my novelist is coming back for me today. The sitter says, “No, Gigi. Not today. Try and enjoy yourself while she is away. Maybe go out and spend some time with Ollie.” I nodded and said, “Perhaps later this afternoon.”
When it gets to be around two o’clock and we enjoy lunch on the porch again, Ollie and I go outside and frolic in the yard. It does get my blood pumping and fresh air into my lungs. I feel better when I return inside and retire to my room for a brief nap after arranging my blanket inside my bed and drift away into a dream. Somewhere in my subconscious, I hear my novelist’s car pull up and I dash out of the house, across the porch, and down the path to the ivy-strewn gate. For some odd reason I smell the delicious scent of fresh popcorn popping nearby. My eyelids flutter open and I realize I am still at the sitters. I stretch and yawn and leave my room to investigate.
The sitter asks if I would like to join Ollie for a cinematic event. “Certainly,” I say thinking I will be viewing Wells or Hitchcock or possibly something from the classic French New Wave era. When I enter the viewing room, I see the sitter has the movie “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” ready to play. I am crestfallen, but the film is entertaining, I appreciate the effort and will take my mind off the absence of my novelist. Ollie, who is already comfortably lying on his stomach in front of the television with a red and white striped bowl of popcorn in front of him, motions me to come over and join him. I cuddle up next to him, and he gently pushes the bowl of popcorn under my nose with his front paw. I pick up a couple of kernels with the tip of my tongue and the movie begins.
Wednesday: Clouds and sun outside today. Rather pleasant in the afternoon. But alas I am sans novelist yet again. Ollie remains with me as constant comfort. It is pleasant weather today, especially for November. It is mostly cloudy but in the low to mid 60’s. Ollie suggests we play hide and seek in the yard. I have no idea why a Great Dane would want to play hide and seek in such a small yard, but I agree. He goes first and I find him right away. He tried to hide under the picnic table you see. I hid behind the tree in the back. Even with his great sense of smell, he found it difficult to locate me. I sat there and daydreamed while he searched. I gazed up at the clouds and thought one of them looked like my big pillow in the office at home. I could almost see my novelist at her desk typing away at her computer as I sat proudly on my pillow looking out the window at the street below…“Gotcha!” I turn and see Ollie sitting there proudly like the giant pink exotic bird statues outside of Flamingo Las Vegas. “Let’s go again.”
I agree and Ollie hides better this time. It takes me an extra minute to see him crouching by the ivy strewn gate. When I reach him, he says, “What if we opened it and ventured off to find our owners?” I remind him I do not have an owner but rather a novelist. “No, Ollie,” I tell him. “If we go out there, we will not only fail in our venture, but we will also end up on one of those terrifying signs desperate pet owners staple to wooden poles.” He hangs his majestic head. I make a great vertical leap and lick his nose for comfort. “Your owner and my novelist will return. We must be patient.” He looks at me with his large lipid eyes and asks, “Why do they leave us? We would never leave them.” Frustration and sadness fill my heart. “I do not know, Ollie. I do not know.”
Thursday. The weather is slightly cooler today. Ollie and I decided to have our breakfast in the kitchen. After a few scrumptious bites, I chose to confide in him about my neighborhood bobcat problem back home. I explain the situation, and he nods his head and says even though he weighs over 160 pounds, he would not want to take on one of those vicious felines. “I know they are smaller than I am,” he says. “And your black furry feline sounds like she’s around thirty pounds, ruthless and all claws and teeth. Not to mention a champion jumper amongst wildlife. I do think she should honor your contract and include the squirrels and brown bunnies, however, wildcat or not. I am rather fond of squirrels and brown bunnies myself. I too have made friends with the local ones back home.”
This bonded me with Ollie. I could now discuss our neighborhood problem freely with him and so I asked, “Might you provide any suggestions on this matter? We are friendly with a coyote named Crispin who has arranged meetings between the neighborhood pets and Bebe the bobcat.” A perplexed look crossed Ollie’s face. “You’re friends with a Coyote?” I nodded. “Yes.” He shook his head. “If you don’t mind my saying, I find that arrangement dangerous.” I pondered his words. “Perhaps, in most cases, but he did help us thwart a catnapper.” His already large eyes grew wider. “How?” Smiling I said, “That is a story for another time. The point is our squirrels and bunnies are in grave danger because of this dratted bobcat and first I fell ill and after I got better, then I was ported here and I don’t know what is going on back home with my dear friends.” He considers this. “Perhaps one of the other cats or dogs in the neighborhood could check on them. Maybe they already have.” I took a sip of my matcha tea. “Maybe Charlotte the Chow. She’s the most responsible of our group.” Ollie wolfed down the rest of his Belgian Waffle. “Even an empress poodle such as yourself cannot be expected to solve all the problems in your neighborhood. I nodded my head. He is right. And it is here where I must bid you adieu.
