How to Train Your Doggo

I, Mocha the Great, decree that the four-legged felon my people brought home may not stay! This home is not big enough for eight paws! After all, canines are beneath the felines. 

In the Abridged Bible: Feline Edition, it says that in the beginning, God created the world. And cats. Can’t forget the cats. We cats certainly don’t let you forget. God created dogs, then cats. Only after the cats were made was the “animal” category complete! 

My humans love me, pamper me, and this is why a dog cannot be tolerated!

I stretch and yawn as my humans pull into the driveway. My time spent at the window in the sun was perfect for plotting. 

The door would open any minute to admit my people and wake up Cocoa the Canine. I quietly padded to Cocoa's crate which doubled as an end table. He was sleeping, but would not be for long. 

Cocoa does not like me. And, from what I’ve seen, he hates being startled. So, naturally, I creep closer to my natural enemy. The door swings open to admit my humans. Cocoa wakes up with that noise and spots me, letting out a mean growl so intimidating I don’t even have to fake my fur standing on end. I mew and skitter away, tummy jiggling, right to the feet of my people.

“Mocha!”

“Are you okay?”

“Bad Cocoa.”

The canine in question doesn’t even act guilty. I knew he didn’t like me!

“I don’t know if we can keep them both if they don’t get along,” Human “Leah” comments.

Yes, yes!

Her husband, the human Lawrence, replies. “We’ll give it a few more days. They might grow to like each other.”

Days?! I want him gone now!

“Of course," Lawrence adds, “Of course, Mocha could be a bit nicer.”

Pft. Nicer? Would he like me to introduce a new human on his territory? 

Plan B.

When Cocoa came, we had to start storing my food on the dryer, so now I pad into the utility room to eat. One good thing has come from Cocoa, at least: jumping up to the dryer is good exercise. The door is kept mostly closed because of Cocoa, of course. I have to squeeze through the doorway- I’m not called Mocha the Great for just my prowess. I wiggle my tail to facilitate my jump onto the dryer. 

I nose my food bowl. The food is at a disgracefully low level. I bump it closer to the edge and take a huge bite. Crunch, crunch. I hope the dog hears it. Sure enough, the dog’s collar jingles to signal his approach. I nudge it a bit closer to the edge to let the rim stick out over the edge. 

I jump to the floor and slip from the room as the clicking of Cocoa’s nails draws closer. He snuffles around, then pushes the door open more. Yes! My tail curls under me as I watch from the safety of my humans’ desk. 

Cocoa sniffs, looks up at the temping bowl and…

“Cocoa, out!” Cheesesticks! Leah ruined everything with those two words!

Plan C!

My humans left their clutter drawer in the desk cracked open. Seriously, they leave as much of a mess as the dog! Today, though, it serves my purposes.

A little object, smooth on one end with a bump on the other, sits in there. A ridiculous pink bunny with sunglasses is printed on it. I bat the object, trying to paw out. It is cold and smooth but I grasp it between my jaws and put it on the desk. It is fun to play with! 

Enough playing. I nose the thing one last time before sending it rolling to the edge and onto the floor. It bounces once and rolls away. 

Silence.

Where is Cocoa? I drag myself to the edge of the desk and jump down. I bat the bait around. It echoes on the tile.

Finally, I hear his small curious bark. I push it once again for good measure before retreating under the desk. The dog's large golden form rounds the corner.

“Woof.” He chuffs as he smells the metal thing. 

“Cocoa?”

Cheesesticks! No, Lawrence. This is not your fight! Bad human! Stay out of it! Cocoa whines expectantly and thumps his tail. I gotta admit he looks pretty cute when - no! No thinking nicely of the enemy!

“Aw, good boy! You didn’t eat the battery!” Lawrence looks around and sees me in my hiding spot. He turns to the canine. “Aw, were you guarding it so Mocha wouldn’t eat it and get sick?”

Cocoa cocks his head and perks his ears. Cheesesticks. He looks kind of harmless in that position. 

How he looks does not change the fact that my plan, yet again, is foiled!

Plan D

Plan E

Plan F

Every time I’ve tried to get the dog in trouble, it either completely fails or instead backfires! Apparently, the humans don’t believe a dog would jump on the cough and scratch up the curtains. Anyway, all this plotting makes me tired. I am taking a break and a nap in the warm afternoon sunshine. 

I think about the dog while I doze. Cocoa, the loyal shepherd he is, has not once shown any bit of ill will to me for these pranks. He hasn’t chased me in days, and the time he did… Well, I kind of deserved it for coughing a hairball onto his bed. It’s hard to stay mad at him, honestly. 

Perhaps that is why I didn’t hear his approach until a big wet thing bumps into my head. My head whips up and I find myself face to face with all 71 pounds of Cocoa. Cheesesticks. I don’t know what to do and freeze. He sticks his dirty doggy nose into my glorious white and black fur. He breath tickles, but I am suddenly aware of the presence of his sharp canine canines. 

After a tense moment, all he does is pull his head back, turn in a circle, and lay beside me in my sunny patch. 

His nearness warms me up, after the initial cold shock wears off. Hmm. Maybe I can tolerate Cocoa a bit. Just a little bit. Perhaps we can even arrange a deal to make this relationship work out after all. 

I push, more like squeeze, through the small cat flap to the utility room. Lawrence and Leah set up the little flap when my food kept mysteriously disappearing, with traces of dog drool around the rim of the bowl. Even though they could swear they pushed the bowl as far from the dyer’s edge as possible, somehow it still ends up almost tipping off. 

So now, Cocoa and I have to get a bit more creative in our partnership. I jump to the top of the dryer, making it rattle with my momentum, and take a few noisy bites until I hear Cocoa’s approach. Then, I take an extra big mouthful and exit the room. Cocoa does that adorable head cock and sits for me. I cough and drop the kibble to the ground. His nose twitches as fast as the rabbit I chased last week but he stays still until I walk away, tail held high. Then, he licks up what I spilled while I sprawl out onto his still-warm bed. When he’s done, he returns, snuffles my fur, and rests his head on the bed, letting me have the rest of the space. 

Sometimes, when our humans see us, they laugh at how “cute” we are. They even take pictures. I slowly blink at Cocoa, and he blinks back. We know it’s not just “cute.” It’s business.