Lily came with the standard issue puppy stumps, short little tufts of fur positioned front and rear that somehow got her from place to place. They were not good at stairs or anything that required a climb and often seemed to work independently of one another. They provided no more than basic transport to a barrel-shaped body -- and not on a reliable basis.
Fetch - we learned - was not a game they would play. Too much scampering around required an instant puppy nap, there and then, no warning or yawning pleasantries.
But while we were sleeping sometime this week these appendages somehow became high-propulsion stilts. Her legs now dominate a modest chassis.
She can now jump into Charlie's lap, see the kitchen table and chase toys like a champion. She has power (although not yet complete coordination, she runs to the continuous soundtrack of "Wipeout").
Fetch is her favorite game as she flies across the living room to get there ahead of the toy. She's got wheels.
Lily herself seems astounded at her own velocity.
The cats are regrouping. Until this point they had the strategic advantages of speed and grace.
My guess is they will hold the high ground on grace. But I'm not sure what good that will do them. The "we-actually-have-no-claws-to back-up-our-attitude" revelation is just around the corner. Fur may fly.
They may wind up regretting their first several weeks of Lily "hiss-hiss-you-can't-reach-me-anyway-swat-swat" torture.
She's got legs - and she almost knows how to use them.



Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs