And The Dance Goes On

Now I am just a dog.  Still it is my sworn duty to report to anyone that will listen what I see, hear and feel….and this is a good one….I promise.

So it was the usual dog and pony show, Momma running around, dressed in a ratty black sweater that the cats like to suck on (makes you wonder, do they think it is their Baby Mamma?) and leggings that have become worn and torn from constant use. With the window cleaner in one hand, a cleaning cloth in the other, Momma was all set to find dirt to conquer.  She stopped in front of RIP Daddy’s 22 by 18 inch framed picture and started to polish the glass.  As she did so, I heard her talking to him, chiding him actually, about never dropping in anymore.  She knew, she said, he was busy with ‘other worldly’ tasks but still, would it kill him to give her some of his time (sound familiar yet, guys?).

As I sat there, I could tell the joke was on her because, RIP Daddy was standing behind her, his hand on her right shoulder.  I can not say, if she saw him, heard him or sensed him, but to my surprise, she set the spray bottle and cleaning cloth down, put her arms out as if encircling his shoulders and then, there they were, waltzing around the room to the strains of the Blue Danube Waltz.

Momma had the most amazing dark blue ballroom gown, with a fitted bodice, and layers upon layers of a chiffon skirt while RIP Daddy looked dashing in his formal black and white.  Their posture was erect and perfect as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

Right before me, I swear, our living room turned in to a vaulted ballroom with glittering chandeliers and huge dance floor balls that shed pools of light and shadow, as they whirled and dipped effortlessly.  I was mesmerized, yet dizzy as I watched them encircle the highly polished hardwood floor.

All good things must come to an end though and it had to be Bad Boy Andy who would wreck the ambience.  He came in to the room, whiskers and tail just a twitching and watched in a kind of fascinated but incomprehensible fashion.  A meow that emanated from his very bowels pierced through the soul-feeding Blue Danube Waltz. Momma and the music stopped. Her Cinderella ball gown was replaced once more with her ratty black sweater and worn leggings. And to my sorrow, RIP Daddy seemed to evaporate in blink of an eye, the minute the music died.

And not one to miss a beat, Momma greeted Bad Boy Andy, asked him how he was and did he want to go outside? I was shuddering.  There is no understanding my Momma.  First she complains RIP Daddy never comes and when he does, she interrupts the process to let the cat in, let the cat out.

It is all too strange for me.  Momma always said poor RIP Daddy danced like a Douglas Fir Tree, awkward and rooted in place. Looks like he has figured it out now.  But RIP Daddy, he’ll be back.  And the dance can go on.