Master of the House

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It’s been a busy few weeks here at the casa de Rae and Steve, including weddings and football and working and surgery, but I won’t go into that now.

Instead, for a sunny Sunday morning like this, a story about The Beast seems more fitting.

Without totally giving away the basis of future posts, Steve had a rather unexpected surgery this week which has led to him being sore and needing to rest. He’s been off of work since Tuesday and I’m pretty sure that Feta has gotten used to having him around the house. She now has someone to fill her kongs on demand, someon to open the front door for her, and someone to howl at randomly.

It was on Saturday morning, however, that we truly learned who was the Master of the House.

After an eventful Friday evening of the Tigers game being rained out, bring our record of watching Detroit sporting events to 0-2, the three of us retired for the night, excited for a Saturday full of nothingness and sweatpants.

The morning sunlight cracks through the curtains. The Beast has had enough rest, anxious to find the empty kongs she dreamt of throughout the night.

Feta: HOWWWWLLLLL! HOOOWWWWWLLLLL!!! (Scratches the bedroom door.)

Rae and Steve: (No movement in fear of Feta realizing they’re awake.)

Feta: RRRROOOOOOWWWWRRRR! ROOWR. (Jumps around at the end of the bed.)

Steve: She’s gotta go outside.

Feta: RROOLLWWRR.

Steve: I’ll get up.

Steve: (Gets out of bed. Puts on sweatpants. Opens bedroom door for Feta.)

Feta: (Jumps up and steals Steve’s spot in bed.)

Steve: Seriously?

Feta: (Lifts head, glances at Steve, then puts head back down on pillow and closes eyes.)

This clearly shows who’s in charge, but with a face like this, how can you be mad at her, even when she kicks you out of bed after you’ve had surgery?

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