“HI, TWEAK! I’M HOME!!”
I have been away from the house for four days on a hiking vacation. I took the dog and took The Boy, and I left Tweak alone with a clean litter box, a basin of water, and a pie plate overfull of Purina nurdles.
Having all that food and water available meant that: 1) she would not starve, and 2) she had ample opportunity to beef up her body and rally the forces of evil to punish us for crimes against felinity. It’s akin to locking a violent offender in an Outback Steakhouse with a set of free weights. And then insulting his mother.
“Tweak?”
I carry in my starter luggage and send The Boy out to the car to schlep in the other 60 pieces. (I travel READY. Like an Eagle Scout to milf camp.)
“Tweak?”
Bowie-dog wags her tail and drinks out of Tweak’s water basin.
“Tweak?”
I wasn’t really worried that she would be huddled in a corner somewhere, unless it was on purpose. For a nap, maybe. Or to poise herself for the kill.
But silence is not like her. Tweak’s love language is yelling.
Bowie-dog, still wearing a leash, rattles over to the pie plate and slurps up the cat food nurdles that cling to the edges.
That’s the trigger.
I hear Tweak’s feet thump to the floor from some high place down the hall. And then the sound of running. And possibly the cocking of a rifle. No, not running – stalking. It’s the rhythmic, rapid acceleration phase right before the cheetah leaps onto the neck of a wildebeest and the cameraman wets himself.
Tweak turns the corner and halts.
Tweak: “Mrow.”
Me: “Hello, Tweak.”
Tweak: “Mrow. Mrow, mrow, mrow.”
Me: “Tweak, I can’t understand you. Use your words.”
Tweak: “WHERE THE DUCK HAVE YOU BEEN??”
Me: “Duck?”
The Boy: “Duck?”
Bowie-dog: “Goose.”
Tweak: “STOP IT! STOP HAVING FUN!”
I kneel down and put my face right in front of her. She closes her eyes. She has the breath of a decomposing piranha, but I don’t pull away.
Tweak: “I hate you guys.”
I lean my forehead into hers.
Me: “But, Tweak, you hated us before we left.”
She boops her forehead into mine, not a sign of forgiveness, exactly, but she’s momentarily forgotten that she’s armed.
Tweak: “I know, but I didn’t have anybody to yell at.”
Me: “Mrow.”
7 July 2014, “Tolerating Tweak”
