1 year, 3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days

is all we had to wait for the animals to somewhat accept each other. This was the first time since Wrigley's arrival that the two of them could actually sit in close proximity without hits and hisses. They are even learning to share. Chumley laps up Wrigley's water as Wrig's tosses around Chumley's bear and then decides to use it as a pillow. And yes, like my fellow blogging friend KBL, I also translate imagined conversations between the two of them. I think the only difference is, I actually hear these voices in my head. Depending on the situation Chumley can either sound like Joe Pesci or Prince Charles, he has quite a range. Wrigs on the other hand is all Elmer Fudd. In this instance, Chum is Joe Pesci...


Chum: So whadda you lookin' at? Yeah, I want your water, whadda you gonna do about it tough guy?

Wrigs: Duhhh, nothin'. I'm just gonna lay here and snuggle up with your lover bear.

Chum: That's right, just lay there. But go easy on my lover. Now leave me alone so I can drink all your water.

Wrigs: Duhhhh, Ok!


Then later that same day I came home and found the 2 of them on opposite sides of the doggy gate but still close to each other, even laying the same way. It's been hot here and we're careful not to run the AC too much because of power outages. So here's a shot of the two of them sprawled out with their bellies on the floor trying to stay cool. How cute is this? I caught them in mid conversation and this is what I heard (and this time Chum was speaking in his distinguished British accent)


Chum: For the last time, you ignorant buffoon, stay out of my litter box, and leave my sweet smellin' snacks alone! I don't make those just for you. Those...are for Mum.

Wrigs: But they are so yummy, I just can't help myself. You make the best tootsie rolls on the block!

Chum: I can't believe I occupy the same space with such an uncivilized beast. Have you no manners?

Wrigs: Uh oh. Here comes Momma with that shiny box again. Ouch! That bright light hurts my eyes.

Chum: This is getting out of hand. I despise that shiny box with the bright light. She needs to be stopped.

Wrigs: But how? What can you do? You don't even have thumbs. Wait, neither do I.

Chum: Don't worry. I have a plan.



Now I'm scared.