The Day Louise Promises to Give Me My T-Bone!

Beau: So, Louise. Pray tell. How is it you can ignore this face so easily and leave me pining on my own while you traipse around the world having all your adventures without me?

Me: Easy.

Beau: That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say in response to my very important, and clear, question? Easy?

Me: You want me to lie?

Beau: Well, a little empathy would be nice.

Me: Hmmm… Okay. How about this… It’s easy to leave you because I know you’re in loving care with either C.C. at home, or at Auntie Annie’s and Uncle Lee’s.

Beau: You know they have one of those feline terror thingies, right?

Me: You know he’s called a ‘cat’, right?

Beau: Whatever he’s called, he’s got claws and makes a hissing sound like the air’s coming out of his fat body whenever I go past.

Me: Sherpa’s not fat, Beau. He’s a Persian.

Beau: Yeah? Well, I’m Canadian, which means I’ve endured cold, cold winters, and I don’t have as much fur. He’s fat.

Me: Are you fat-shaming Sherpa, Beau?

Beau: No. I’m calling a fat cat a fat cat.

Me: Now who’s lacking empathy?

Beau: You. Still. Me: Why is it when I use the same rationalizations as you, I’m lacking, but you’re not?

Beau: If you have to ask, I’m not telling.

Me: If you don’t tell, how will I know?

Beau: I think you already know. You just like being obtuse. Or perhaps, more to the point, avoiding taking 100% accountability for your words and actions. Were you, or were you not, about to leave me for a whole week, again, to go visit my sisters, Martha and Wilma, in Calgary while leaving me, ONCE AGAIN, with that claw-swinging, sharp-hissing vixen?

Me: But we’re not going now, Beau, so what’s the big deal?

Beau: The big deal is, you were planning on doing it. AGAIN.

Me: Why can’t you just be happy we’ve changed our plans?

Beau: Why did you have to make the plans in the first place?

Me: I’m not going to win this one, am I?

Beau: Do you ever?

He’s got a point. C.C. and I were supposed to go to Calgary for a week’s visit. Unfortunately, something’s come up to keep us home.

Beau: Fortunately, you mean.

Me: Oh… right. Fortunately.

Beau: Doesn’t let you off the hook, by the way, for my T-bone steak… actually, with this little escapade… steaks! I like mine medium rare.

Me: Yes, Your Highness. I’ll get right on that.

You heard it here, folks! She's put it in print — She'll Get Right On It! Please. Please. Please. Keep the pressure on! This ole' dawg hasn't lost his bone! He's just never gotten it!