This morning, I threw a ball across the room for Diesel. He promptly batted it under the couch and reached his paw under to retrieve it, failed, and laid on the carpet looking very sad.
Matt walked over, lifted up the couch, and I swatted the ball across the room and said, “I remember when Diesel stole a piece of bacon off the counter and slipped underneath this couch to eat it. I was amazed because it’s a two-inch clearance and he just went right under there and all I heard was crunch, crunch, crunch.”
Then Diesel came flying back across the room and swatted the ball under the hope chest we use as a coffee table, banged his head trying to go after it, and then looked up at us. Matt said, “He was able to get under there just last week.”
“Yeah, and a month ago he was taking naps in a SoniCare toothbrush box.” We both stood there for a moment, looking at him when kitty let out a disgusted meow and Matt reached under the chest, swatted the ball into the kitchen and we both laughed as we watched legs go skittering across the floor as Diesel threw his tail around in circles trying to maintain some sense of control before he crashed into the wall.
