The Day I Turned Into a Cat (Completed)

No Plan

I peered out from the vase and looked at Ally. She was seated beside Mrs. Jenkins who was trying to sooth Rice through the bathroom door.

"It's ok honey, just a mild case of diarrhea!"

"Mild! Mother, this is anything but mild!"

"Just take some tums, honey."

"Tums is not going to help this, mother. I think I just clogged our toilet."

There was a loud sloshing sound and I heard Rice moan.

"I think I put a bit to much laxatives in the water." I purred to Ally.

"No. This is perfect. It should keep him home for awhile."

"Wow! I never knew you were the type to rebel against your boyfriend."

"This isn't rebellion. This is a plan." She growled and Rice's mom, Isabella, started to pet her.

"It's time to take you back to the spa, baby. Come on, Nikki!"

I looked at Ally and sent her a pleading look. "What am I supposed to do!" I hissed.

"Come with me and get your claws painted. It's rather soothing." She chuckled as she trotted alongside Isabella. What else was I supposed to do but follow?

Creeping behind vases and furniture, I followed them to the doggy spa room. Woah, they had a doggy spa room?

Yup, it even had a fancy label on the door proclaiming it's title. Dang, they got money. I crept in just before the door shut on my tail and crouched behind a massage table.

Wait a second, NIKKI HAS A MASSAGE TABLE?

That's soooooooooooooo not fair!

A person wearing a white uniform with Jenkins No Slip Salt sewn on the breast pocket entered the room. "Is Master Nikki feeling ill?"

Oh, pause the story or a moment.

The Jenkins became rich from a heritage salt company. Rice's great, great, great grandpappy created a salt company for Canadian roads in the winter when he was a teenager.
The company became successful two generations ago and they inherited the company and all the money.

Back to the story.

"No. It's more so Rice that's feeling ill, he has a extreme case of diarreah, but Nikki could use a massage. I think she's feeling stressed. I'll be back in one hour to get Smithers to take her out for a walk with Roofus. Thanks, Charlie."

Oh, yes. Roofus was a show chuiwawa. He was Nikki's walking partner and stress reliever. Something about the presence of Roofus apparently soothed Nikki.

Wierd? Yes. Why dogs needed a stress reliever, I had no idea whatsoever. I guess rich people just needed something to spend their money on. They literally payed Roofus's owner so they could take Roofus on walks with Nikki.

I watched as Nikki jumped up on the massage table and Charlie began to massage her tissue.

This was so not fair. I've been a human for sixteen years and I've never had a massage. Here is a five year old dog that's probably had one six times a week.

"Ally," I meowed softly, "we need a plan."

"We have one," she murmured, her voice low from the massage.

"A new one. Like what the heck do I do now?"

"Oh, right, um... Let me thing of something when I'm done this massage. I can't focus right now."

Great. How was I supposed to discuss anything more when there was a human standing two feet away from me?

"C'mon, I need to do something!"