Our daughter and family live in one of those big old houses of three floors plus a finished basement (now referred to as the lower level, thank you very much). They have a cat who treasures the hundreds of hiding places it has to offer. They also have a dog who doesn’t much care one way or the other as long as he gets petted, fed, and let out now and then. He doesn’t play a role in this very short story.
We were there for a brief visit along with Riley, our West Highland Terrier. For him it was like a trip to Disneyland. He’s always wanted a cat of his own to hunt down and chase He doesn’t know that it can, and often does, work the other way round. In any case, he could smell the cat trail the second he came into the place. With four floors and many small spaces to explore, the day was spent racing up and down stairs, in and out of rooms, under and over furniture, and behind anything for which there was a behind to get to. Now and then he actually found the cat, who remained cattily disinterested in a game not of her choosing. She was more often perched somewhere high and unseen, showing only mild curiosity in the mad search going on below. It didn’t matter. Riley was having a great time.
It made for a long uninterrupted night of pleasant sleep for him, no doubt filled with doggie dreams of a wonderful day of hide and seek in happy expectation of another yet to come.
What, you may ask, is the point of this story? There isn’t one, except to share my vicarious delight in Riley’s excellent adventure. It made him happy, and I imagine that taking dog like joy in our own daily adventures can do the same for us. Children do that sometimes. Teenagers do but they don’t dare let anyone know. Adults have a harder time of it. That’s too bad.