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	<title>Stella The Cat &#187; dogs</title>
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	<description>Who&#039;s the boss? :-)</description>
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		<title>Week #7 &#8211; A cat&#8217;s worst nightmare</title>
		<link>http://stella-the-cat.finji.de/index.php/archives/13</link>
		<comments>http://stella-the-cat.finji.de/index.php/archives/13#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 08 Jul 2007 22:09:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Mr Nice</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Weimaraner]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cat]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cats]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dogs]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://verzaehl-mir-was.de/sblog/?p=13</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This week was pretty much uneventful for me. I have had to stay indoors a lot due to the weather. I tried to behave to make up for the behavior from week #6, so Mr. &#038; Mrs. Nice would not be upset anymore. Today &#8211; Sunday &#8211; was the day any cat in a new [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>This week was pretty much uneventful for me. I have had to stay indoors a lot due to the weather. I tried to behave to make up for the behavior from week #6, so Mr. &#038; Mrs. Nice would not be upset anymore.</p>
<p>Today &#8211; Sunday &#8211; was the day any cat in a new home fears. A dog arrived. Not just any dog, a HUGE dog! Have a look. Didn&#8217;t I have a reason to worry?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFifnGNuHI/AAAAAAAAA8A/tQKigoTkQZI/s1600-h/2007-07-08+%288%29+%28Medium%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFifnGNuHI/AAAAAAAAA8A/tQKigoTkQZI/s400/2007-07-08+%288%29+%28Medium%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084953749488515186" border="0" /></a>His name is Brian, a Weimaraner hunting dog. You tell me &#8211; why does he have to come to my house? I live here now.</p>
<p>At first I was scared, so Mr. Nice picked me up.</p>
<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFly3GNuLI/AAAAAAAAA8g/W1xsl8DZDN8/s1600-h/2007-07-08+%2812%29+%28Medium%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFly3GNuLI/AAAAAAAAA8g/W1xsl8DZDN8/s320/2007-07-08+%2812%29+%28Medium%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084957378735880370" border="0" /></a>This must&#8217;ve been punishment for everything I have done last week. Mrs. Nice seemed to know the  dog very well. She even touched the dog and the dog LIKED her, too. Hey, dog, that&#8217;s my Mrs. Nice, not yours. I knew the lady because she came to visit when I first arrived here. Who would think that a nice lady like this would have a HUGE dog like Brian? The question should really be &#8211; why??? I thought she liked cats.</p>
<p>You better believe it that I stayed very close and nearby to watch every step they did. I do that anyhow when someone comes into my garden or talks to Mr. &#038; Mrs. Nice. You do understand that, don&#8217;t know? What kind of cat would I be if I wasn&#8217;t keeping track of the visitors to our house and garden.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjAnGNuII/AAAAAAAAA8I/da2Iry74ZaU/s1600-h/2007-07-08+%2814%29+%28Medium%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjAnGNuII/AAAAAAAAA8I/da2Iry74ZaU/s320/2007-07-08+%2814%29+%28Medium%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084954316424198274" border="0" /></a>This dog had the nerves to want to play with me. Now why in the world does a dog want to play with a cat? I was NOT interested at all. As a matter of fact, I found a spot between the pots and figured he&#8217;d leave me alone. But you know dogs &#8211; they have tunnel vision. He was not giving up on that idea.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjf3GNuJI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/-Dr66wf3UK0/s1600-h/2007-07-08+%281%29+%28Medium%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjf3GNuJI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/-Dr66wf3UK0/s320/2007-07-08+%281%29+%28Medium%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084954853295110290" border="0" /></a>Here I am hiding next to the blue pot and the little table and HE kept looking for me. (Click on the picture and you&#8217;ll get a better glimpse of me. Can&#8217;t miss the dog, I reckon.)</p>
<p>Ok.. well I let him have a look at me, but he better watch out for Stella-The-Cat. I hissed at him to let him know that I did NOT like him and did NOT want to be bothered at all.</p>
<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjzHGNuKI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/xq9mHqbBE0Y/s1600-h/2007-07-08+%283%29+%28Medium%29.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4SoMSIjlymE/RpFjzHGNuKI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/xq9mHqbBE0Y/s320/2007-07-08+%283%29+%28Medium%29.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084955184007592098" border="0" /></a>Then the lady wanted to have a walk through my garden to look at all the flowers Mrs. Nice planted for me to enjoy. I walked right behind them. When the dog saw me, he charged at me and I took of running to the front of the house. Mrs. Nice told me later he wanted to play. I simply don&#8217;t care. I do not like dogs.</p>
<p>I was so relieved when they decided to leave. Of course, I made sure to follow them to the front of the house and to see the dog getting into the car.</p>
<p>After they were gone I walked right back into my house and rolled all over the floor everywhere this dog has been laying down to get rid of his scent.</p>
<p>I made sure Mr. &amp; Mrs. Nice KNEW that I did not like it and I gave them some of &#8220;my medicine&#8221; which is a &#8220;cold shoulder&#8221;. They hate it when I ignore them.</p>
<p>That was my Sunday story for this week and I hope this does NOT happen again.</p>
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