Another story about our beloved Charmander. If you’ve been following along, you should know how unique and full of personality this cat contained. If not, I recommend checking out VTMAS No.29: Charmander’s Quota, VTMAS No.25: You Broke It!, and VTMAS No.13: Meet Charmander the Cat. In this retelling, it was something that had happened with my cat in my absence.
My mother and sister had bought themselves a new little dog. A Bichon who looked like a white, curly haired meat loaf wobbling around at ankle height. Apparently, Charmander would give him disapproving glares and upon making eye contact the dog would bark excessively at CharChar until he went elsewhere. Imagine, a little dog barely higher than half the height of a massive Maine Coon mixed cat. It wasn’t worth Charmander’s time and energy to run away or address the dog.
Months come and go, and we were all getting really annoyed at the little dog. He would seek out CharChar and then proceed to bark at the cat, even if he was snoozing in privacy in a room somewhere. You could see it on Charmander’s face, he was planning the perfect way to get back at the dog. This bark-at-cat syndrome was progressively getting worst as he started doing it in the middle of the night, scaring the crap out of us and the cat. Something had to be done, and apparently, the cat thought of the perfect plan first.
Now, I was away when the plan went down. The entire family woke to the dog screaming. Not barking, not whining, flat out shrieking in terror. When they all came flooding into the living room, there was the dog on his back, wiggling and struggling under the weight of a single paw. Charmander had pinned him to the ground, holding him there from the center of his tiny chest. His golden glare looking at the dog unmoved by his screaming.
“Charmander, what are you doing!” Exclaimed my mom’s boyfriend.
He lifted his eyes to him, then back to the dog and raised his eyebrows as if to say, I am fixing the problem. Like some mobster from a mafia movie.
“Let him go…” He sighed.
Furrowing his brow, Charmander let go of the dog with a huff. The dog ran for his life, off to hide under a bed. CharChar sashayed back to the fake plant with the cushiony moss. Climbed in there, curled up and fell back to sleep, uncaring as always.
Needless to say, the dog never barked at him again.