The Therapy Sessions
On The Eddie Haskell Of Cats
What looks like a rabbit and acts like a dog?
TP: Come on in here, Little Man. I was beginning to think you were never coming back.
LM: Yeh well, it was a rough summer, doc.
TP: Tell me about it. I’m guessing it has something to do with the new “foster kid” your parents brought home. What was his name? The Colonel?
LM: It was The Colonel. Not any more! And there’s nothing “foster” about him. That was a bad joke from the get-go.
TP: So your parents couldn’t find him a forever home?
LM: Oh no. They found him one—mine! The little orange dweeb is now an official member of the family. Bliss!
TP: Hmm. I imagine that’s been traumatic. You had the place to yourself for what—ten years?
LM: Almost, yep. Not anymore! Now, I get to share everything with a kid who looks like a rabbit and acts like a dog.
TP: Explain.
TP: Well, like I told you last time, the kid’s tale was chopped off when he was abandoned on the mean streets down by the docks. Lost part of an ear, too. Add some mutton chop cheeks to that stubby tail and cauliflower ear and the kid bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain cartoon character who made his bones chompin’ carrots and callin’ everyone doc. Suppose that’s why mom decided to call the kid Bugs.
TP: Bugs! That’s his name?
LM: Bugs. Bugsy. The Bugster. Bugsaroo. Seems there’s no end to the cutie-pie variations. Gag me! No wait…goose me. That’s what this knucklehead does.
TP: Huh?
LM: Oh yeh. That’s the “acts like a dog” part. He’s a butt-sniffer.
TP: You’re kidding!
LM: I wish.
TP: You think he lived with dogs down on the docks?
LM: I’ll tell you what I think. I think he’s the Eddie Haskell of cats. You remember that character from the old Leave It To Beaver TV show?
TP: Yeh, yeh. The one who was always syrupy-polite around the Beav’s mother, but hell-on-wheels behind her back?
LM: Right. Well, that’s Bugsy. All coochie-coo around mom, then when she’s not looking, he gives me a butt-sniff. Next thing you know, him and me are havin’ words, or worse, and guess who gets in trouble?
TP: Not the butt-sniffer, I take it.
LM: You take it right. Thankfully, he’s a good traveler, so I do get the occasional weekend reprieve when they all go off to the beach.
TP: Really? Doesn’t it bother you to be cut out of the beach breaks?
LM: You kidding? That’s my chance to eat and sleep in peace. Besides, while they’re gone, I get regular drive-bys from that sweetheart, Snow White. She makes sure my larder is properly stocked and de-stresses me with a little foot massage, all the while marveling at my mansome good looks. She calls me Cary, you know. Apparently, she had a thing for some hottie actor named Cary Grant back in the day.
TP: Yes, ah, you have mentioned that a number of times. So where’s your dad with all this?
LM: Still my best bud, of course, but sadly susceptible to the supposed charms of the little orange suck-up. Get this. I pop up to the bedroom around 4 in the AM, as per my usual routine, to remind old dad that it’s time for my mid-night snack, and who looks over the side of the bed but little Eddie Haskell himself!
TP: Bugsy sleeps with them? Well, you know, Little, many cats do share the bed with their humans. Never appealed to you though, did it?
LM: Nah, but I did try it…once. It was a lose-lose for everybody. Dad was trying so hard not to move and disturb me that he got a cramp and suddenly jumped out of bed screaming. That woke mom up, so she starts in on him, like, man-up and stop screamin’ like a little girl…you know, real attitude! I tell you, doc, that woman’s some kind of nasty when her sleepytime’s disturbed. Anyway, I hoisted myself out of there and headed downstairs for some peace and quiet. That was all the let’s cuddle up together I could take.
TP: So, back to “4 AM.” What happened when you sidled up to your dad’s side of the bed for, what did you call it, your mid-night snack?
LM: Well, whaddya think? Little Eddie pokes his head over the side and goes into his na-na-nana-na, I’m in bed with dad and you’re not routine. Twerp!
I course-corrected that, though. I guess it was like the second or third night. I hoisted my considerableness up at the edge of the bed just as Eddie’s little button-nose was coming over the side. He spent the next twenty minutes rearranging his proboscis while me and dad sauntered down to the kitchen.
TP: Hmm. Well, I must say, you do seem to be handling this new addition to the household pretty well. Very mature—Bugsy’s nasal redesign notwithstanding.
LM: Aw, what are you gonna do? The kid did have a rough time when he was abandoned at the docks. Locust Point ain’t exactly Disneyworld. Then he kept gettin’ shuffled around the foster care circuit because of that medical thing he has. I figured, Cut the kid some slack, Little Man.
TP: I’m impressed by that, Little. Sounds like our couch sessions are really paying off.
LM: Don’t get too carried away with your self-administered attaboys, doc. I’m just fine-tuning my charm offensive. Big party coming up!
TP: Oh?
LM: Mom’s having another one of those pet lover hoedowns at the house next week. You remember me telling you about the last one, right?
TP: Kind of. Something about a statue one of the women went off on?
LM: Good memory, doc. Yeh, a bunch of old chippies got together to channel Helen Reddy’s glory days, drink too much wine, and plan some big event to raise money for my four-legged brethren—for which, let me be quick to note, I offer my highest kudos.
TP: I remember.
LM: Yeh, it was all good until that one they call the Student Council President caught sight of an armless, but extremely well-hung, Renaissance Man-of-a-statue. Suddenly, she morphed into the female equivalent of Animal House’s Bluto Blutarsky.
She’s a piece of work, that one…prim and proper pre-cocktails; toga party line dance leader post.
TP: So back to this upcoming gathering at your house. Don’t you figure Bugsy will steal the show, being the waif-like cutie-pie that he apparently is?
LM: That’s exactly what I figure, doc. While they’re all goo-gooing the kid and passing him around like a hors d’oeuvre, I’ll be charming my way into the hearts of the evening’s kitchen staff, who will undoubtedly repay my common-man camaraderie with a fine snack or three.
TP: And a good time will be had by all!
LM: Couldn’t have said it better myself, doc. See you next week.
NEXT TIME ON LITTLE MAN ON THE COUCH…
TP: You must be Bugsy.
B: Hi. You’re Fatso’s doctor? Nice couch.