Krazy?

If animals; pets; reflect their owners. I'm cooked. No really.
Charlie Cat is leaping up the walls again at imaginary ...whatevers. 3-4 feet, straight up. Then sliding down and trying again.
After a couple of tries to capture the whatevers, he'll mrouf!, and take off at full speed down the hall. Zzzziiiiipppp! To the bedroom, or through the great room and up the stairs. It matters not, he's gone.
My gray and white furry ghost, leaving only a trail of floating silvered strands wafting in the air.
They usually settle on the areas I've just cleaned.
It's that universal Endust law.
If the pups are in from their mandatory yard patrol, the younger ones will give a short lived chase. Then Charlie will wheel, turn while raised up like a grizzly and attack.
It's over quickly. No real blood shed. Some pride is always lost, mortally wounded to lie at the feet of the involved warriors, but no actual blood.
And in a few hours, it will begin again.
They're crazy. Absolutely crazy. All of 'em.
Charlie, we've discussed - Okay, you've read about him.
Peaches is a Chihauhau, black and white, (I didn't name her!). And she is cunning and always in trouble. She sneaks and steals and then whines and tells on herself. Honestly. Meets you at the door with tail tucked practically screaming, "I did it! I'm-sorry-and-I'll-never-do-it again-and-I-promise-to-be-better-give-me-another-chance-I-love-you-more-than-the-world-knows!" And always, always, does anything and everything she can get into again. She just does.
Hudson is a Daschy mix. He thinks he's macho, macho man. I've yet to break it to him he's neutered. He adores the Hubby. No one else exists in the whole world for him. He'll growl at anyone that gets too near Hubbykins. I drove 4 hours each way to rescue that little twerp and he goes over to the dark side. Not that I resent it, you understand.
Irish is a Golden/Irish Setter mix. Hubby likes to say she got the coat of the Goldens and the brains of the Setters. All I know is she's as sweet as she can be and dumb as a box of rocks. But, she's the best thing in the world with the grandest kids. And they love her, too. Okay, she's not crazy, just slow on the uptake.
Whiskers; oh, Whiskers. She came to me as the dog that only had months to live. She's a mutt. She arrived 13 years ago and she was 2 or 3 then. She's gonna out live us all. And she snores. But, she taught the others how to tolerate cats. She likes to bark....at anything. It matters not if you can hear the noise or only she can hear the noise. She will suddenly ...bark. A deep throated, sounds like a big male dog, bark. Until you yell, "Whiskers, STOP!" Lately she's decided she doesn't like her reflection. I'm thinking dementia is raising it's ugly head.
They have to be told to go outside. Sometimes; loudly. "You're DOGS, go out, it's beautiful, come on." And there they'll lay, "Huh? Us? Out THERE?"
Snooty little perps.
Charlie would go out in a heartbeat. Even in the rain, he'd scoot out the door and make a break for it. The little brat's declawed and the streets are filled with flying cars, but he'd risk it. Scale the fence and off into the world, he'd go. Have to watch my brazen, crazy boy. He's fast.
He's forgotten that he came staggering up to us starved, dirty and cold. He's fat and fed now and ready for new adventures. He's ready to take on anyone and everything. He's brave and unafraid.
Hmmm. Maybe if he's a reflection, I'm not so cooked after all.
OnceAgain