Pluto is a (somewhat controversial dwarf) planet.
Pluto is also a miniature 16 week old schnoodle with a bad '80s dye job and an equally tragic perm who is now running circles round The House at Porter Street.
A puppy. Why a puppy? Well, there were quite a few reasons, but not the least of which was that we have a 14 year old Maine Coon (cat), Bongo, who has recently lost his life long companion, Poppy. And I thought it would be easier for him to establish the hierarchy with the newcomer from the outset, if he, the older, wiser party could just...
Well, that all went to hell, didn't it? What was I thinking?
Bongo, the BIGGEST scaredy cat in all of Christendom.
Bongo who in territorial invasions would stand a goodly distance behind Poppy but who generously and consistently lent great support from the rear by way of moral support.
Bongo who was always the first to get to the door, in case matters should spiral out of control.
Poor unsuspecting Bongo was one of the reasons we opted for a puppy and not an older dog and now he has to suffer the indignity of getting rushed at by an over enthusiastic ball of shouting fluff with NO MANNERS when the people aren't paying attention.
The truth is The House at Porter Street has now become an apartheid state.
Luckily Porter Street house is large.
Luckily the humans are mainly on their toes.
Luckily The Dark Lord of the Underworld gets tired early so at least Bongo can still get quality time with his human while it sleeps in its enclosure next to her bed.
There are upsides and downsides. The net benefits, of course, have far outweighed the bad bits. Just not for poor Bongo. I'm not quite sure how to make it up to him.