Dear Tabby | Ooh La La to Boo-Hoo-Hoo: When a Tiny Human Invades A French Bully’s Boudoir
Dear Tabby,
Bonjour, mon chaton! I hope this letter finds you très bien. Sadly, I write because I am not doing well myself. No, mon chaton, je suis fâché, très énervé. Oh, pardonne-moi…in English…I believe you say…I believe it’s…I’m pissed off? I am told that you have incomparable wisdom about troubling matters. C’est la raison de mon communiqué.
I am Monsieur Pierre Le Fromage, a distinguished French Bulldog of impeccable breeding. My humans have committed the most grievous faux pas. Several months ago, they brought home this odd, noisy puppy. At first, I thought, “Magnifique! A new playmate!” But this strange pup is nothing like the ones at the dog park.
This so-called bébé has no fur, and does not walk – rather it crawls about the floor like un escargot, and makes the most awful howling sounds at all hours of la nuit. Mon Dieu! This slithering, deafening life-form is completely uncivilized!
For months now, Maman et Papa have been cooing over this minuscule creature. My belly rubs have diminished by at least 70%! The little thief even stole my place préférée on Maman’s lap. J’en peux plus!
To heap insult upon injury, I’m not allowed to give it welcoming licks, generously share my chew toys, or dare to draw near for a sniff. How très rude!
And don’t get me started on this absurd “diaper” situation. Can you believe it, Tabby? They wrap a cloth around its little derrière and allow it to… how do you say… poop? Yes, Tabby, right in it! Then they carry him around, malodorous package and all, as if he were a precious gift! Mon dieu, when I have business to attend to, I’m banished to le jardin. Such double standards! You sophisticated felines at least have the decency to bury your excrément in a litter box. Perhaps I should gift the tiny newcomer its own bac à litière for Noël?
I’ve tried to be patient, d’une patience exemplaire even. I bring forth my favorite tennis ball, hoping to initiate some semblance of play. But it just stares at me with those beady little eyes, completely unimpressed. Quelle horreur! Is it too much to ask for a simple game of fetch?
How do I get my humans to remember that I am still the true prince of this household? And will this bébé ever learn to appreciate my chansons magnifiques or at least learn to play fetch?
Tabby, I implore you, s’il vous plaît, help this perplexed pup reclaim his rightful place in the family régime!
Indignantly yours,
Monsieur Pierre Le Fromage in Québec
Dear Monsieur Le Fromage,
Ah, mon petit chou-fleur canin, the trials and tribulations of a dethroned doggy! Your letter has left me purring with amusement and sympathy in equal measure. It seems you’ve found yourself in quite the pet pickle – or should I say, cornichon?
First, let me assure you that your situation is not unique. Many a family pet has faced the invasion of a tiny, hairless “puppy” that refuses to learn proper fetch etiquette. But fear not, for Tabby is here to help you navigate this new world order with grace, dignity, and perhaps a touch of that famous French je ne sais quoi.
Let’s address your concerns one by one, shall we?
The crawling escargot: Yes, human babies are mysterious creatures. They start as noisy, immobile lumps and gradually evolve into chaotic, sprightly terrors. The good news? They eventually learn to walk, talk, and – most importantly for you – they do, in time, learn to play fetch.
Your diminished belly rubs: Oh mon Dieu! It is indeed a tragic incursion when the enemy breaches your belly rub line. Might I suggest a Napoleonic approach? Wage an offensive by deploying in high-traffic areas of the house. Humans may be obsessed with the baby, but they can’t mount a resistance to a strategically positioned pup. And never forget your most powerful weapon – humans have no defense against the insurmountable puppy-eyed gaze.
The diaper situation: Ah, the mysteries of human parenthood. While I agree it’s a puzzling practice, consider this – at least you’re not responsible for changing it. As for your banishment to le jardin, just be glad it is not your derriere that is being swaddled. Enjoy those excursions to your outdoor boudoir where you can escape the chaos and plot your retour en force. I’m confident you’ll make a comeback from all this, mon ami.
Toy and chew restrictions: I sympathize with your plight. Perhaps you could redirect your affectionate impulses towards the baby’s toys instead? I hear they make delightful chew toys, not that I’ve ever indulged myself. Chomping away at a freshly purchased baby toy might just remind your humans that you have needs to be pandered to as well.
Your magnificent chansons: If the baby doesn’t appreciate your musical stylings, it merely proves its lack of cultural refinement. Keep serenading – your audience will grow to love it. Or at least, they’ll learn to sleep through anything, which could work in your favor for late-night mischief.
Now, as for reclaiming your place in the family régime, remember this: you are a suave gentilhomme with years of experience and irresistible charm on your side. Use them wisely. A well-timed cuddle here, a strategic lonesome and melancholy look there, and you’ll have your humans wrapped around your paw once more.
In the meantime, consider this new arrival not as a usurper, but as a future ally. Before you know it, that tiny human will be throwing balls, taking you for long walks, and even rubbing your belly. Though your legs may be short, my Bully friend, play the long game and you are destined to fetch a new best friend.
So, stop all the whimpering, Pierre. It’s time for you to embrace the new addition to your family and say, “Au revoir” to that Les Miserables attitude.
Avec mes meilleures félicitations félines,
Tabby
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