New Shoes

Those who know me know that I have a thing for human footwear.  I take great joy in stealing sneakers and work boots from the basement stairs and flinging them about the living room.  I love rooting through Ma's closet and liberating her slippers.  And one mustn't forget all those insoles I ripped out of Sister's shoes.  Over the years, I've gnawed on flip flops, sneakers, snow boots, pumps, slippers, flats, booties, and water shoes and if you had asked me, I would have said that I've tasted/destroyed every type of shoe imaginable--every size, color, and texture.

Turns out, however, I was wrong.

It happened last week.  There I was, minding my own business, gnawing on my squeaky ball while lounging on the couch when all of a sudden Sister jumped up from her chair, declared that she was cold, and quickly ran upstairs to her room.  I must admit that, while startled, I really wasn't terribly interested in what Sister was doing.  After all, like I said, I was preoccupied with chewing on my squeaky ball and I knew for a fact that Sister didn't keep any food in her room (I've checked). 

A few seconds after scurrying upstairs, Sister made her way back down the stairs.  Calmly, she walked into the living room and stood behind her chair which, I admit, was odd, but certainly not odd enough to distract me from my toy.  When she got no rise from me, Sister called my name and, when I looked up at her, she leaped into the middle of the room.  Immediately, I gave her my best perplexed "what is wrong with you?" look.  Nothing (aside from Sister's behavior) was weird; her hair was the same, she wasn't wearing a hat, and her clothing consisted of her usual ensemble of jeans and a shirt (they weren't even new, I could see the slug trail of drool I deposited on her knee earlier in the day).  Then I saw them:

They're slippers!  They're plush toys!  And after I pounced on them from atop my spot on the couch, I discovered that they squeaked too (okay, that might have been Sister screaming in alarm as I dove for her feet, but a squeak is a squeak, right?).

Over and over again I pounced at Sister's feet, each time grabbing hold of a snout or an ear and tugging.  Sister, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically (as was Pa).  Every once in a while, Sister attempted to wrench the slippers (and her feet) away from my gnashing teeth, but it became quickly evident that her heart really wasn't in it.  After all, if she was really so concerned with getting those slippers away from me, why did she keep wiggling the piggy snouts at me by wiggling her toes?

After lots of laughs and numerous of rounds of tug of war, Sister eventually called the game off and put away her slippers.  If I wasn't so exhausted from all the fun I would have been disappointed to see the game come to an end. 

Of course, now that I know about Sister's pink piggy slippers, I am going to have to make it my life's mission to find and shred them.  Wish me luck!