Rigby the Grifter (AKA Sophie)

I’m not proud of it, but then again, I’m not ashamed either.

Throughout the years I’ve learned how to play my family to my benefit in many situations.  I’ve trained them to give me cookies for simply coming inside the house.  I’ve trained them to give me PB&Ks to ensure a few moments of silent television watching.  I’ve even trained my family to provide me options when it comes to toys so that I can dismiss those I don’t want.  My latest long con, however, is pure brilliance and Sister is the mark. 

Lately, Sister has opted to stay home most weekends when Pa, Ma, and I head out to eastern Long Island.  This decision impacts me both positively and negatively.  On the positive side, I don’t have to share the backseat of the car with Sister (she’s under the delusion that she deserves more than one eighth of the available space back there).  On the negative side, when she’s not around, there’s one less set of hands to scratch my belly and rub my ears and one less voice to repeatedly tell me what a good boy I am.  Also, without Sister, there’s only two people to give me cookies throughout the day which is troubling because Ma and Pa tend to be a bit stingy on that front.

So, with all these negatives outstripping the positives, I’ve dedicated myself to leveling the playing field when I can and I’ve done so in the sneakiest of ways.

Two months ago, while I was out east for the weekend, Sister, as a surprise, went to the store and bought me a brand new toy which she left on my spot on the living room couch.  When I got home that Sunday, Sister watched with delight and mockery as I wandered around for a good five minutes before discovering my prize.

The next week, hoping for another opportunity to mock my supposed “obliviousness,” Sister once again bought me a new toy and left it on my spot.  This time, it only took me three minutes to find it.

The following week, Sister didn’t go to the toy store, but she did repair all the toys in the doll hospital which meant that I came home to the scarred and sometimes considerably smaller (Sister specializes in amputations) remains of my previously broken toys sitting on the couch waiting for me to rip to shreds again (which I did…five of them were back in the doll hospital before the end of the day).

On week four, I made a bee-line straight to my spot on the couch immediately upon entering the house.  To my horror, however, I found nothing.  No new toy and no crowd of mangled sting rays and dinosaurs and ducks and Mini-Meckis and gators and hedgehogs.  I was crushed!  Why was there no new toy?  My obvious disappointment (and Ma and Pa’s ribbing) helped to make Sister feel extremely guilty for this faux pas.

It was at that moment that I knew that my long con had worked.  There was no way that Sister would let another weekend go by without ensuring that a new toy would be waiting for me upon my return.

Seven days later, week five arrived and not only did I rush toward the house as soon as I got out of the car, but I basically pushed Sister out of the way as I ran through the kitchen and into the living room.

And there it was, my latest new toy, sitting in my spot on the couch.  His name is “Koala” and I can’t wait to see what friend the next Sister-free weekend brings.