Yesterday, when I dropped my daughter off at home before I rushed off to the store to get provisions for dinner, she called me in a panic; Leo was muzzle deep in Aunt Jemima pancake mix. The box (which my daughter had, naturally, left on the floor so she would not forget to bring it with her to school the next day), was torn open at the top, its powdery contents scattered around Leo on the upstairs carpet. I was appalled; Aunt Jemima pancakes without her syrup? It's like the spring without the fall.
I was thrilled that Leo was back to his old self, but we were puzzled by Manny's apparent lack of involvement in the caper. He was downstairs, my daughter informed me, sleeping. With a box of ready to mix pancake batter spilled all over the carpet, ripe for licking? I think not. I told her to check for evidence on his crooked little snout. Sure enough, there it was, the smoking gun, sprinkled against the black background of Manny's innocent face. And poor, not so smart Leo, was left to take the rap. The pancake batter -- which, by the time I arrived home, was no longer just powder; it's the kind you just mix with water, and apparently saliva works just as well -- will leave a mark.
So, just to piss Manny off, I thanked Leo for trying to clean up the mess his brother had made, and rewarded him with a nice, long belly rub. Well, never try to piss off a criminal mastermind who's already pissed off. Manny must have heard me ask Leo if, seeing as he got an extra belly rub and all, he might consider not waking me up in the middle of the night to let him out to pee. Leo, bless his heart, obliged. But guess who stirred at two o'clock in the morning -- for the first time in his life -- and ran downstairs and barked his little head off until I came down to let him out.
Like I said, negative attention is better than no attention -- or no Aunt Jemima -- at all!
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