Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug

It was misting outside and Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug didn’t even notice that nasty old tomcat, Tab Hunter, cold and wet, sitting on the fire escape looking in.

They had their back to the window as they sat in front of the television in the den, fighting over the remote. Mr. Other Pug wanted to watch cartoons but Mr. Pug was transfixed on the Today Show.

“How did she get that job?” asked Mr. Pug to no one in particular. He clearly had control over the remote.

“Who?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

“Ann Curry,” Mr. Pug clarified. “How did she get that job? She’s awful.”

“I think she’s OK,” said Mr. Other Pug.

“OK? Look at her, will you? She’s stumbling over her own questions, she won’t let the guests answer anything and she’s fawning over Matt Lauer like he’s a piece of Camembert or Gouda  something,” fumed Mr. Pug.

“Mmmm, Camembert,” interrupted Mr. Other Pug with his outside voice.

“And what is she wearing?” continued Mr. Pug, noticing her mini-shirt with the colorful, iron on appliqués in the shapes of prehistoric flowers. “Could you even imagine anything more hideous?” he asked. “It looks like Walt Disney threw up on her.”

“Oh, quiet, she’s passing it over to the man with the weather,” shushed Mr. Other Pug, “What’s his name?”

“Who cares? He doesn’t ever get it right. He’ll say it’ll be cloudy when it turns out to be a beautiful day. He’ll say it’ll be balmy when in fact there’s a snowstorm,” said Mr. Pug. “remember trying to pee in a snowstorm?”

“Yeah,” answered Mr. Other Pug.

“Case-closed,” said Mr. Pug.

“Al Roker,” Mr. Other Pug said to himself.

Mister Pug agreed. “That’s right, Al Roker. Biggest waste of space on TV.”

“He’s a little less of a waste of space since he lost all that weight, don’t you think?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

Just then Al Roker announced a new weather system approaching: “Another hurricane will plow through the warm waters of the Caribbean on Tuesday, threatening to bring howling winds, torrential rain and destructive waves to a 1,000-mile swath of the Atlantic Coast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mr. Pug. “What else is new?”

Mr. Other Pug didn’t answer.

“I said, ‘What else is new’” said Mr. Pug clearly annoyed that he was being ignored.

When he turned around Mr. Other Pug was surrounded by several gallon jugs of extra water, canned fruit and tuna rations, instant milk, batteries, candles, flashlights, blankets, medications, and passports. He had already boarded up the windows and unplugged unnecessary electrical items.

“What the hell…?” exclaimed Mr. Pug.

“Ann Curry says you can never be too prepared,” said Mr. Other Pug, giving something that looked like the official Boy Scout salute but clearly wasn’t.

So Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug hunkered down like everyone else on the east coast. They waited, and waited, and waited. And eventually they fell asleep, curled up on the kitchen table, safe from any possible rising tide. And the next morning, when they awoke, it was a beautiful day. The skies were blue, the clouds were fluffy and slow moving and the birds sang happily. They looked outside and saw Tab Hunter sleeping on the fire escape, curled up and dry.

Everyone was safe. There were no floods in the neighborhood and all their favorite pee places were still above water.

And for a pair of pugs, that’s important.

That…complaining about Ann Curry…and dreaming of Camembert or Gouda or something.