Back where he belongs
TP: Come on in, Little Man. I missed you.
LM: Oh, really? Well maybe you shouldn’t take such long holidays, doc. It’s been a rough few weeks.
TP: You seem a bit edgy, Little. Tell me about it.
LM: Okay. Let’s start with props and slights.
TP: Props and slights? (Chuckles.) Sounds like you’ve arrived with quite the organized agenda today.
LM: I’m glad you find this humorous, Mr.I think I’ll take most of January off this year. Thanks to you being MIA, I’ve had plenty of time to work up an agenda.
TP: Point made, Little. Please…proceed.
LM: OK. So mom has this big event the other night, the BowWowZa Awards. Now, right off the bat, you know that’s wrong. BowWowZa?
TP: Cute name.
LM: Ya think? What about my side of the aisle? Why not the MeOwZa Awards?
TP: I don’t know, Little. What are these awards? I assume it has something to do with your mom’s Show Your Soft Side deal?
LM: You got it. And don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful idea—bring together the people who work at different animal shelters and volunteer at rescues, you know, people like that who basically go unrecognized…and, well…recognize ‘em. Give ‘em their own little Awards Show. You know, like that Oscar guy.
TP: Sounds great.
LM: Sure. But it ain’t just about Bow-wows. I’m tellin’ you, doc, cats always get short shrift. You’ve seen the Soft Side logo, right?
TP: Uh, yeah. The one with the dog on it?
LM: Bingo. Only logo there is.
TP: I take your point, Little.
LM: Oh, there’s more. Guess who did most of the modeling for mom’s Facebook posts about the, uh, BowWowZa event?
TP: I’m figuring that would be you.
LM: You’re figuring right! The worst was, this one day she comes over to me while I’m minding my own business, having a five-minute rest period, and puts this contraption on my head. It’s this glittery white thing (going for the angelic look, I suppose) that wraps around my mansome face, dangling above which is a feathery halo (that’d be the angel theme payoff).
TP: Something for the animals attending the BowWow, er, the Awards Show?
LM: No. This was for the people attending…which begs the question, why didn’t my mother put it on her own head and take a selfie? But, nooo. She snaps my picture in this embarrassing get-up and plasters it all over the Internet. I immediately bury my head into my shoulders, hoping none of my peeps will recognize me, but all that does is make me look like some no-neck nose tackle on an off-season binge of double cheeseburgers and Jamoca shakes.
TP: Hmm. How is your diet going?
LM: Not great. That half-pound I keep losing and then finding again? Well, last time I found it, it brought another pound or so home with it. Hey, it’s winter. Dad and I don’t get out to work the back 40 these days.
TP: Understood. So how about Valentine’s Day? Any plans.
LM: Funny, you bring that up, doc, since it fits nicely under the props and slights heading. The other day, my mom—Miss Let’s Play Dress Up With Little Man—gets me this Valentine necktie. Big red lips plastered all over the thing. Lips like that Stones’ frontman made a career with. How old is that dude anyway?
TP: Picture time again?
LM: You know it.
TP: OK, so I get the props thing, Little, but how is any of this a slight? Sounds like maybe your mom’s just proud of you and wants to show you off.
LM: Yeah? Well, if she wanted to show me off so much, why didn’t she invite me to the Awards Show the other night? My dog buddy, Einstein, was there, decked out in a tux, no less. As was Mittens, Cat of the Year, I think. I mean, I don’t begrudge them being there. Mittens had some really bad stuff happen to her when she was out on her own…stuff that made my worst days in the wild look like a cakewalk. And Steiny, well he’s a natural at these fancy pants deals—hobnobbing with celebs, workin’ the room. But still…
I guarantee you all the usual suspects were there, too…the DJ chick and Mrs. Blutarsky, of course. They never miss a party! Plus that tomato-throwing hell-raiser, Curly’s mother…she should be nominated for Party Crasher of the Year. Who else? Oh yeh, that lady who runs Man Overboard (something like that), I heard she was there, along with the woman who runs Nice Guy Eddie’s. There’s a whole cabal of these people. But, alas, no Little Man.
TP: You’ll get over it, Little. Besides, you know full well you have no desire to leave home base. Need I remind you of that awful trip to the beach last summer?
LM: Yeh, you’re right. But would it kill ‘em to extend an invitation now and then? I mean, let’s not forget that Dad and me were the inspiration for that whole Soft Side idea.
TP: You’ve made that point numerous times, Little. I think we get it.
LM: Just sayin’.
TP: I know. But hey, I see you have your own website now. Congrats!
LM: Thanks. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Been getting’ some good feedback, too.
TP: Like what?
LM: Well, this one guy thinks I need a voice, which I will, of course, once Hollywood clocks on to my Big Screen potential as a chick magnet. Something Dad and I have been kickin’ around…the voice, I mean. You know, which Hollywood stud would do my VO work.
TP: Hmm. Any ideas?
LM: Still workin’ on it. I’m thinking somebody smart, with just the right touch of smartass. A lot of young bucks out in La-la land could fit that bill. I figure, let ‘em scramble for the Little Man gig.
TP: Uh-huh.
LM: Anyway, back to good feedback. Got a rapper-type note from some old spy guy dad knows. Pretty cool. The old coot was chanellin’ him some Eminem. Word!
Also got this really sweet note from a lady who said I reminded her of her kitty who recently passed on to the big litterbox-in-the-sky. Winger, she called him…short for Wingnut. Pretty cool name. Reminded me of mom’s old cat, Meathead. Who knows? Maybe Winger and Meaty are up there tormentin’ some dopey dogs as we speak.
TP: (Chuckles.) Maybe so, Little Man. Maybe so. Listen, we’re about out of time. Before you leave, who do you like in the Super Bowl this Sunday?
LM: Amazing, isn’t it, doc? It’s already been a year since the Ravens won and dad came home all jello’d-up—mumblin’ he didn’t know those little cups of purple jell-o were spiked. PLEASE!
Anyway, this time around, I like that guy who’s always yellin’ “Omaha.”
TP: Oh, yeh? Whaddya like about him?
LM: Just the Omaha thing. I got a cat acquaintance goes by Omaha…hangs with that wee-Wieters kid. Looks like me, in fact. Not as rakishly handsome, of course. And nowhere near the hunk of burnin’ that I am, but still.
TP: Next time, Little.
LM: I’m outta here, doc. Good to have you back.
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