Abandoned. (okay, not really.)

Yeah, we had different thumb-havers this weekend. The Typist and The Alpha took luggage into the garage -- and we all know The Boy knows what a suitcase means, and he tried to go with them, but wasn't allowed. Pretty soon, though, a back-up set of thumb-havers arrived and stayed with us a couple of nights, but they slept in that other room that we only hang out in when we're defending the perimeter from people who think they have a right to use our sidewalk or something. Anyhow, here's a picture Aunt Lidna took:

The Boy is either shy or itchy in this picture. My bet is on itchy, because he really needed a bath.

He got one, too, as soon as The Alpha and The Typist got home. For some reason, I was able to avoid the same torture by lying casually in the middle of the bedroom floor. Apparently, if I don't make a big deal about it by hiding, they forget to give me a bath. Then again, maybe I didn't need one; it's only been a day since his bath and The Boy is already getting his stink back. He has a natural talent for that. (Why can't he have some other natural talent?, The Typist wants to know.) My natural talent is shedding... I'm a German Shedder, after all.

The Boy swears that the next time the suitcase comes out, he will not get left. (Apparently he has some sort of plan, though I can't imagine it would be very involved, with his thought process. My guess is it's something along the lines of see suitcase, run for back door.) Like it's any sort of struggle being here without them -- heck, we get pampered either way -- but he has definite preferences for our regular thumb-havers. He won't even go outside to pee for Grandma.