Oh. Mi. Dog.
The people pulled a crate from storage in the basement--a crate. As in a dog crate. As in another dog. As in what on earth are they thinking. It's a small crate, too. Maybe it's another cat. Maybe it's a chihuahua. Renzo has whispered with great worry the possibility of a youngster, but the rest of us told him he was nuts. Why would the people get a youngster when Hamish and Rafe are finally turning into normal dogs. No, it's a terrier or a cat. I'm sure of it.
They are going to the Pet-Mart tomorrow to buy food--when they come home, we'll know for sure. The last piece of the secret. My head is spinning. Never in my wildest imagination.