Brutus was OCD with his small tennis balls. If it went under the stove or a piece of furniture, he would scratch and cry. He was never wrong. If we couldn’t find it where he said it was, he would just keep scratching and crying in the spot. Once, he kept scratching and crying T the barstool in the kitchen. We couldn’t find it. He just stayed there. We finally gave up and went to bed. The next morning he went back to the stool. Turned out, it was in my dad’s coat pocket. Don’t know how we managed to throw the ball into his jacket, but Brutus was NEVER wrong.
