They take my metal food vessel and shake the manna into it but out in the living room. I go to my usual dispensing spot and though I know the rattle is coming from elsewhere I just can’t compute it fast enough and blondie here got me in such a tizzy with her excited food calls that I couldn’t pull myself out of her excitement long enough to realize long-legs wasn’t standing in the proper coordinates to bend down with the food.

Cursed are these hardwired habits. Do they think I’m one of Pavlov’s dogs?

It’s all so embarrassing.

 If they want to play with me, they know how to use those clever dewpaws of those and make themselves useful:pull open a drawer and throw a ball.


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