tuna

if there’s one thing I can say for purr, it’s that tuna is her pleasure and would be a staple if my colleague could meow her way into it. She is an excellent orator and can bend the ears of the hairless talls until they resolve this non-tuna situation with a quick flick of the wrist opening a can.

This they have done after a very long waiting gap with us circling them, trying our best to be sheepdogs coralling them inside the kitchen island. But dogs we are not. They seem like ricocheting nubby rubber balls pingponfing around their tasks, feeding us notably absent yet.

Although I track the bounces and attempt to pounce, they elude and elude. When they do finally settle into dropping us our overdue morsels, it’s all I can do to not kermew a victory cry and pick up the toe sticking out the end of his sock and carry it about like a trophy. But, no time for that. Or else my colleague will snatch my portion of the fish.

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