I occupied myself doing spine rolls on the carpet while they entrenched in their keyboards. I peek and that butter stick that has piqued my interest so many hours earlier has now been completely forgotten by them. Not by me.
On silent furred feet I nimbly proceed from floor to chair to table top to counter, narrowing in on the fatty, soft quarry. Now within paw’s reach, the trick now will be to use my rough tongue to get through the foil and lick quickly to get as much as I can before the sound of my savoring perculates through the concentration peaked over there.
Primate squeal.
Caught but not too soon. It will be delicious minutes of face cleaning before I’m through. What will they do with the tongue marked butter?
Advertisements
Leave a Reply