“We’re shooting ourselves in the foot here…I just don’t get it”
Pop was in the middle of another one of his tirades. John peered upwards from the side of Pop’s recliner. Not to see what the commotion was about, but to make sure Pop’s ranting didn’t get in the way of his petting. Pop sighed thoughtfully as if whatever he was reading in the evening news was giving him pains, mostly around his face where he was wincing.
“I feel like they’ve been wrangling about this for years….no progress”
Wrangling. Uh oh. Pop was using big words now. John knew he was just doing all this to attract attention, but Mom wasn’t budging from her book across the room and John wouldn’t dare move. John wouldn’t let anything get in the way of his most gratifying head rub of the day, not now that he just finally got comfortable.
Back and forth...back and forth.
The dim lighting from the den slowly dissipated as John’s eyes rolled up into his head.
* * *
John’s eyes perked up and quickly surveyed the surroundings. The room was dark and empty. All clean. They had cleaned up… Springing up from the floorboards, John bolted for the door. He was late again. John cut through the muggy night air; nose first. His pads were barely hitting the ground. He knew that only Con and Edgar would care, but that was enough to light the fire under his tail. Well…yes. And of course, Genie. It’s not that she would care, necessarily. Well. She might. But John didn’t know that for sure…
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