His Request

The bulldog walked into the living room where we were all sipping our postprandial coffee, tea, or "just water, thanks." I scratched his ears. No one else paid attention. Not that the conversation was interesting, mind you, but there's a certain level of self-absorption mandatory on these occasions.

The dog rolled his eyes up at me. "Haaaa... haaaa..." His breath was hot on my leg. "Heeeehhhpp..."

I shot him a glance. Had the dog just...?

"Heeehhp... mmmeeee..."

I looked around. Everyone was laughing about someone's quip. I forced a smile.

Eventually, the warm presence by my knee disappeared again.

Pet Stains

The cat crawled in on his belly, making sounds like, "hoork, hooork," and wheezing worse than our fifteen-year-old vacuum.

"Gotta do that here, you bastard?" I asked.

The cat's ears flattened, and he rolled one baleful eye at me. "Hraaaack!" he said. "Glortch." He barfed up a wet trickle of brown-orange gunk. Something silvery glinted in the puddle. I leaned over.

It was a little disc with a clear bubble in the middle. Inside, a tiny, green-skinned man pounded on the glass, staring at me with terrified eyes.

Then the dog swooped in and ate it.

Just as well, really.