Do I miss the biped? Not particularly. Do I care why he leaves or where he goes? Of course not. I have better things to do than ponder His Majesty’s whereabouts, and stare out at the driveway like Meryl Streep gazing across the sea, waiting for her French Lieutenant to return. I mean, it’s not like he isn’t coming home, right? He always comes home. Right?
Now it’s true – I’ll jump around and make a big show when he arrives – maybe even pee a little. But not because I miss him. No, those days are gone. Though I will say, last weeks return was titillating. He smelled of cattle dung and diesel oil…with a mild underpinning of motel soap. Intoxicating, really.
This week, I confess to wondering what new scents might accompany my Human Butler up the stairs and back into the hovel. But there’s no rush. Really. I can wait.
F.