8:12 AM
Mom woke up, stared at the ceiling, whispered “no,” and rolled over.
I took that personally. I now refuse to move. We’re both rotting.
9:03 AM
She took 6 pills and called it “breakfast.”
I licked the floor and got yelled at.
Make it make sense.
10:27 AM
She threw up.
Again.
I offered silent emotional support by dramatically laying next to the bucket like I’m in a Victorian painting.
11:01 AM
Dad said, “You okay, babe?”
She blinked twice and groaned.
I interpreted that as a no.
No one listens to me, but whatever.
11:52 AM
She’s crying over insurance paperwork.
I’m growling at the printer.
We all handle grief differently.
12:45 PM
She ate half a peanut butter English muffin.
I got zero peanut butter.
This relationship feels one-sided.
2:07 PM
Someone texted “Let me know if you need anything.”
She stared at it and put her phone down.
I farted in their general direction.
3:30 PM
She finally fell asleep.
I am now in Guard Mode™:
- one paw touching her
- snout wedged in her armpit
- ears on full alert
Come for her, and you answer to me (and my stink breath).
5:50 PM
She whispered “You’re my best boy.”
I am.
And if you disagree, I’ll pee on your foot.
End of thread.
She’s still sick.
I’m still loyal.
The peanut butter situation is still unresolved.
— Mojo 🐾
Leave a reply to izzypwbmma Cancel reply