irritating little creatures
| Little rats others have called them, the monikor not wholly erroneous; faux dogs, synthetic impersonators of man's best friend. Contact, close, has taught that they be high-strung, loud, forever barking, neurotic, nervous, miniature beasts. Effort to find qualities making the nuisance they be worth bearing leaves fruitless space. Pissing and shitting everywhere, tearing holes in furniture, leaving zillions of strands of hair atop and inside of every portion of this life do the small in stature monsters. At times, to leave them behind forever seems but a dream, esctacy in the prospect of clean sheets, fresh smelling carpet, and the luxury of walking, barefooted, throughout the apartment with no fear of stepping upon a wet, mushy, unsavory surprise.
He tells the white one 'he doesn't love you, he says nasty things about you.' I giggle to myself as he fawns upon her compact body and she wriggles herself for all she is worth, the tail whipping back at forth at a speed equal to or faster than that of light. Prancing, coquettish is this one, precious and insecure, licking the skin until begged to stop. Her son, the other, darker, brown, mentally disturbed, begs for attention with every motion, and just as quickly will bite the hand that feeds him, voracious he be, a powerhouse. Out on the lease he goes, pulling with all his might, a place to be has he, this guy.
So, it seems, despite the protestations, the complaints, the neverending bitch about these creatures, that they are loved. And miss them would I if the little pitter patter of their feet ceased for they have become a part of me, these disgusting purveyors of discontent, these dogs, Jesse and Agadore, my friends.