Around 11 this morning, I heard her scratching on the door to the garage. I knew it was her by the scratch. It was warm last night so she didn’t bother to come home. I called her a slut. She told me to shut up and get her something to eat. I mentioned that she also missed supper. She said it didn’t matter. She had something that was warm and juicy and a little runny–just the way she liked it.
Now, she had to catch up on sleep. And turn out the damned light. Please.
