“We need to talk.
“It’s about the cat. She’s been here for a week. Do you know how long that is in dog years? . . . Neither do I. I can’t properly do my morning stretches without her jumping on me. Fluffy has no clue how to do a downward-facing dog. She curls up with me on the couch for naps. And she’s snoring before I can nod off.
“And what was that awful white stuff I drank this morning? She’s been stealing my chicken. I’m going after her stuff. This is not a pretty way to discover I’m lactose intolerant when I don’t even know what that means.
“If you want me to keep doing those Doggie Do-Right commercials, so you can goof off all day, the cat has got to go.
“Another week has passed, and Fluffy’s still here. It’s time I take matters into my own paws.
“I’ve found her a job at the cathouse in Mound House. It’s just over the hill. Here’s your FOB.
I trust you’ll be back in time for my afternoon doggie park visit.”