Jenny, who is a dog

Jen­ny, who is a dog, came into the liv­ing room, sat down on the floor, and spoke. “What sup­per?” she said, tail thump­ing on the hard­wood.

I stared at her. “Beg par­don?” I was shocked enough that I actu­al­ly respond­ed. To a dog. You see the state of mind I was in?

Sup­per. Food. What?”

Uh – ” I’d been mak­ing my own dog food, these days. Jen­ny was old, and store-brand food wasn’t doing her any favours. “Liv­er and rice, for you,” I said. “I think piz­za for me.”

Good. Liv­er good,” she said, and trot­ted off to the din­ing room.

I went into the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. As I twist­ed the cap off, my phone rang.

Y’ello?”

Doug?” It was Lisa, my girl­friend. “Uh, Doug, I didn’t know who to call – “

Calm down,” I said. “Deep breaths. What’s up?”

Mr. Kit,” she said. “He’s – ” She couldn’t go on.

He’s talk­ing?” I said, and there was silence on the line. I knew I was right. Mr. Kit, who is a cat, was talk­ing too.

Jen­ny came into the kitchen and sat on the floor. “Jen­ny good dog,” she said.