Some say that my name is “unique” others, like my grandparents, say my name is “stupid,” though that’s not a word in my vocabulary. It’s no longer a code name or temporary placeholder it’s engraved on my shiny tag that hangs from my collar, so I’m told. My Abby isn’t just my Abby anymore - she’s my mom, too. I guess that’s why our seven-day Transport Foster Mission got extended into a lifetime Adoption Mission. What would she do without me? She’d be lost. I have to wake her up a bunch, in the mornings, too. Sometimes, my Abby forgets our plan, so I nudge her to wake up and to hold the sheets up so I can crawl under them. Here’s the unspoken plan: If an intruder (my money’s on that cat burglar) comes in, I will surprise them from my hiding spot under the covers. The worst part: I know she poisons herself just a little bit almost every day with that stuff called Chocolate - she tells me as much - but I could handle it if she just let me eat some, too.Īt night, though, she lets me go undercover while she sleeps. I drool and whine and beg for her to let me have it or to eat the rest of it … just in case. But almost every meal, when I sit by her side, she takes the first bite. I let my Abby know that every day when I volunteer to be her food-taster - you know, in case of poison. Oh, the sacrifices I make to protect my Abby.Īnd I’m willing to make more sacrifices if need be. I would hate a name like that, but I don’t remember much from that day. I had to take these little pills from some co-conspirator named Ben - Ben A. I was down for the day, covered in hives. I caught it right in my mouth and it stung me. Once, I did succeed in catching one of the critters. I won’t lie: I’m not the best at this part, but I will chase any bug that buzzes by. My duties as Blobby include protecting the home from potential bugs that listen in on our conversations. I am an original, and anarchy is my calling. I’ll have to check the perimeter soon.Īnyways, my Abby’s accomplice, whose name was Roommate, started calling me Blobby, and that was a code name I could get behind. I haven’t been outside since five minutes ago I’m sure she’s up to no good. I wonder where that cat is now? Probably taunting me from behind the shed. My Abby screams at me not to hurt her, says she’s not worth me having blood on my paws. You should see me chase off that cat burglar that comes in our backyard. Would you say that Jodie Foster looks like a fish? No, I bet you wouldn’t, but I bet you could say I was the Jodie Foster to my Abby’s Hannibal Lecter - though between the two of us, I’m pretty sure I’m the one with the killer instincts. Do I look like a fish to you? In fact, I know I didn’t look like a fish then whenever my Abby would introduce me to someone or call her parents to update them on our operation, she’d say, “Oh, he’s just a Foster.” And we all know what a Foster is - code for a gorgeous being who shares the same level of gorgeousness as Jodie Foster.īlobby, always on the alert to protect Abby. When my Abby busted me out of there for a special, off-site seven-day Transport Foster Mission, she called me Blob Fish, sometimes just Fish. They told me it was a temporary name until I found my Forever Home. That’s a tricky number, if you ask me, so the wardens called me Blob Fish. I could really go for a Milkbone right now - or two or seven or 8,160. I’ll wait a few minutes to ask again maybe I can get a treat if I sit in front of the pantry door and whine just a bit. My Abby tells me I’ve already had my two meals today, but I could’ve sworn I only had one, or maybe none at all. I’m no good with keeping track of numbers. I wasn’t in prison, just a kennel, I’m told, but I did have an ID number that I could never keep straight. I first met my Abby when I was behind bars.
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