Score

Inigo and I are trying to score little 'nilla cookies from Mom. This is usually an occasion to have Inigo in good standing. He works the cute angle better than even I; it's the angle where Mom shows her greatest weakness and it's worthy of full exploitation. Inigo has a dopey, cute, unkempt appearance and generally wears whatever he's been into on the scruff of his face.

I have adapted with the addition of Inigo. He's cute but easily distracted so I field the drop zone more efficiently. I send him in with orders for cute; head tilted, tongue bitten between his teeth, toy fluff stuck to his face.

I work the perimeters of the zone; sitting I curl my shoulders, suck in my belly and look at the floor. I think of the saddest most heart wrenching thought of starving homeless puppies and kittens that I can and then look up with just my eyes when I feel Mom looking down at me. "Oh the humanity, think of the puppies and kittens."

Score! Out comes her hand half a cookie for each. Cute and pathetic appearances are dropped for the moment. I need all my faculties about me, if I loose focus I loose the cookie. Mom's fair and will give bite for bite but how the bites are to be distributed is important.

It's the catch, I'm not fond of the catch and I stand to loose out because of my clumsiness. Inigo is ready but he can't catch either... It's bounced off his face. Score! You snooze you loose Dung Bug. She's tossed one to me. What a crummy throw, ready to grab from the floor if need be. Score! Caught it. Inigo looks at me like it was a lucky catch,I give him the stink eye. The next cookie is in the air we booth leap for it, the cookie spins out of control, falls, and dances along the floor between our feet. I can't find the cookie for our eight paws sliding around the linoleum. I see the cookie at the same time as Inigo just as it's sliding under the table, we both scramble under. I give a growl to remind Inigo that I am older and the cookie rightfully belongs to me. He's responds back with a more desperate growl that reminds me that he's generally unhinged and is in a state of advanced unhingedness. We both plunge under the table further. Inigo unleashes his secret weapon; his tongue reaches out beyond my nose wraps itself around the little "nilla treat and retracts it into his mouth.

Back in the zone Mom sits in her chair, Inigo looks on with cute abandon and I count dirt specs on the floor. "Puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens, puppies and kittens."