The best dog was a fat cat.
Just a lazy cotton ball rolled up into the corner of my living room couch.
The fat cat climbed to the top of the couch to feel the warmth of the sun peering through the window. The fat cat purred when you rubbed the spine of his coat.
He’d roll to his back for a scratch above his fat belly, thumping his paw in approval.
After the fat cat collected collateral, comfort, and love, he’d nestle between your arms and listen as you complain about your day. He’d moan as if he understood all you had to banter about. And once your mind was clear and the weight of the world had lifted, the fat cat would bark. He’d prescribe a walk around the neighborhood and a game of fetch. Then he’d require his pale to be filled with food and water, and he’d return to nestling into his corner in the couch. To resume being the best fat cat any dog could be.
