Sandy appeared for breakfast right on time. If there’s something that Sandy does with great precision, aside from sleep, it’s to arrive at mealtime.
Sandy Boy was looking a little damp. He strolled into the kitchen, avoided eye contact with me, and proceeded to shake his wetness all over my briefcase.
“Sandy Boy, you’re all wet!”, a voice said, “Is it raining?”
Skies were clear. I looked out back at the pool. Hmm, I thought, I can probably get those claw marks in the plaster filled. Yeah, good as new.
“Good boy, Sandy!”, I offered cheerfully.
Sandy gave me a hard glance, swiped at my briefcase with his claws and marched to his bowl.