I walked past him but he ignored me. I walked past the television a couple of times but he remained sprawled on the couch, his attention fixed on the television. He was always like this whenever there was a match on. It was as if he was a zombie. I didn’t see what was so important about men running around kicking a ball. I whined pitifully but he didn’t even look up. I sat at the foot of the couch and waited. Finally half time. I nearly wept with joy. I crawled up beside him on the couch and stared into his eyes, hoping he’d understand. He smiled at me, got up and I followed him happily into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out a beer for himself. I frowned. I strongly disapproved of alcohol and had never drunk any and never would. He took out my low fat milk and I smiled. He did love me. We smiled at each other as he poured the milk. He set the milk down in front of me. I lapped up the milk in the saucer eagerly, purring my thanks. He bent down to smooth me and then went back to his game. I hissed. Typical man.
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