Michael and Me

Sure, it was fun while it lasted, but I go to bed early these days. I’ve got to get up in the morning—somebody does—but Mike doesn’t care, because he sleeps in all day. He pads into my bedroom and bounds on the bed, wanting food. Wanting out. Pounding his paws on the window at 3:00 a.m., and still he wonders why I’m even too tired to prowl on the weekends.
     “You’re such a drag since you started that job. Why can’t it be like it was?”
     “Shut up, Mike.”
     It’s never again going to be like it was.