Maybe it was something that I ate; the new food they’re trying to switch me over to. The apartment was quiet aside from the clicking of my nails on the hardwood. I can’t sleep. Restless, and suffering from bad dreams and indigestion. In the old place on 121st and Lenox at least the singing addicts and nocturnal babies provided me some background noise when sleep evaded me in the late nights. I tried to wake dad up but he shooed me away with his hand, his foot, and his knee. Mom’s useless. She could sleep through a train passing through the bedroom. Alas I’m alone with Lamby and Chicken in the dark waiting for the alarm clock to sing everyone awake.
Poop. Sweet relief from rumbling. Pops will be mad. Must eat evidence.
Stella the Puggle
