In the quiet corner of the house, the morning began with the solemn gathering of the Council. Lined up with military precision against the Wall of Ancestral Paws, six members of the elite squad bowed their heads in unison. There was no chitchat, no jostling for position only the serious work of breakfast.
From the sleekest shadow black coat to the fluffiest storm grey fur, every tail was still. The rhythmic crunch of dry kibble was the only sound echoing through the hall. They were fueling up, preparing for a long, grueling day of guarding the red rug and watching the garden leaves rustle.
But once the bowls were polished clean, the strict decorum vanished instantly. The squad relocated to the sun drenched patio entrance, where the façade of professionalism crumbled into pure personality.
Sir Barnaby, the tuxedo tom with the impeccable white handlebar mustache, sat with golden eyes wide in perpetual shock. He looked as though he had just realized he forgot to lock the pantry or had seen a ghost in the garden. Beside him, the grey scout sat upright, staring intensely into the void, holding her post with stoic seriousness as if awaiting orders from headquarters.
Meanwhile, the fluffy grey recruit abandoned all dignity. He rolled onto his back on the floor, paws in the air, surrendering completely to the post breakfast food coma. The solemn ritual was over, the disorganized joy of the afternoon had begun.
Shannon Willis can usually be found in the company of furry friends. A passionate animal enthusiast, her work is often inspired by her deep love for cats, dogs, and the animal kingdom as a whole.
