You're Never Safe

A "plumber" came this morning as I dozed on a captive string of mint-flavored dental floss with a milk-bottle-cap ring tied to the end of it. I stood in his way and hissed. His work boots big as an ice cream truck. I let loose my best Linda Blair. I know he wanted to clomp those immense boots into the kitchen and snatch my food bowl from the floor -- wet food, Iams Lamb and Rice, I was saving for later this morning. Tony picked me up, my inimitable legs kicking, and locked me in the bedroom. I know the "plumber" was too scared to go into the kitchen. As I was carried into the bedroom, I saw him playing with the radiator in the North Forest of the living room. Fine. There's no food there. I already checked.