Playtime

I play with my cat. Well, my girlfriend's cat. Sort of my cat. My adopted cat. We run up and down the stairs in the hallway. I'm trying to tucker him out so he'll sleep through the night. C'mon, little guy. Run. Run. Faster. Faster. He drops and rolls near the elevator. He wants me to scratch his belly. He purrs. A neighbor opens their door somewhere in the building and it echoes down the stairwell. He perks his ears and runs downstairs. After he rolls in the dirt under the stairs, he starts to eat some Styrofoam pieces on the floor. He won't eat the expensive chicken in a can but he'll eat Styrofoam. No, Higgy, I say. No, Higgy. Don't eat Styrofoam, okay? It's not good for your little cat tummy. C'mere, little guy. Let's play. The super watches us. It's okay, I say, we're just playing. I'm trying to tucker him out. Look at him, he's almost tuckered up. Let's go, Higgy, let's play.