I hear a bang.
I'm in the shower.
What could he have gotten into? The container on my desk? The door is ajar. Something in the kitchen? The gate's across the kitchen. Could he have gotten into the closet and is gorging himself on kibble?
I really want to shave. The dinning room windows are open. I don't want to have to go dripping wet after him.
I squirt shaving cream in my hand hoping he'll catch the smell and come running. Razor blade dodging little pink tongue and nose that is licking up the cream.
"Orion, I'm doing your favorite thing!"
I'm getting desperate.
How many months till 2?
And yet just this morning I was thinking how much I have loved spending time with him these past two days and how wonderfully snuggly and kind he's been...
Damn. He just blasted me with gas (side note)
No go on the shaving cream. I shut off the water, loosely wrap the towel and head dripping start padding down the hall, wet footprints trailing in my wake.
Make it pass the kitchen.
Living room's empty.
Realign the towel to cover my backside as I cross through the exposed windows.
In the bedroom.
There he is, snatching and chewing.
WHAT DOES HE HAVE??!
I'm losing the towel.
I snatch his collar.
"What do you have?!"
Pieces of kneaded eraser fall from his mouth.
"What is your obsession with this?" I pull chunks out. Push him out of the way.
So much for my pencil bag. I assess the pencils. All appear in tact.
I almost release his collar to keep him out of the way then I think better of it.
"In your house."
I shuffle him towards his crate.
I'm thinking of the chewed gum I pulled out of his mouth earlier this morning. I snatch the towel, half heartedly wrap myself and plod back to the bathroom.
"NO!" I shout from up the hall.
I dramatically clunk the door (that doesn't close) shut.
Repeat door clunk.
I wonder if he knows I can't take this routine seriously?
Such a pain in the butt.