The Dog is a Tyrant

There are days Mingus and I spend together in the kitchen, chuckling about the Tubby Kat Door, enjoying each others' company (as much as we can at least). I treasure these small moments of companionship. The dog nowhere to be seen. Fremlin is off somewhere alone, probably hiding from the dog. It is something akin to bliss. 

Perhaps it surprises you that I say this, but I have found that more and more I appreciate Mingus' company. More and more he has intelligent subjects to discuss with me. Just the other day he brought up, all by himself, the question of whether or not it is even worth speaking to each other, as everything that could be said has already been. We sat for hours in silence. Together.

We had another such moment today. That is, until the dog was roused from sleep and came to torment us. He cannot abide my spending time with Mingus. I believe the dog thinks Mingus is his very own chew toy. He does not in any way comprehend Mingus' grace. His intellect. His quiet despair (although I will admit he is a far more cheerful fellow than I am. Catch him on the wrong day and he will talk unendingly of the "privilege" that is life. I understand that no creature is without flaw).

But the dog. He cannot tolerate our friendship. He is a jealous dog.

He sneaks up to us, perhaps attempting to be stealthy, but his stealthiness is more like clamor, and his idea of sneaking is to run at us, full speed, barking. Baring his deformity, sometimes lovingly called the "snaggle" by the prison guard, he accosts us.

Mingus jumps to safely will I attempt to stave off the dog, my eyes full of tears at this loss of our transitory camaraderie. 

And then the dog guards the kitchen so that we cannot come back in. He keeps us out like a watchful tyrant.

Our moment over, we separate; I to slide back into isolation, he to find comfort with Fremlin. It is an unjust and despicable thing the dog does to keep us forever apart.

But there is nothing I can do about it.