Porter prowling with puppy dog eyes,
Bill preparing for an evening out.
The dog throwing his patheticism like a weapon.
“I can’t nap when you’re gone, like I nap when you’re here.
I can’t stalk the night skulkers when you’re gone,
torture the neighbor cats,
trot the stairs,
gaze out the windows,
like I can when you’re here.” He says.
With his puppy dog eyes.