Corn Cobs

Phoenix: What the hell are you doing?

Diablo: Eating.

Phoenix: That is garbage! It’s a corn cob!

Diablo: It’s good. Sweet, chewy, a bit salty, and somewhat…. oooooh, buttery.

Phoenix: You aren’t suppose to eat the cob. You are chewing on it like a dog on a bone. It is making me ill.

Diablo: How about “like a tiger on a goat’s neck?” It is good you should try it. Don’t you know half that dried cat food she feeds us is made with corn?

Phoenix: I have noticed she is giving us less of it and you aren’t losing any weight.

Diablo: Wait a minute. I think I can see my hips again. I am sure I am down a couple of grams.

Phoenix: I noticed you hacked up a wad of grass this morning. You old goat.

Diablo: I was upset. She brought me inside before I was ready.

Phoenix: Frankly, you never are ready to come inside. Didn’t you see that monster Class A 45 foot diesel Monaco Executive with twin slides outside this morning? You always hunker down when they come by.

Diablo: That ain’t hunkering down. That is bowing before the gods.

Phoenix: She scooped you up to save your tabby ass from get run over by the gods.

Diablo: Oh shit. Here she comes.

Phoenix: You better get those corn bits off your whiskers. Of course, the mangled corn cob in the middle of the floor is a dead give away.

Diablo: Think she’ll notice?