Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug Run For It
“I’m glad that’s over with,” said Mr. Pug while walking along the Main Street looking for pizza crust.
“Glad what’s over with?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“Halloween,” said Mr. Pug. “It should be illegal to dress a pug.”
“But we were made for costumes. Batmans, pumpkins, princesses. And Yoda’s. So many Yoda’s,” said Mr. Other Pug.
“Meh,” said Mr. Pug. “Not into it.”
“The problem is,” declared Mr. Pug, “Halloween’s just a corporate ploy designed to sell candy.”
“Not following,” said Mr. Other Pug, distracted by thought of Candy Corns waiting for him at home.
“Listen up. Valentines Day was invented by florists to sell flowers,” said Mr. Pug.
“No way,” said Mr. Other Pug as he lifted Mr. Pug to reach the crosswalk button.
“And Mother’s Day was made up to sell greeting cards,” said Mr. Pug. “It’s all about pushing product.”
“What about Easter?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“Invented by bunnies so you’d think bunnies were too cute to eat,” said Mr. Pug as the light changed and they crossed the busy street.
Speaking of eating. I’m famished,” said Mr. Other Pug. Mr. Pug suggested they take the shortcut home, but it was through an alley that was dark and smelled awfully bad. Garbage cans were tipped over and even though the moonlight didn’t shine here much you could still make out crystals of broken glass among puddles of muddy water for as far as you could see. This was Tab Hunter’s territory. If Tab wasn’t a nasty alley cat, she’d be a junk yard dog. She was mean and ugly and she didn’t much care for Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug.
“Looks dangerous. Do we have to go thru?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“Your Candy Corn is on the other side.” reminded Mr. Pug.
“Right. Run for it!” shouted Mr. Other Pug bolting into the darkness.
They ran so fast that they didn’t feel the glass chips beneath them. Gravel shot up and bounced off graffiti covered cinderblock walls as they sailed over milk cartons, discarded shoes and tin cans. They tore thru spider webs, not stopping to grab the meaty, stinky goodness of a half-eaten Whopper with Cheese, knowing a cat’s claw could reach out from the dark to swipe at their puggy little butts at any moment.
They ran like their lives depended on it because they did and when reaching the other side Mr. Pug was out of breath.
“No sign of the cat,” said Mr. Other Pug climbing up the stairs to the kitchen but looking over his shoulder just in case. He went thru the doggie door first and let out a screech. Mr. Pug ran inside behind him.
There, in the middle of the kitchen floor, her belly too full to even sit up, was Tab Hunter. The alley cat was sprawled out in a pile of half chewed Bit O’ Honey and upchucked Chuckles. The room was littered with Mike & Ike’s and Good & Plenty and wrappers from long-gone Wax Lips and Bazooka Bubble Gum and Atomic Fireballs. She even ate all the Necco Wafers and Now & Later’s and Jolly Ranchers and Pixy Sticks and Pop Rocks and Jaw Breakers and Gummie Bears.
Tab was wearing a half eaten Candy Necklace when she looked up at Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug. She spit something into her hand and reached out the pugs offering up a mangled wad of already been chewed Candy Corn.
“Look, I saved you some,” she purred.