Torbin.

While changing the sheets on my bed, I discovered that you have ripped tiny little holes into them, probably in your unending attempts to dig into the heart of my mattress. We own exactly two sets of sheets. This is problematic.

On Friday, right before I headed out the door, you bounded up to me to say goodbye by raking your tiny talons down my legs, ripping 4 slits in my polka dot tights. I was late for work.

You somehow managed to turn a simple task (like folding the laundry) into an hour long choir because of my frequent stops to run you down and remove the expensive wool sock/lace underwear/pair of stockings from your gaping maw that you have sneakily stolen from my pile of freshly laundered clothing. It should be re-washed, but then we’d never get anything accomplished.

I’m convinced that you are slowly but surely destroying every single possession that I own. You chew the wooden legs of my desk chair. You snot on my hoodie. You even shart on my car seats. Yes, I went there, because you do every single chance you get.

When I’m working out, you find nothing more enjoyable than licking my sweaty legs/back/arms – and then my face.

You are gross, pug. You are a snorty, bitey, spoilt-rotten little imp.

But when the day is done, and you have tuckered yourself out from being a little goblin all day long, and you fall asleep on my lap and snore your little puggy snore – you are still a jerk.

But you are a cute jerk, and I remember that I love you.

Love, C