A Goldfish Mastermind Named Benedict Cumberbatch and the League of Domesticated Assassins Part 2

There, sitting in a chair at the breakfast table, peering at the screen of my laptop, were Max, Penelope and Ralph, the 200-pound mastiff, all raptly attentive to something. They saw me.

READ PART ONE HERE

The cat was the first to move, rubbing his butt past the rabbit as Ralph circled twice and collapsed into a sighing heap on his rug. Penelope, I swear, clicked at least two keys, then pretended to be interested in the wax fruit my mom insisted made a great centerpiece in here. It didn’t.

I stood a full ten seconds, surveying the scene, before I realized, Ralph had been wearing my reading glasses and was now drooling on them, in an effort to normalize the situation. I peered back around the corner to where Benedict floated, intently still, eyes closed, but definitely a part of all this.\

I was beginning to wonder if I was still dreaming, when I dropped my cereal bowl, a heavy, clay pottery piece, squarely on my left little toe, bringing tears to my eye, “Mother Scratcher,” I said, doing everything I could to juggle the milk and keep it off the floor.

Finally, I bobbled the milk onto the counter and was able to grab my toes.
The tears in my eyes were enough to convince, me. It was real, and I swear, that damn cat was laughing.

As I was leaving the kitchen, I turned back to find all three mammalians eagerly sniffing at the small puddle of almond milk I’d left, knowing the cat would quickly lap it up. He didn’t. In fact, they all three looked piercingly at me, accusing me of leaving the mess, but none of them darted a curious pink tongue out even to test the air.

It was at that moment, the alarm I set to remind me it was time to shower, or face the wrath of the intern supervisor at work, went off, and I forgot all about it.

Later that afternoon, I returned home from work, to find my roommate, Ludwig, ensconced among the animals on the sofa, watching Sci-Fi. “Ludwig, did you use my Netflix user account?”

“I’m sorry?” He peered up at me, my dog’s head in his lap, glaring up at me. The cat on his shoulder and Penelope eating toasted edamame out of his palm. “Oh, hey, you’re home, I mopped up some almond milk, I think, in the kitchen. Nearly slipped on it. Surprised the cat hadn’t cleaned it already.” He said, returning full attention to his show.

“Could you turn that down?” I picked up the remote and paused the show. “Dude, they are not supposed to be on the so…” Ralph growled at me, in a way that let me know; I needed to get my hand off his backside. “What the hell? Ralph, you don’t ever growl at me, what is wrong with you?” Ralph got down from the sofa, picked up the remote and positioned it directly in front of the goldfish bowl. The program resumed.

Ludwig seemed oblivious to what had just happened, “Did you not see that?”

“Oh, yeah, the dog turned the show back on. I think he was really into it,” Ludwig said.

I didn’t argue, but I did notice the goldfish smiling smugly as I went to the kitchen to grab a trash bag and the dust buster. I left them on the coffee table, hoping Ludwig would get the hint and clean up the couch.

He smiled, “Oh, thanks!” and began to vacuum his shirt with the miniature vacuum.

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