Good Evening, Everybun!
Espresso was agitated all morning. He figured out how to put his small, ceramic salaaaaad bowl in the bigger, pellet bowl and clinked away. He raised the dead with one thumping mother of a ruckus, and the day was off to a brisk start.
He kept on fighting his pellet bowl all morning. Scraped it, shoved it, and tried to flip it over. He only stopped if he got some head rubs.
But why the anxiety? What was he thinking about? All the ghosts and saints that had left us? Worried about the ghosts unwelcome, flickering through the angst of days to come?
He told his hoomin to go and dig a burrow in the easement. He offered to help and lead the way.
No bun knows, not really, what kind of world we are about to make for ourselves. So how are you dealing with it? We could use a hint. Of course, we'll see you on the other side - same time, same place, yet somewhere different.
Good Night, and Good Luck!