Salem runs up to me out of breath and panting. “Where’s a good place to hide?” His eyes dart around the room.
“The teenager’s room. You’ll never be found in there.” I flick my paw toward the smelly room down the hall.
Salem looks in that direction then asks, “What does ‘teenager’ mean, anyway?”
“Someone who doesn’t bathe.” Geez, I have to explain everything.
I narrow my eyes, “Why are you hiding?”
“You know that special blankie our human always points to and says don’t touch it?”
“I touched it.”