I see the sun shining through the windows and head for the bedroom. I’ve recently discovered a secret spot where the sun hits at noon perfectly, making it warm and cozy.
I walk in and … “SALEM!”
He’s just about to assume the napping position when he looks up at me and asks, “What?”
“What on earth are you doing? You can’t lay there. Have you gone mad?”
“Uh, no. Why not? It looks perfect.” His eyes dart around looking for danger.
I point my paw to the very area the sunbeam is hitting, “Why it was on this very spot in 1944 that a little Calico named Moonbeam was brutally murdered by a bulldog who had just escaped the pound.”
His mouth drops open, “No way.”
“Yes, it is so. And it is said that anyone who lays in this very spot will suffer the same fate.” I lower my head to express my grief.
“Oh, man. Thanks for warning me.” He pats me on the back and saunters off into the living room.
“What are big brothers for?” I curl up in my sunbeam and sleep the sleep of the superior. What a dumbass.