This morning, while enroute to the kitchen to secure coffee, I discovered the doors on the wine cabinet thrown wide open. Odd, but whatever. I closed them and went about my business.
Not one minute later, an awful racket arose in the dining room and I peeped in to discover . . . Mortimer. Pawing his way into the wine cabinet. Now, I will say here that we had a bit of a dog scuffle last night, which I may eventually document, if at any point I feel my adrenals can handle the re-telling. So I’m not judging. I could stand a drink myself. But I like to think I’m within my faculties enough to wait until 9. And then maybe a Bloody Mary–for appearances. I’m not making for the Pinot at 7am.
And of course, when I returned with my phone to document his ongoing efforts, Mortie sauntered off with his dignity and an apparent distaste for leaving visual evidence. The little shit.