Same again. It’s like we share the same soul.
Archie’s Daddy:
Because you like shoes.
Me:
And belly rubs.
Archie’s Daddy:
I’m beginning to think this isn’t a good idea.
Me:
Don’t you worry! I’ll send you all the updates you want. And Archie and I will be besties. Promise.
Archie’s Daddy:
Just send me the updates daily. On time.
Me:
Will do. Aye-aye, boss man!
I scroll through the texts until I reach yesterday’s.
Me
Hello! This is your friendly pet sitter again. Have you counted the number of bedrooms in your house? There are twelve. Twelve, which is a ridiculous number.
If you ever wondered why there are so many, I’m happy to enlighten you. It’s so that Archie, your devil-spawn corgi, can hide in a new bedroom every day, and I, the pet sitter, can spend half my day finding him. It’s a fun game—for Archie. Not so much for me.
And before you ask why I don’t just close all the bedroom doors, I’ll tell you. I do. They don’t stay closed. Perhaps it’s because you need to update your house’s doorknobs to something more modern, like from this century. Or it’s possible Archie or your ghost has magic door-opening powers. It’s a toss-up which is true.
Anyway. Here is Archie’s daily proof of life, as requested. He decided he likes doggy daiquiris. Virgin, of course.
I snapped him on one of the pristine white pool loungers with shades on, sitting up as tall as his short, squat body could go. I adapted a kid’s Hawaiian shirt I bought in a beach shop in town, cutting and sewing it to fit him with an old Singer sewing machine I found in a small room upstairs. A fancy summer cocktail sits on the side table next to him.
Archie’s Daddy:
Thank you for the proof of life. But you’re mistaken. The house actually has fourteen bedrooms. Archie probably hasn’t discovered the room in the attic or the one in the basement next to the boiler. Just a tip for your next two days of searching.
Also, I highly recommend spending time in the attic bedroom. There’s a daybed and a beautiful view. I have many happy memories as a sixteen-year-old spent in that room with Mallory Sweet and her tiny white shorts that showed off her summer tan.
The creepy room in the basement, however, I advise you to avoid. And just as an FYI, Archie is partial to margaritas, not daiquiris. Virgin, of course.
Me:
Did you finally make an inappropriate remark? Yes! I’ve corrupted you. My job here is done.
Archie’s Daddy:
I hope it’s not done. You have more than a month left of pet-sitting. And hiring someone else would be inconvenient.
Me:
Just admit it. You’ll miss me and my messages when I’m gone. I’m the highlight of your day.
