He’d had enough of the fervent outbursts and daily monologues. As a pet, Flash was his owner’s sole audience. And there was only so much of the endless, irrational commentaries on life and politics he could tolerate.
He had attempted to bury his head under pillows in order to drown out the sound, but in the middle of summer that can be hot. He’d feigned sleeping, but that didn’t seem to stop things either.
Even his last attempt – clever as it was – to communicate his feelings was ignored.
Flash sighed and thought, “You can’t choose your owner.”
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