She’s a brown bitch, he’s a black dog.
Brown: I don’t like cats.
Black: You’re not supposed to. It’s genetic.
Brown: Do you like cats?
Black: I don’t mind the one that lives at our place.
Brown: Oh, I definitely do not like that one. It’s spooky. It has eyes.
Black: Yes, it has eyes.
Brown: I mean it has big green eyes that look at you and don’t blink much.
Black: Just ignore it. Cats do that sort of stuff. It’s imagining you as a defenceless mouse.
Brown: I’m imagining it as a defenceless cat, except it isn’t defenceless. No way is it defenceless.
Black: No, it has claws.
Brown. And eyes.
Black: Shut up about the eyes.
Brown: And it always sits on the sofa, practicing punching. It’s always doing the slow one two with both front paws.
Black: That’s not punching, it’s kneading.
Brown: Yeah, it’s needing to punch the sofa that it’s hypnotised with its eyes.
Black: (Sigh) What ever. Go to sleep.
Brown: I can’t. The cat keeps looking at me with its spooky, unblinking one eye.
Black: That’s not the cat, it’s the standby light on the TV. The cat’s outside.
Brown: Really? Yay. Okay, wake me up when it comes back in.
Brown: So I can stare back at it. I’m going to practise sleeping with on eye open.
Black: Good luck with that.
Brown: Aw thanks.
Brown: What was that?
Black: He, he, Got you that time.
Brown: Not funny. They’re going to have to wash the bed sheets now.
Black: Too much information. Good night.