sad puppy eyes

Ralph was struggling mightily to light his cigarette. His hands were full of puppy. He was a dog person

A young girl watched Ralph with great amusement. Her name was Henrietta, and her wool cardigan was full of cat hair. Henrietta was a cat person. A cats person, if you will.

Henrietta went over to Ralph and grabbed his lighter. She sparked a flame and held it up to his mouth. Ralph blew out a cloud of smoke and thanked the girl.

The pups raised their heads up to Ralph and Ralph growled at the pups playfully. They licked his face and struggled to free their tails so that they could wag them violently. Looking at the dogs in the man's arms, Henrietta couldn't help but think about her pride of cats at home. 

They never liked her like that. And she spoiled them rottenly, not to mention, routinely.

There were the weekly pedicures at PediPaws. The artisanal cat food that came in mason jars. The cat nip she had shipped in from Cali once a month.  Henrietta had even converted her basement into one giant litter box that she cleaned every afternoon when her little felines took their afternoon cat nap.

And they rarely even gave her so much as a purr. Her eyes welled up. She deserved better.

Ralph looked at the girl, "you want a smoke?" He held the pack out to the girl. 

"No, thank you," Henrietta looked up at the man with big, sad, beady, teary puppy eyes. "But would you mind if I bummed a pup off you?"