Negotiations

Negotiations

“Frank, can you help me a minute?” Susan called, hearing him come in.

“Sure!”

“Oh, did you pick up dinner?” Susan called down again.

“Yeah, I left it in the kitchen,” he said, clumping up the stairs.

“The kitchen? Where? What were you thinking?”

“No, it’s safe! I put the bag on top of the refrigerator.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fido’s only a foot tall. He can’t possibly get to the top of the refrigerator no matter how good it smells.”

“Well, he did pretty good getting on the counter last week.”

“That’s different, he had the chair, then the stool. It was like steps. He’s pretty smart, but there’s nothing next to the fridge like that, he can’t possibly reach it.”

“I suppose. OK. Well, I just need you to help me with this mattress, I can’t flip it over by myself.”

Down in the kitchen, Fido was negotiating with Petie, the cat. “Just knock it down, and I’ll tell you exactly where I saw that squeaky toy they keep hiding from you.”

“The next three times they hide it?” Petie shot back.

“Fine, but hurry! They’re almost done upstairs!”

Petie leaped up on the fridge, in one graceful arch.