I ate her lemon butter toast

The phone rang. She walked out of the room to answer it. I was on the sofa and it was sitting there. On a plate. On the Eileen Gray coffee table. Such a well designed coffee table. It only has a leg on one side so you can pull it very close to you. Very close to the sofa.

She was being very mean with her lemon butter toast and only gave me a teeny weeny taste on the tip of her finger. The lemon butter that our neighbour's daughter makes from OUR lemons from OUR tree in OUR backyard and which I pee on because lemon trees like a high acid soil and OUR lemon tree produces better lemons This is my home too. We share.

I looked at the lemon butter toast.

I reached my head towards it and licked. Ahhhh. Blissikins. So good. Sweet. Buttery. Not too sour. Perfect pour moi.

I licked again. More blissikins. Once you start you can't stop with such divine flavours.

I licked again and then bit down on the edge of the toast and lifted it onto the sofa.

Gromph. Gromph. Gromph. All gone.

I could hear her talking and laughing.

I was replete. I settled back onto my favorite position on the sofa.

She walked back into the room still talking on the phone.

Her eyes lifted and looked directly at the empty plate.

"My dog has taken my lemon butter toast!" she announced to the phone.

"He's eaten it all."

I just lay there curled up and being irresistibly innocent.

"He's left a stain on the sofa. There's not a crumb left." Laughter.

Phew. Laughter. I knew I would be saved from a bollocking.

But a bollocking would have been worth it for the taste of that lemon butter.