The dog, a golden retriever named Gary, bounded into the living room carrying a squeaky mouse. The cat, Miso, arched her back and hissed. Gary wagged his tail so hard the couch cushions vibrated. “Cats are supposed to dance!” Gary barked, dropping the mouse at Miso’s paws. Miso flicked her tail. “I’m a dignified creature of shadows,” she said, though her tail betrayed her by twitching. Gary, undeterred, launched into a series of convulsive hip sways, legs pumping like piston engines. A lamp toppled. Miso’s ear twitched. “You’re a menace,” she said, leaping onto the bookshelf. Gary followed, paws scrambling against the wood. He balanced on his hind legs, front paws waving like conductor’s sticks. “Salsa!” he barked. Miso stared. “I don’t do social gatherings.” Gary tried a waltz, spinning so fast his ears flapped. A picture frame fell off the wall. Miso sighed, rubbing her temples with her paws. “You’re like a broken vacuum cleaner.” Gary, now lying on his back with legs in the air, barked happily. Miso closed her eyes. The silence lasted three heartbeats before Gary erupted into a tap-dancing frenzy, paws thumping against the floor. A neighbor pounded on the wall. Miso opened one eye. “I’m moving to a monastery,” she said. Gary stopped, panting. “But you’re the best audience!” he whined. Miso blinked. “I’m not your audience. I’m your existential crisis.” Gary flopped onto his side, tongue lolling. “Still, this is better than staring at the wall.” Miso stared at him. Then, slowly, she stretched, tail curling around a bookshelf leg. “Fine. But if I dance, you stop yelling at the mailman.” Gary barked once, triumphant. Miso sighed. “This is going to end badly.” It did. Within minutes, Gary had convinced Miso to attempt a tango. She tripped over her own tail. He barked encouragement. The neighbor called the cops.”,
