Mittens, a sleek black cat, crouched low in the hallway, tail flicking with anticipation. The aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted from the kitchen, calling to her like a siren. She’d plotted this heist for days—slept in the laundry room to avoid detection, practiced stealthy pounces on the couch cushions. The dog, a hulking mastiff named Biscuit, lay sprawled across the threshold, snoring like a chainsaw. Easy pickings.
Mittens crept forward, paws silent on the hardwood. She’d almost reached the kitchen door when Biscuit’s tail twitched. Her heart pounded. Then—*snore*. The dog was still out cold. She slipped through the gap, tail high, and padded into the kitchen.
The cookie jar sat on the counter, glowing like a holy relic. Mittens leapt, claws out, and—*THUD*—crashed into a stack of bowls. The noise echoed. Biscuit’s eyes snapped open. He yawned, stretched, then wagged his tail once. “Oh,” he said, voice booming. “You’re here.”
Mittens froze. “I… I was just—”
“Relax,” Biscuit said, licking his paw. “I’m on break. Go ahead. Eat a cookie. I’ll even fetch you a milk saucer.”
The cat blinked. “Why?”
“Because,” the dog said, winking, “I’ve seen your Instagram. You’re a *star*!”
Mittens stared. Then, with a flick of her tail, she sauntered back to the hallway, leaving the cookie jar untouched.
Biscuit watched her go, then sighed. “Ugh. Kids these days.”
