The dog, a golden retriever named Biscuit, bounded into the living room with a squeaky frog in his mouth, tail a metronome of excitement. The cat, Miso, arched her back, hissing at the frog as if it were a cursed relic. Biscuit dropped the toy at Miso’s paws, wagging so hard his hind legs splayed like a windmill. Miso swatted the frog into the air—*squeak*—and Biscuit lunged, crashing into a side table. A wine glass toppled, shattering into a thousand glittering shards. Wine pooled around Miso’s paws, which she promptly licked, unimpressed. Biscuit whined, tail now limp, as their human sprinted in, arms flailing. ‘No! Not the rug!’ they cried, knee-deep in a crisis of their own making. Miso curled on the couch, purring like a tiny engine, while Biscuit stared at the frog, now lodged in the couch cushions. The day ended with a mop, a salvage operation, and two pets who’d mastered the art of chaos.
