I Love Luna (36)

UNITED STATES—My oh my, my ostensible “master,” saddled by a burgeoning case of paranoia, which may justly be termed a full-on attack, is losing his mind. There may be a single cause: it’s the glass rectangle in his hand that he, and millions of other human souls are gawking at the globe over. It is a super spreader of panic, for him, at least. But he’s certainly not the only one, and he and others of his ilk bristle at being dismissed as old when, it is the obverse.

Ah, now there’s music to his ears: the soft respiration of Lupe in the other room, tuckered out from the day’s exertions. Sleeping like a baby, and maybe exulting in her dreams that she is pushing her master to the brink of sanity.

He thought he was so clever to repurpose a plastic mailing label and scrape up some very gooey gifts from Lupe’s digestive system, and leave it to solidify on the branches of the lemon bush, we’ll call it, more like a lemon bush, which has yet to produce any lemons after three years. Maybe we can prosecute under the lemon law for it being a lemon lemon tree.

Yes, the master is a bit shaky alright. All you have to do is send a text, “Did you read my text,” and he’ll be seized by panic. This is the cost of being pulled hither and thither by the bloomin genie let out of the bottle by the late Mr. Jobs.

Yes, indeed.

I Luna am something of a devil dog, to be sure. My master has been somewhat unhinged (a monumental understatement) by an unfortunate encounter between a UPS deliveryman who, in the act of pitching a parcel over the fence, claims that leapin’ local Luna was the cause of a herniated aorta, which required being airlifted to Oahu.

Yes, the master is floating in somewhat of a cognitive daze. He could’ve sworn it was Tuesday, but he was a day late (mentally). He was beyond tapping out some magic on the ol’ keyboard, even though, odds are, Baby DeVille, the Chihuahua terrier would’ve been delighted to bark out some dictation. And give a hand to the “master” who is well nigh incapacitated over these issues, the progeny of Luna’s loving exuberance.

He’s getting more and more courteous, (scratch that), courageous–yes–more courageous.

The next party exposed to the joyous wrath of Luna and wanting to take the master to the cleaners will be the first recipient of this retort:

“Take some of my old suits, while you’re at it. They’re starting to smell a bit.”

Why just yesterday, Luna greeted him in the door and did that old trick of zeroing in on that oh-so-sensitive spot.

The master doubled over in an ecstasy of pain. Luna had the last laugh. The master took the mailing label used to contain yesterday’s poor to the garbage, and one foot away from the garbage can this is what occurred. The master should know better than to going round in his bare feet.

“It’s peanut butter,” Luna yelped. ‘April fools!”

To be continued…