Ellie Mae drinks coffee in the mornings. I’m not quite sure how it started, but I’m pretty sure that it’s my fault. She also likes beer, and Coca-Cola. My fault again.
Each new day, she wakes up, stretches her legs, and then wakes me up. I’ll stumble into the kitchen, yawning, and brew our coffee, while she turns circles below me.
After I pour a little coffee into a saucer, she laps up her dark brew, gnaws on a pig ear, then she goes outside to do her business.
This morning, when I opened the cupboard, I saw that we only had enough coffee for one cup. Ellie just stared at me.
I nursed a hot mug of diarrhea-flavored tea from Jamie’s tea cabinet.