“We’ll be back in a little while. You be good.”
That’s my owner. He says that every day before leaving the house to go to work. If I could talk, I’d tell him, “Okay, you do know that I’m a teenager, right? I’m going back to sleep now.”
I spend a lot of time curled up under his desk. It’s my private sleeping quarters. My scent is embedded in the plush carpet, among other things. At least I don’t have to sleep directly on the wood floors. I got a splinter one time in my paw. Oh, that hurt.