I’m Wednesday. I suppose you could call me "the perfect companion,” though perfection is such a dreadful word. Still, I must admit—I conduct myself with a level of composure rarely seen among mortals.
I never have accidents in the house; such chaos would offend my sensibilities. I bark only when absolutely necessary—silence, after all, is far more unsettling. I listen intently and walk quite well on a leash, though I prefer to lead in spirit, if not in stride.
I find great motivation in treats (bribery is an acceptable form of affection), and I’m content to rest quietly in my crate whenever solitude calls. My preferred place, however, is beside you—or better yet, on your lap, where I can observe your every move like a small, judgmental gargoyle.
I don’t chew or destroy things; destruction is far too predictable. I simply exist in a state of calm, watchful grace—equal parts eerie and endearing.
If you crave a loyal shadow with impeccable manners and a darkly affectionate heart, I suppose you could say… I’m dying to meet you.
