The Constant Struggle for Survival

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They hardly ever feed me at all, you know. As cute as I am, as handsome with hair or without, and as highly-presentable as I am in my delightful one-piece brown suit, I can’t seem to coax any real food out of them.

I don’t count the bowl of kibble that sits on the floor under the telephone table. Oh sure, I can go there and munch whenever I want, and I suppose it does fend off the hungry monkies from time to time – you know, when I’m desperate – but there’s not much in the way of love in a bowl of kibble – not when there’s fruit and bacon and eggs and hamburger on the table above me.

Of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t express some appreciation for the occasional thing that ‘lands on the floor’. I mean, it’s true that they let me have the occasional piece of dry toast – you know, a crumb off the corner – and that once-in-a-blue-moon lick of the ice cream bowl. I also cannot deny that I have enjoyed the occasional sample of pork or chicken, but for the most part I just seem to be left to starve to death.

Anyway, that’s the basis of this photograph. That’s me – trying to get that last little scrap. Trying to somehow find a way to survive.

Rrrrr

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About James McDonall

I believe in laughing, especially at yourself, and as often possible. I believe in "live and let live". I believe that communication is the foundation of all our solutions. I believe that listening is more important than speaking, and that speaking should serve the cause of listening. If you like my writing, I'm available for hire. Please send me an Email to discuss your project. View all posts by James McDonall

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