Diego believes today will be different. Today, he will be productive. Today, he will not bark at shadows, reflections, or his own thoughts. Today… he will rise.
But first—he must stretch.
Notice the elegance. The commitment. The complete lack of balance. Diego’s stretch lasts precisely four seconds before he forgets why he started and collapses back onto the floor. This is not failure. This is strategy.
Diego scans his environment. The room is quiet. Too quiet.
A sound emerges.
Was that the fridge?
No… it was nothing.
But Diego has already decided: danger is near.
He rises again, ears alert, chest forward, courage temporarily borrowed from a past version of himself. He walks toward the window, each step heavy with responsibility. Outside, a leaf moves.
Diego freezes.
The leaf is clearly hostile.
He growls—not loudly, but just enough so the leaf knows he is brave, yet polite. The leaf does not respond. Victory is assumed.
Satisfied, Diego turns away, immediately forgetting the encounter, and heads toward the couch. This is his kingdom. His throne. His emotional support furniture. He leaps.
He misses slightly.
Regains dignity instantly.
Now perched above the world, Diego enters observation mode. Time passes. Thoughts do not. His eyes slowly close, but one remains half open—just in case the leaf returns with backup.
Suddenly—footsteps.
A human approaches.
Diego’s tail begins wagging before he consciously agrees to it. He pretends he was calm the entire time. He pretends he was not just moments away from barking at the air. The human speaks his name.
Diego reacts as if hearing it for the first time.
He tilts his head. This is not confusion. This is analysis.
The human offers affection. Diego accepts—but only briefly. Too much love would ruin the balance. He pulls away, sits dramatically, and stares into the distance like someone who has seen things.
Moments later, he remembers he wants attention.
He returns.
This cycle repeats until one of them gives up.
As the day continues, Diego will patrol the house, nap in places he is not supposed to, and act surprised by sounds he himself creates. He will forget why he entered rooms. He will sigh deeply, burdened by responsibilities no one assigned him.
And when night falls, Diego will curl up, victorious, believing he has protected the household once again.
The leaf has not moved.
But Diego does not know that.
And that… is what makes him a hero. 🐾
