The hoomin barely got his shoes off when he heard it—
Benno’s unmistakable shout from the balcony:
“Hoooomin! I feel emotionally weak. I require snacks! Preferably served here. I can’t be bothered to move!”
At the same time, a muffled voice echoed from deep inside the wardrobe:
Lohe: “Seconded. If snacks could arrive to Wardrobe District Level 2, that’d be ideal.”
The hoomin raised an eyebrow.
“How was your day?”
Benno: “Boring. Too sunny. Not enough drama.”
Lohe: “I tried to stare at a pigeon into submission. It ignored me. Rude.”
Benno: “Also we think the rug moved by itself.”
Lohe: “Or it was Basil.”
Benno: “Also, the plant blinked. Just sayin’.”
Hoomin: “Any plans for tomorrow?”
Lohe: “Same. But with more existential reflection.”
Benno: “And possible sock theft.”
With a sigh and a chuckle, the hoomin retreated to the kitchen.
Moments later, he returned like a culinary magician with two saucers of tuna soup —
one placed gracefully on the balcony sill, the other carefully slid into the wardrobe depths.
Purring.
Slurping.
A moment of pure peace.
Benno: “He’s learning.”
Lohe: “He may yet be trained.”
Monday afternoon ends with satisfied tummies, questionable reports, and a hoomin secretly enjoying being bossed around by two very spoiled—and very loved—cats.
