Pickles barks, humans cheer. I meow once and it’s “be quiet, Luno.”
Pickles the Mutt Next Door
Every block’s got its legend. Mine happens to be on the other side of the wall — a mutt by the name of Pickles. He’s two years old, part Chihuahua and part Yorkie, with that scrappy charm that makes him seem older and wiser to a kitten like me.
A Taste for Jazz and Talk Radio
When the humans clear out, Pickles takes over. Jazz drifts through the wall, smooth and steady, like he’s running his own nightclub after hours. Other times it’s talk radio, voices laying out politics, sports, and the news of the day. To me, Pickles isn’t just listening — he’s keeping up with the world, a cultured hound with refined taste.
The Bark That Owns the Night
But when the sun goes down, that’s when Pickles really shows his mettle. I hear him outside, letting loose with his sharp, high-pitched bark. He puts the night on notice — raccoons, strays, anything lurking in the shadows. It might be more show than bite, but from my side of the wall it sounds like bravery. I feel safer knowing he’s out there, standing guard.
A Kitten’s Admiration
He’s more than just the mutt next door. To me, Pickles is the jazz lover, the news reader, the night watchman — distinguished, brave, and a little mysterious. He may never notice a kitten like me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I admire him.
—Luna 🐾
