Lometa's perfect puppy would be brave. He would
single-handedly take on houseflies, strangers, and any scraps of paper that
happened to be lying around. He would insist on going in and out through his
favorite door, a hundred times a day. He would be constantly monitoring the perimeter and reporting back. All new furniture would be suspect until he had a long
nap on it.
Lometa's perfect puppy would be 'wicked smaht.' He would roll over, shake
hands, pay the taxes, and massage Lometa's feet every night before she fell
asleep. He would squirm underneath one of Lometa's arms and lick her face when
he knew she had had a bad day. Before any major decision was made, he would
insist on voicing his opinion.
Lometa's perfect puppy would love to have his tummy scratched.
Lometa's perfect puppy would have short, pointed ears and a long tail. When
he slept, the tip of his tongue would hang out of his mouth, and his paws would
twitch as he dreamed. He would make gentle, sighing noises when he was happy. He
would beg shamelessly for a treat, but would be hurt if he thought he was being
laughed at. He would be a warm shape on the foot of the bed at night.
Lometa's perfect puppy would always be overwhelmingly, wildly delighted to
see her.
Lometa's perfect puppy would be affectionate. He would insist on jumping into
laps long after the 'puppy stage' was over, particularly those of unwanted but persistent
guests. He would curl up at the foot of Lometa's bed every night, and sigh
almost inaudibly before falling asleep. He would sulk if left alone all day, but
forgive... or forget... everything after a few minutes.
Lometa's perfect puppy would spend hours doing something completely
pointless, because even perfect puppies should have a vice.
Lometa's perfect puppy would, in fact, be a cat.