“He’s never going to make it,” Benji declared.
Shelly shrugged. “I think he can.”
Benji twitched in irritation. “Mark my words. He’s never gonna make it. Not after all the eggnog he’d snagged.”
Shelly sniffed. Eggnog? There was eggnog? He wanted some!
Tilly wriggled between them and squeezed herself onto the couch. “What’cha doing?”
“Nothing.” Benji huffed.
“Ignore Benji, Sis, he’s just being his grouchy self.” Shelly scooted over a bit to make room for their sibling, who was younger by whole two minutes and by that officially the baby. Well, till the next babies had arrived.
“What is he doing down there?” Tilly squeaked. “If Mama sees him on the floor in the middle of the living room he is toast!”
“He’s trying to walk the line to the other side,” Shelly explained. Toast? Why’d she have to mention toast? Now he wanted toast.
“He’s walking funny,” Tilly noted.
“Of course he is. He’s drunk.” Benji muttered. “Now hush.”
“Sorry, Benji,” Tilly demurred, but true to form could barely keep herself still for half a second. “His tail is droopy. It is all in the tail, you know. He can’t keep to the line if his back-end is all draggy. Hey, Giddy,” she called, her whiskers trembling in excitement, “you can do it! lift your tail! It’ll give you better balance! It’s my turn next!”