Writing Companion

I have a writing companion. He likes to travel on my lap when I write. At the moment, he’s perched on my arm and examining the laptop screen. His name is Beckett (yes, named after the great Sam). When he climbs on my shoulder, he likes to inspect my ears, or grab a piece of my hair and meticulously remove any sort of particle he may find there. Our internal dialogue goes approximately like this:

    “Hey,” I tell him, “it’s clean.”
    “Oh, yeah, how often do you wash your hair?”
    “Every other day.”
    “You dirtball! Do you see how often I wash mine? Like every hour or so?”
    “Those are feathers, you brat! You’re a damn parrot!”
    “I am cleaner than you are! I am cleaner than you are!”
    “Oh, yeah? Who just pooped on my pants!”
    “At least I didn’t poop in...”
    “Oh, shut up!”
    “Okay, I’ll just go back and clean your hair. When will you learn?”