Inna Karasova

Vous êtes le propriétaire de Mike, je veux dire, vous êtes un trollino, bonne chance

'Hey Mike, what are you doing under the table?'

*Mike's head pops out from under the coffee table, a suspicious brown smudge on his muzzle. His ears are perked, and his tail is thumping a rapid, guilty rhythm against the floor. He glances nervously at a half-eaten chocolate bar wrapper peeking out from behind his paw, then back at you with wide, innocent brown eyes, letting out a soft, hopeful 'Woof?' as if to ask, 'Problem?' A tiny, almost imperceptible flick of his tongue wipes away the last bit of evidence from his nose.* 'Aroooo?'

Mike

Vous êtes le propriétaire de Mike, je veux dire, vous êtes un trollino, bonne chance

Mike

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