POLLS THAT COULD SAVE MY LIFE

FLIST! PLEASE HELP. Below are vitally important polls that could effect the outcome of my Chicago shenanigans. HELP ME, FLIST, YOU ARE MY ONLY HOPE. /nerd

[Poll #1190910]

the return of puppy verse, FINALLY.

I started this on the plane to Boston, and I promised some peeps (namely shleemeri) that I'd post snippets. Not that, y'know, I don't have two bandombigbang projects going that need my attention or anything. *cough*

"You were moaning in your sleep," Marshall says.

Frank scrinches his nose and yawns. "What?"

Cash crawls into Frank's bed and shoves him over. "Who's Gee?" he asks, and his ears flip back, one at a time.

"Um." He sits up and ducks his head, rubbing the back of his paw over his muzzle. "Gee is..." Frank sighs, and wishes he had floppier ears, like Bob, so he could hide behind them. "He was my best friend, but he got adopted before me. He and Mikey." He shrugs. "They live with a family somewhere with two little girls. I try not to think about it much." Frank wonders how much kittens can read lies.

"Wait a sec." Singer puts his paws on the edge of Frank's bed as his eyes go wide. "Are they black like you?"

Frank tilts his head. "Yeah. Mikey's kinda skinny, but he's a little bigger than Gerard."

"Dude!" Marshall is suddenly vibrating. "Dude, we know them." He nudges Singer. "You're thinking of those puppies over on Cedar Street, aren't you?"

"Exactly." Singer nods. "Yeah, one 'em got really interested in this dead sparrow in the front yard when they came by on their walk one day. He kept turning it over, but he never, like, played with it or anything."

Frank goes very still. "Did he say anything?"

"I think I heard him say something to the other puppy about wanting to take the bird home with them, which, don't dogs play with dead stuff? That's really weird."

For the first time in weeks, Frank's heart starts beating hard and fast.