"Kitchen windows are the most important to be clean!" he remarked, to his friend.
The dog did not respond, because the dog could not speak English.
The light from the fridge door was sharp and bright. The light from the kitchen's ceiling lamp was a little softer.
The light glinting off the soup was indescribable, the soup even more so.
As the soup bowl was rinsed, the dog hopped up on the counter and nudged at the now long-dry coffee mug. He smiled, and put the coffee mug away.
The coffee mug no longer glistened with water, but the bowl could catch the light the mug couldn't, and more.
The dog and his friend walked back to the bedroom, and the dog busied himself with the light inside the room from the newly flicked on bedside lamp instead of the light from beneath the door.
His footsteps created interesting shadows beneath the bathroom door, but the dog didn't pay attention to shadows.
He paid attention to the light of the lamp, the only light in the room, besides his friend.
The only light that allowed him to live, as a shadow.
He left his bathroom and sat down on his bed.
The dog turned to look at him, and then turned to look at the light.
He reached out his hand to ruffle the dog's head on the floor, and the dog met him halfway.
With that final sign of affection, he clicked off his bedroom light, bathing the room in darkness.
The dog was gone.
The dog was gone, but he knew he wouldn't have to wait long.
He only had to wait.
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