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Little Johnny is in the backyard, digging away with a small, rusty shovel that looks like it’s been through a hundred backyard adventures…
The midday sun beats down on him, but he’s determined, filling in a hole that’s nearly as deep as his little arms can reach.
Just as he’s tamping down the dirt, his nosy neighbor, old Mr. Thompson, decides this is the perfect time to take a peek over the fence.
Mr. Thompson leans over with a curious smile, “Hey there, Johnny,” he calls out in his usual overly friendly voice…
“What are you doing out here?”
Johnny, with a face that’s red and sweaty, barely looks up, “My goldfish died,” he says, his voice wobbling with sorrow…
After giving a sniffle and wiping his nose on his sleeve, he continues, “So, you know, I’m giving him a proper burial.”
Mr. Thompson tilts his head in confusion.
He peers down at the size of the hole Johnny’s just filled…
“But Johnny,” he says with a puzzled frown, “isn’t that an awfully big hole for a goldfish?”
Johnny pats down the last mound of dirt like he’s putting the final touches on a masterpiece.
He then looks up at Mr. Thompson and with a dramatic sigh says, “Well, that’s because… “
“He’s inside your cat.”