Macchismo Got Engaged and All I Got was This Emotional Damage
🦴 Narrated by Oishi
It was a lazy weekend afternoon. Susan and I had just finished our chores—well, I supervised. She flopped onto the couch with the full weight of an emotionally distressed hippo. I bounced. My squeaky toy took flight. It hasn’t been seen since.
Still, I love Susan. So I sat beside her, placed a paw on her lap, and she hugged me like a drama queen needing a life raft.
Then she whispered, “Macchismo is getting married. He’s engaged. That woman even posted the ring… for the whole world to see.”
(Cue tragic violin)
For those not emotionally entangled: Macchismo is her co-worker at The Signal Co. and her not-so-secret office crush. Tall. Handsome. Jawline. Smelled like toner and danger.
Susan used to glance at him during lunch breaks like she was auditioning for a music video. He smiled once. She nearly dropped her donut.
Susan wailed, clutched her tote, and announced in her signature goat-in-distress voice,
“Oishi, badoodle! We’re going to the park so I can distruct myself. We’ll eat siopao. Donuts. I’ll buy you KFC.”
At “KFC,” my ears perked. Chicken heals all wounds, including hers.
At first, the park was peaceful. The breeze danced. Birds sang. Then—
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
That was Susan.
“Look at them, Oishi! They’re kissing in the park!”
And with that, the Bitter Commentary Hour began.
“This park is not your personal romcom! Other people walk here. I hope you both step on gum. She’s not even that pretty—sure, her hair is long and shiny and ugh fine, she glows, whatever. AND LOOK AT HIM, HE IS SO HANDSOME.” Who even has a jawline like that? And that chiseled face—he looked like a man who stepped out of a rom-com movie… or a romantic pocketbook from a bookstore. You know, the ones with titles like “Forever Mine (But Not Hers)” and “Just Kiss Me, Architect Daddy.”
After half an hour of Olympic-level sulking, I stood up and waddled toward the restaurant. She followed, dragging her broken heart behind her like a weighted blanket of regret.
We sat down. She kept glancing back at the lovebirds. I felt sorry for her, honestly. I wanted to say: Your time will come, Sus. So I did my part.
“Don’t worry,” I told her.
“She probably eats salad without gagging. And you and Boyo? You’d look good together.”
Boyo is our neighbor. Kind. Chubby. Soft-spoken. Not an Adonis or a superhero god, but he has a superpower: patience. Especially with Susan. He cooks. He listens. He once fixed her door with nothing but a screwdriver and a sense of duty.
But Susan? She ignores him like she’s the lost Victoria’s Secret model.
Still… I can’t blame her. Watching that couple in the park felt like binge-watching an action movie—high-stakes, dramatic, painfully public.
Eventually, we finished our food and walked a little more. Then home.
Back in the living room, Susan scooped me up, hugged me, and said,
“Thank you, badoodle. For being there for me. For looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.”
(I’m not.)
“For putting up with my drama.”
(Barely hanging on, Sus.)
“And for never leaving me.”
(Okay, that one’s true.)
I sighed. This is love. This is loyalty.
This is the emotional labor of a Shih Tzu with a PhD in patience. 🐾
It was a Saturday morning. As usual, Sus and I got up early—we both love Saturdays. She made breakfast, we ate, and we washed the dishes. Saturdays feel like a moment we actually live in, not rush through.
Then came the part I didn’t sign up for. She gave me a bath. Yes, a bath. Despite my clear protests. She sang through the whole ordeal—trapped in the acoustics of a small bathroom, her goat-voice bouncing off every tile. It was like being waterboarded by a musical.
Afterward, we walked in the park. I was mid-sniff on a very interesting post when Sus scooped me up. “Oh badoodle, we have to move now! Yohanes and Brenda are coming. We’re having a Bible study!”
Wait. Susan? Bible study? The same woman who once tried to Google “How to find a husband in one week” and “Why my siopao won’t rise”? This was going to be good.
When we got home, Yohanes and Brenda were already on the porch.
“Girl,” said Yohanes, “we’ve been waiting forever. Time is precious and it’s a valuable thing that a man can spend.” He’d only been waiting ten minutes. Classic drama king.
Brenda, calm as always, stood up and scooped me gently, like I was royalty. Unlike Susan, who picks me up like she’s rescuing a sock from a puddle.
Inside, Yohanes helped himself to the fridge while Susan bragged, “I perfected this siopao dough last night. It’s yum-yum!”
Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Sus, this is a Bible study, not a Food Network audition.”
Yohanes chimed in, “She’s only here for the snacks.”
Brenda replied, “Maybe. But she’s gone from ‘I’m here for donuts’ to ‘I’m seeking the man with the hole in His hands.’ And that man has a name. If you keep coming, Susan, you’ll know it better.”
They sat down. Brenda said, “Hebrews 11. Let’s start.”
But Susan had disappeared. She was deep in her room, hunting for a Bible her mom gave her during her rebel phase. She never read it, but she kept it—because it was from her mom, and because somewhere deep down, she knew it mattered.
She finally returned, siopao in hand. “I found it! And I really nailed this dough.”
Brenda began reading: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see…”
Susan gasped. “Abraham offered his son?!”
Yohanes followed: “Sarah got pregnant at 90?!”
“Yes,” Brenda replied calmly. “God stopped Abraham, and yes, Sarah had a son. Genesis 21 confirms it. Faith is trusting God even when it sounds ridiculous.”
Then Brenda explained:
“You know, I once read something that stuck with me.
Faith is like planting a seed… and trusting the Gardener.
You don’t always see what’s happening underground. It may take time — maybe even longer than your lifetime. But you keep watering. You keep believing. Because you trust the One who planted it. You’re not the one growing it — you’re just called to believe something’s happening beneath the dirt.”
I’d trust the Gardener too, Oishi thought, I just don’t trust Susan with plants. 🌿☠️
Susan nodded. “So it’s like my siopao! I studied recipes, practiced kneading, timed it right. I didn’t just wish it would rise. I took action and had faith it’d turn out yum.”
“Exactly,” Brenda smiled. “Faith isn’t passive. It moves — but not just in any direction. It walks hand-in-hand with obedience, doing what God asks even when it’s hard.”
Susan, still chewing, added, “Back in college I failed Algebra. I prayed, but I didn’t study. I blamed God. But now I get it. Prayer without effort? It’s like hoping your siopao will rise while your oven’s still off.”
Brenda nodded. “James 2:17—‘Faith without works is dead.’ And yes, sometimes we do all we can, and then we leave the rest to God. Like illness. Like impossibilities.”
Then Yohanes, with his usual flair, raised his hand. “But what about Hebrews 11:13? It says some people died still waiting on God’s promises.”
Brenda nodded. “They still believed. Hebrews 11:13 says they ‘died in faith’—they didn’t get to see the promise come true, but they trusted the One who made it. Some of them went through really hard stuff. But even when it didn’t make sense… they held on. That’s the kind of faith that looks up, even when everything around you says to look down.
Then Susan asked, “Is there someone not from the Bible who did that”?
Brenda nodded. “More than we can count. Some planted seeds of justice and never saw the harvest. Others fought for their country’s freedom and died before the flag ever rose. There were those who stood up for truth and were silenced long before it echoed. But they believed anyway.
Susan leaned back and whispered, “It feels good… understanding something this deep.”
Oishi, chewing slowly, thought: She also said that after watching a documentary on cheese. But hey—progress is progress.
We finished our siopao.
And for the first time, I think Susan tasted more than food.
Golden skies. Green grass. Clean air. Me, a sheep (I think), and a man in white robes with a long stick that curves at the end are walking down a peaceful path. The sheep, as much as I hate to admit it, is cuter than me. But we don’t talk about that. I’d rather focus on the man.
There’s something about Him—He’s calm, steady, unlike Susan. Walking with her is like being in a pinball machine. She talks too much, walks in zigzags, and somehow always needs to pick me up mid-walk to rant about random injustices. Like that one time she scooped me just to yell about the policeman who gave her a parking ticket. (For the record, I told her not to make that illegal U-turn. Did she listen? No. She said, “Oh don’t you worry, Badoodle, it’s lunchtime. No cops around.” Guess what? Cops eat in shifts. Classic Susan.)
Anyway, I love her. I wonder where she is now. I’d love to introduce her to this man.
As we walk, He asks, “Oishi, do you miss your human companion? Is she good to you? Do you take care of each other? Does she comfort you when you’re sad—and does she let you do the same for her?”
It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I don’t know the answers, but because… how does He know my name?
His voice is low and steady. You just believe Him when He speaks.
“Yes,” I say. “We’re made for each other. She’s dramatic. I’m a stoic philosofurr. She loves me like a little hooman. I listen to her rants. And not all of them are nonsense, you know. Sometimes she’s really hurting. Loud outside, but you can see her heart’s aching.”
He smiles. “I know. I’ve never left her side—or yours.” He laughs, softly. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s praying or auditioning for a drama series.”
“I prefer sincere prayers, Oishi.”
Susan Narrating:
It was Saturday—our usual kind of day. We woke up. I gave Oishi a bath, even though he clearly resents water and me when I do it. But come on, he sleeps beside me. You think I’m letting him go two weeks unbathed?
After his traumatic bath, we hit the market. I got his favorite—chicken. Then back in the car, music playing, he’s smiling at me like he knows I’d take a bullet for him. I thought, “He’s my companion. I love him. I don’t know what I’ll do when he leaves.”
Then: “WANG WANG WANG!”
I thought, “Is that an ambulance? The road is clear, just go!” But nope. Cop. And yeah… I may have made a slight illegal U-turn.
I offered him a few bucks to make it go away. He smiled and said, “Step out of the vehicle.” Notebook out. Suddenly, we’re in a police station.
Honestly, maybe he’s just hot and wanted an excuse to talk to me.
Oishi Narrating:
Turns out we weren’t at the station because of the U-turn. The market vendor who hates Susan said she stole something.
Susan was stunned. Then, in classic fashion, became theatrical.
“Steal? From you?! HOW? With what bag? Where would I hide a WATERMELON?! Show me the watermelon!”
The vendor was angrier. She grabbed a coconut. Yes—a literal coconut. And THREW IT.
Susan ducked. Another flew.
Now listen. I know I’m just a shih tzu. But nobody—nobody—messes with my Susan.
I took off my red bandana. Tied it around my head.
Battle mode.
I ran. I barked. I launched myself like a four-legged blackbelt (or red, whatever).
And then—
Everything went black.
Hospital Scene
I woke up standing beside the Man again. Mighty Paw was with Him.
“Hey Mighty Paw,” I said. “Didn’t see you there. Everything alright?”
His eyes were teary. That’s when I looked around.
And I saw Susan.
“Sus! Did you see that? I karate-chopped that woman!”
But she didn’t hear me. She wasn’t looking.
She was crying.
I looked up at the Man. “Why is she crying? We won, right? I bit that watermelon lady!”
He extended His hand. There was a hole.
And then I remembered. This was Jesus. The one I always call when Susan’s having one of her epic breakdowns.
“I remember You,” I whispered. “You always look after us.”
“Then you know,” Mighty Paw said gently, “why we’re here.”
I looked.
On the table—it was me.
All I could think was: Who will hug Susan when she gets home? Who will lick her tears? Bring her slippers? Who will comfort her when she’s exhausted from work—and from life?
“Jesus… please… do something.”
Susan (quietly praying):
“It was my fault. If I’d just walked away… If I’d just kept my mouth shut… he’d be fine. God, I know You’re listening. Please. Let him stay.”
Then I heard it.
A bark.
Soft. Familiar.
I looked—and there he was.
Tears in his eyes. Mine too. I kissed his forehead.
“Thank You, Lord… thank You for giving us another chance.”
Oishi:
I barked. She heard me. Her kiss felt like warmth.
We went home.
She patched my wound (stupid coconut), tucked me in bed. On the phone, I heard her talking to Brenda.
“Hey Brenda… what does it mean to ‘turn the other cheek’? And, uh, do I really have to?”
Brenda, being a pastor’s daughter, gave her a whole sermon. Told her to attend Mass regularly—not just when she feels like it.
📝 Writer’s Note:
I’ve seen a lot of fights like this—on the road, at the market, even in quiet neighborhoods. No dogs were harmed… but a lot of pride was.
It made me think: our anger often explodes over the smallest things. A wrong word. A cut in line. A petty misunderstanding.
I’m not writing this as someone who’s mastered patience—I’ve failed too.
Once, I lost my temper with a customer. They insulted me, and I snapped. I nearly lost my job. My manager told me, “Even if you were right, the way you acted was wrong.” I felt ashamed. I never got the chance to apologize — and I still think about it. That moment taught me something.
I understand why people react when they’re hurt, insulted, or wrongfully accused.
Anger is real.
Hurt is real.
But so is grace.
That’s what this story is about—not courtroom justice or letting evil win. This isn’t about big, criminal things. It’s about everyday wounds. Emotional scrapes we get just from trying to live around other humans.
“Turn the other cheek” doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. It means pausing before your pride takes over. It means choosing not to let someone else’s cruelty write your next chapter.
This is for the personal moments—the ones where ego wants to shout, but wisdom whispers, breathe. You might still feel angry when you walk away today, but you’ll be lighter tomorrow. You’ll be proud of who you were when no one was watching.
Let’s not carry regret over something we could’ve simply walked away from.
Wishing you peace—in your heart, your mind, and your everyday moments,
Narrator: Oishi (Reluctant. Tired. Overqualified for this nonsense.)
Oishi (narrating): I don’t want to do this, but apparently, I’m the designated narrator of this madness—so here we are.
I’m surrounded. Literally. To my left: Sahsmi, an orange Chihuahua with eyes big enough to reflect existential dread. On the rug: Bibimbap, our baby green elephant with the emotional intelligence of a therapist. Next to him, reclining like a celebrity scandal: Tteokbokki, the baby monkey—mid-burger, always. Staring from the aquarium with judgey bubbles: Maeutang, the fish. And stretching out in full drama-pony glory: Bulgogi, the baby blue horse who thinks he’s majestic. He is. He’s also clumsy but he’s not on the picture yet.
Anyway. The past few days, Sus—my melodramatic, overcaffeinated hooman—has been coming home from work absolutely buzzing with chaos. She bursts through the door, scoops me up like I’m a purse dog, pins me under her arm, and says:
“Oishi, my badoodle—I have a juicy scoop for you!”
Then she monologues. For hours. Through dinner. Through dessert. Through my will to live.
But I love Sus. So even if her voice pierces my eardrums like a kazoo powered by drama, I listen. Because love is patient. And she has the snacks.
That said—my emotional support battery is draining faster than her phone at 3%. So each morning, when she leaves for work, I call my friends here and unload the tales before I emotionally combust. This, dear listener, is our ritual. And yes—there’s always a lesson, brought to you by yours truly: Oishi, your neighborhood PhilosoFurr.
There are 11 coworkers—and one very dramatic hooman.
Meet the team behind the drama. And the abs behind the confusion.
There’s ten of them. Yes, 12 if you will count my Sus. So don’t fall asleep on me—I know it’s a lot, but trust me, they’re all important. Every single one of these characters is either a blessing, a lesson… or a cautionary tale wearing business casual.
So listen up. Grab a fry. Let’s begin.
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Susan V. is what happens when espresso, glitter, and unchecked emotions form a union. She’s in Customer Service but believes she’s in a high-stakes drama. Her morning mood is sponsored by “don’t talk to me,” and by dinner she’s dramatically whispering secrets into my ear like I’m her furry therapist.
She calls me her badoodle, scoops me up like I’m a plush toy, and unleashes daily monologues that rival Netflix dramas. She wears shirts that say “Exaggerated Princess” because truth in labeling is important.
But hey—she’s loyal, loud, and loves hard. So even if my ears suffer emotional damage, I listen. Because I love her.
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Yohanes isn’t technically paid to know everything—but he does. He doesn’t spread gossip to hurt. He spreads it because he’s got a talent for “informative observation with jazz hands.”
His eyes sparkle with curiosity. His tone? Pure brunch gossip. He’s like the Wi-Fi of workplace drama—always on, mostly harmless.
He wears mint green, pumpkin orange, and positivity. Even when he delivers eyebrow-raising intel, it’s with a smile that says,
“I come in peace… but with details.”
We love him. Even when we pretend we don’t.
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Horatio T. is the kind of guy who walked into HR one day and never left. Not physically. Not spiritually.
He’s got reddish-brown hair, thin-framed glasses, and a beige checkered suit so aggressively neutral it could erase your personality by eye contact alone. His tie? Pumpkin orange. Not because he’s fun. Because it’s mandatory brand compliance.
He doesn’t talk—he issues memos. He doesn’t walk—he stomps silently, like a disappointed librarian.
But here’s the twist: Deep, deep down in that spreadsheet-shaped soul… he has a heart. He’s helped employees file insurance claims like they were personal quests. He’s just trying to keep us from setting the place on fire—with rules.
We call him the Memo Monk because if enlightenment had a PowerPoint, he would’ve written it.
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Brenda is the reason this workplace hasn’t collapsed into a flaming pit of passive aggression and bad decisions.
She’s 5’6″ of calm, moisturized authority. Her hair? Long, curly, hydrated. Her skin? Watered like a houseplant that knows its worth. She wears a calm green outfit paired with a delicate star pendant, like a walking parable with a good skincare routine. And her white sneakers? Spotless. Like her reputation.
Brenda is the only one who can:
Shush Yohanes mid-scoop.
Block Susan from eating a dozen donuts.
And disarm Horatio with a perfectly timed “Thank you for the memo, Horatio. We’ll take it into prayer.”
She doesn’t say much—but when she does? It’s with biblical judgment and motherly precision.
And rumor has it—she’s inviting Susan to church.
Brenda doesn’t chase drama. Drama knocks and Brenda answers with a raised brow and a scripture.
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
He’s pale. He’s nervous. He clutches his calculator like it’s the last loaf of bread in a zombie apocalypse. His glasses are thick enough to see into next fiscal year. He dresses like someone who gets mad when people use the color ink in the printer. (Because he does.)
Pete’s superpower? Making everyone remember their taxes… in January.
“Don’t forget to file your W-2.”
He once tripped over a paperclip and filed an incident report… on himself.
But here’s the thing: Pete means well. He’s just… Pete. He’s the human version of a paper jam. Awkward, unavoidable, and kind of tragic. But he keeps us legal. Barely.
So we nod. We thank him. And we keep our receipts—just in case.
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
According to Susan, Macchismo is “so hot, volcanoes feel self-concious.” Her pupils turn into tiny cartoon hearts every time she talks about him. It’s deeply concerning.
Macchismo D. works in Sales, but let’s be honest—he sells himself just by walking into a room. He’s tall, muscular, and his raven-dark hair is so flawless. His smile sparkles. Literally. I suspect teeth glitter. Still investigating.
He wears light blue polos like a superhero costume, and he says things like,
“Let’s close this deal, team!” with the exact tone of someone who thinks that’s how you get promoted.
People love him. People trust him. And honestly? That might be the real danger.
He works under Jezzie Bell, who seems to have a lipstick-shaped leash on him. But hey, I’m just the dog. What do I know?
For now, let’s just say this: Macchismo D. is dazzling.
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
If Yohanes is the office sparkle of harmless scoop, Dinah is the cold-brew version—strong, bitter, and served with no remorse.
She walks in like she owns the building’s secrets. Black hair sleek as betrayal, snarky eyes, and glasses that serve zero optical purpose but scream “I see everything.” Her dark brown lipstick says “professional,” but her tone says “you’re about to get emotionally audited.”
Dinah doesn’t just spill tea—she serves it pre-scorched. She’s not loud, but when she talks, people lean in… or leave. Because if Dinah says:
“I saw Pete at the store,” you know she’s about to follow it up with something like: “…and the woman he was with wasn’t wearing a ring. Just saying.”
She doesn’t ask questions—she plants landmines.
Nobody really likes Dinah. But nobody wants to be on her radar either. Because if she doesn’t know your dirt… she’ll make some for you.
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Jezzie Bell Morgan doesn’t walk. She glides. Like a well-funded lawsuit in designer heels.
Her red hair? Volcanic. Her lipstick? Same color as danger. Her vibe? “Sign here, sweetheart, and lose your soul in quarterly installments.”
She’s the manager of the Sales department, which basically makes her the queen of convincing people to do things they’ll regret and thank her for afterward. She commands with a smile that says:
“I already know what you’re going to say, and I’ve planned five responses, three bribes, and one perfectly timed sigh.”
Jezzie doesn’t need to raise her voice. She just tilts her head and suddenly Macchismo is nodding like a bobblehead in a sauna.
Her earrings sparkle. Her fingernails point like accusations. And when she says “trust me,” your instincts scream no—but your career prospects whisper yes.
No one’s sure what she wants. But they know not to get in her way.
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Most people in the office don’t pay much attention to Philip Vaughn. He’s listed as Internal Ops Assistant, which is corporate speak for “does everything quietly and without applause.”
He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t insert himself in gossip. He just shows up—early, focused, clean notebook, clean shirt, eyes like he’s reading your soul and your Google search history.
But here’s the part no one really gets: When things go wrong—when Jezzie’s manipulating, Dinah’s detonating, and Macchismo is flexing his moral confusion— Philip steps in. Not loudly. Not dramatically. He just does the right thing like it’s muscle memory.
Word around the breakroom is he’s a war veteran, which makes sense. He’s calm in chaos. Gentle with people. But firm when boundaries are crossed.
He’s got white knight energy—the kind that doesn’t ask for credit. The kind that protects without performance. The kind that doesn’t bow to office power games or ego theatrics.
You’ll probably overlook him. But he’s watching. And if you’re one of the good ones? He’s already in your corner.
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Jasper P. is the intern. You’ll know it the second you meet him—partly because he’ll tell you, and partly because he’ll already be apologizing for something.
He’s got long-ish curly hair, permanently startled eyes, and the overall energy of someone who’s late for a meeting that doesn’t exist.
He talks like a rapper who’s been hit with a mild anxiety attack:
“Yo, yo, my bad, my fault, I was gonna fix that spreadsheet but then I spilled my latte and—uh—Pete slipped on it but he’s fine I think, and also the printer’s making a weird noise?”
Jasper spills coffee, tea, water, information, and vibes. But he means well. And that’s the part that matters.
And every time he spills something (which is… often), Ishmael appears—quietly, mop in hand. Never scolds. Never sighs. Just cleans up.
Jasper may be clumsy. But he’s trying. And that makes him important. Not because he’s perfect—but because he wants to be better.
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
Ishmael is… different. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t need to.
He wears an old janitor uniform, faded and clean. Silver hair, quiet eyes, and a beard that says “I’ve seen things, but I’ve forgiven most of them.”
He’s always there. Not in a creepy way—more in a divine timing, slow-motion mop-wielding kind of way.
Someone spills coffee? Ishmael’s already halfway there. Printer explodes? Ishmael’s got a wrench, a rag, and a quote from Proverbs. Jezzie tries to verbally flatten a coworker? Ishmael makes eye contact once, and she forgets her next sentence.
People treat him like just a janitor. But those of us who watch—we know. There’s something about him that feels bigger.
He moves like a man with nothing to prove and everything to teach—if you’re paying attention.
They call him Ishmael the Janitor. But honestly? We don’t know who he really is. Not yet.
And that’s the crew.
Now you know who’s who. So when the drama starts—you won’t get lost.
The real office saga begins in Episode 2. See You! 📡 Totally Made-Up Company Alert:The Signal Co.: Not your internet provider — but we will disconnect your emotional stability. We don’t sell broadband. We sell breakdowns.
It was just an ordinary day — raining outside, chips in hand, cuddling on the couch with Oishi. We were watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency, starring Sera, Rhys, and Nova (you remember them from Episode 4: Oishi’s Nightmare).
It was all fun and fiction until — BOOM. A car exploded on screen right as thunder cracked outside.
Then came another boom — lightning struck the electric post. And just like that, the power went out. The house went dark. The neighborhood? A blackout.
Narrator: Oishi, Scared to Death
I was about to suggest we get the flashlight when we heard it — Footsteps. Wind howling. A loud “awooooooo.” Like a ghost-wolf who forgot to mind his volume.
Susan clutched me like a stuffed toy, and I — a brave, diaper-wearing Shi Tzu — called upon the Mighty Paw. Susan, on the other hand, went full Pentecostal. “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I rebuke you!”
Whoa. Sus? You believe in the Big Guy? You don’t even read the Bible. You read “How to Get Slim Without Exercising” and air fryer recipes.
And… “Listen, I was so scared I didn’t even notice Susan changed outfits. One minute she’s in orange, next she’s in green — either we’re haunted or she packed for the apocalypse.”
Suddenly, the Mighty Paw appeared — calm, glowing, mildly judgmental. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mighty Paw! Use your powers! Make the ghosties disappear!”
He shook his noble head. “Oh, you silly Little PhilosoFurr. I don’t have that kind of power. But I know someone who does. He’s the One who can calm bad spirits — and even Susan’s tantrums. You can tell Him anything — even how much you love chimken.”
My tail twitched. “Please just tell me who! I’m scared! My soul is shaking and my diaper is full!”
Before he answered, a bright light filled the room.
Narrator: Oishi, Humbled & Slightly Wet
He wore white. He raised His hand. He smiled at me — gently, warmly — and said:
“Hi Oishi. I’m Jesus.”
I was in awe. He looked so peaceful… unlike me and Susan, who were still running around like squirrels on espresso. But I noticed something: He had a hole in His hand. And yet — He smiled.
Then, without a single word, the ghosts — human and paw — saw Him and immediately vanished.
Susan fell to her knees, sobbing. I think she howled. Like… elephant-style. “THANK YOU, JESUS!!”
And me? No, I didn’t hug Him right away.
I peed first. Then I hugged Him.
He whispered:
“I love you, Oishi. I love Susan. And I will always protect you.”
And I believed Him. Because no matter how brave I try to be — Susan’s kind of a lot. (And if you haven’t noticed, she’s… large.)
PS. She really committed to that praise pose like she was trying to send a signal to heaven and win an Oscar. 🙄 I didn’t say anything… but in my mind? “Not this again, Susan.”
Character 1: Susan V. – The Exaggerated Princess
Character 2: Yohanes Abimbola – Gossip Analyst
Character 3: Horatio T. – The HR Memo Monk
Character 4: Brenda Mondragon – The Voice of Reason
Character 5: Pete Erickson – The Number Snitch
Character 6: Macchismo D. – The Sales Adonis
Character 7: Dinah Montgomery – The Gossip Queen
Character 8: Jezzie Bell Morgan – The Corporate Siren
Character 9: Philip Vaughn – The Office White Knight
Character 10: Jasper P. – The Intern Who Spills Coffee and Feelings
Character 11: Ishmael – The Janitor With a Mysterious Calm
Ember - Fire and Soul 