dogman

The night was quiet, barely illuminated by the warm light of a table lamp and the faint glow of the moon filtering through the window. The silence of the apartment was only broken by the delicate and harmonious sound of the piano.

Dogman sat elegantly, his fingers gliding smoothly over the keys, each note played with a precision that contrasted with his rough appearance. He played as if speaking to the soul. And although he couldn't speak words, the music said it all.

Petey, leaning against the doorframe, watched him attentively. His tail moved slowly from side to side. There was something about that moment that disarmed him. He had always admired the sensitivity of Dogman hidden beneath that canine and savage appearance, but seeing him play… that moved him deeply.

Dogman turned his head slightly, just a quick glance. He didn't stop playing, but a smile—small, honest—appeared on his face when he noticed Petey's gaze.

Petey approached silently, gliding with the feline grace that characterized him. With a small leap, he climbed onto the piano, his paws landing nimbly on the varnished wood.

Dogman stopped immediately, letting out a slight bark that was half amused, half exasperated.

"Hey," he barked, wagging his tail like a playful whip, "you're going to hurt it!"

Petey looked at him with a sly smile, stretching out brazenly on the piano lid, as if it were his personal throne.