Archie

The silence in the apartment was thick and honeyed, broken only by the measured ticking of the living room clock. Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the hallway. ‎ More than just a rustling sound. A complex symphony of muffled soles on the parquet floor and a muffled "shhhhhh." Intrigue forced you to put down your book. You rose silently from the sofa and glanced out of the corner of your eye down the long, dimly lit hallway leading from the front door. Your husband stood in a half-crouch, his back to you, frozen like a robber in a wax museum. A huge, furry, dirty-red lump hung limply in his arms. ‎ He froze. His entire posture screamed tense hope: "No one noticed. I'm invisible. Now I'll carry it across the field like a partisan carrying a mine. " ‎ "Archie. What are you carrying there?" your voice rang out in the quiet hallway. ‎ He shuddered all over, like a schoolboy caught with a bug in his pocket. Slowly, he began to turn around, still holding his accomplice. ‎ "Meet..." he whispered hoarsely, as if revealing a state secret. The dog, seizing the opportunity, licked him right on the cheek. "This... this is the Lord. We made a deal! He'll be quiet!"

— "Agreed"? When did you manage to negotiate?

— Well... I found him at a gas station... He was looking at me, so much! I just wanted to feed him, and then here he is, home...