Separation anxiety

I gave Toca a bath this evening and her fuck you to me after the ten minute ordeal was over was to take a dump in the middle of my kitchen as I was trying to get her back into the towel to dry off. Her relentless chicken squabbles and merciless chomps on my toes were just about all I could take and eventually let her roam about the apartment in search of her brother, who would readily submit to her abuse and allow her to regain her sense of manhood. In less than five minutes the siblings were huddled in their pirate ship hammock practically snoring their troubles away. I envied them as I watched them sleep in the least creepy way possible; not because they had peanut butter smeared all over their face and whiskers, but because they were safely nestled against each other, a pair that could never stay far away from each other for too long. I missed Poblano immensely at that moment and nothing could console me.
When lunch came around today I was neither creative nor hungry and opened and closed the fridge in 5 minute intervals hoping with the mind of a four year old that the next time I opened it, it would be stocked with ready to eat meals and Guinness. Alas, each time the cream cheese container, unopened package of english muffins, and tightly sealed package of smoked salmon stared up at me with pleading eyes and trembling lips...I gave in and made myself a second rate open faced lox. Even the lox came in a pair and I hesitated for a few minutes before scarfing down the second half, bitter that if I couldn't have my other half, the muffins would not either damn it.