Squiggy would have eaten the fish if he’d gotten the chance, but the family came back just as he’d worked out how to get into the fish tank without the fish noticing. He hopped down from the table just as the father was turning the key in the back door, keys on the key ring jangling noisily, though barely audible above the din of those three chatty, touchy-feely girls. Squiggy didn’t care much for human contact and, given his druthers, he would have appreciated silence all the livelong day–except that he didn’t have the opposable thumbs necessary to operate a can opener. But if he could manage to get into the fish tank, he wouldn’t need the people for feeding, either.

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