[ WP ] You were adopted some years back and have begun to slowly realize that you 're a dog .

My parents speed off in their car, leaving us home with the cat. I'm not terribly happy about it. They have n't taken me anywhere in a while. 
 
 `` It's ok, Ken,'' my sister says, looking up from the glowing book in her lap. `` They're just getting groceries. They'll be back in a bit, and they're bringing treats.'' 
 
 Kip looks at me, showing the whites of his eyes. `` Why do n't they ever take us?'' 
 
 I narrow my eyes at him. `` Probably that time you took off down the block.'' 
 
 `` That time I did?'' He huffs. `` How many times did you take off while I went to the car like a good boy?'' 
 
 `` Be nice, you two,'' my sister warns us, still tapping away at that glowing book. I hate that thing. She always pays more attention to it than to us. I know she uses it to talk-without-words to someone -- she does n't treat it like a toy -- but still. 
 
 I come over and put my head on her knee. It's the best I can do, with how much shorter I am. `` Come on, Matilda. We can get in your car and go after mom, like we did that time when I was a baby?'' 
 
 `` Come on, do n't do that.'' She put a hand on my head, comfortingly. `` Take a nap. Lat down on the couch with me.'' Then she patted the couch next to her, and I climbed up beside her. 
 
 Then the cat meowed and hopped up onto the arm of the chair next to her. Jealous little bastard. She reached over and started rubbing both our heads, soothingly, glowing book untouched in her lap. 
 
 Kip let a sad little whine and climbed up into the armchair by himself. 
 
 I looked over at Matilda and the cat, at the faces she was making at him as she scratched behind his ear. She pouted her strange, flat face at him, cooing, calling him a pretty kitty. For a second, I remember one of her nicknames for me, `` pretty puppy,'' but that just means she treats the cat too much like a person, I'm sure. 
 
 `` Kip, do you remember our first family?'' 
 
 `` Yeah, why?'' 
 
 `` Was dad actually our dad?'' 
 
 He looks over at me, putting his face on the arm of the chair, looking at me from around the cat. `` I do n't know. But I do n't think so. Would a real dad kick you? Our new dad does n't kick you.'' 
 
 That's true. No one here kicks me. And no one kicks Matilda, or the cat. 
 
 `` But... He was n't our dad. We were all in that cage, with mom.'' 
 
 `` Until you guys all went away,'' he notes, picking his nose with his tongue. `` Then mom and I went in the house with Rover and OtherMom and Dad. There just was n't enough room for all us kids.'' 
 
 I roll over next to Matilda, and she starts rubbing my chest. `` But then you came here?'' 
 
 `` Because I kept peeing everywhere. They sent me away because I was bad. But joke's on our old Dad! These guys are way nicer.'' 
 
 I give Matilda's hand a lick. She does n't seem to understand us, and while she's petting me, her attention is focused on that orange cat. `` Matilda's bad all the time and these guys never send her away.'' 
 
 `` She's blood.'' As if to emphasize his point, Kip takes a sniff. `` She's really mom's baby. Not dad's, though.'' 
 
 He does have a point there. They smell the same. They look the same. Sometimes they even sound the same. Their personalities could n't be more different, but then again, neither could mine and Kip's. 
 
 `` Do you ever think we're more like the cat than Matilda?'' I finally ask. 
 
 `` Nah,'' he answers. `` Have you heard the difference in how mom and dad and Matilda talk to us?'' 
 
 I have, but I've also heard the difference in how mom and dad talk to Matilda instead of us. 
 
 `` Who's a wittle pretty kitty,'' Matilda coos at the cat, before finally shouting `` OW! no bites!'' 
 
 The cat takes off running, all four legs, just like we do. 
 
 `` Matilda,'' I ask, `` Are we really your brothers? Or are we pets, like the cat?'' 
 
 `` What is it, Ken?'' she asks, not understanding, petting my chest. `` Mom and dad are n't going to be home for a while. Oh, did you think I hurt the kitty?'' 
 
 No. No I did n't. 
 
 `` The kitty hurt me. See?'' She holds out her hand to me, and I see an angry scratch across her finger. I kiss it better. She squirms -- she hates that, but she gives me a pat anyway. 
 
 `` Why do n't you understand me?'' I ask `` I understand you, most of the time.'' 
 
 She puts the glowing book on the table and turns to me. `` It's ok. Why are you whining?'' 
 
 `` Why wo n't you answer me?'' 
 
 `` What's wrong? Do you want a treat?'' She stands up, walking over to the kitchen. `` You'll have to bring me a toy.'' 
 
 She swings the cupboard wide, and the cat comes running. His food is right next to mine. His treats are next to mine. 
 
 But Matilda and Dad's treats are way up high, on the highest shelf... where neither the cat nor I can reach them. 
 
 I run in, climb into mom's bed, and try to remember my real mother.
