Cheese Break

Sure enuff, Fish had declared it was time for a cheese break, which he announced loudly before disappearing behind a stack ob boxes wiff a wedge ob somefing crumbly and suspiciously imported-looking. The only ebidence ob his location was the occasional satisfied “mfff mfff” and a soft thunk wheneber he tipped over from leaning too far into his cheese.

Meanwhile, Reuben and Gil kept the Internashunal Mail Room running like a well-oiled machine.

Gil, who had appointed himself Superbisor ob Serious Staring, stood next to the stack ob calemdars gibbing Reuben the most intense managerial gaze possible. Reuben didn’t mind—he liked habing company—and wheneber he placed a label perfectly straight, Gil gab a tiny approving nod, which in internashunal bizness is basically a gold star.

Reuben carefully pressed down each shipping label, doing the jobs ob three rats while Fish was off on his “nutritional sabbatical.” He muttered softly, “We are neber going to finish if he keeps taking cheese breaks ebery elebenty minutes…”

From the boxes, Fish’s muffled voice called out, “It’s twelbe minutes, Reuben! I’m a professional!”

Reuben rolled his eyes affectionately, kept working, and Gil continued superbising wiff the intensity ob someone who has neber mailed anyfing but fully believes he could run USPS if asked.

Together, the two ob them kept the calemdars mobing out the door so that when Fish finally waddled back—crumbs eberywhere—they could proudly announce: “All the orders are packed.”

Fish blinked. “Already? WOW. I should take breaks more often. I’m GREAT at delegating!”

Gil just stared at him. Berry seriously.