A “Fod” is what I call those people I live with. See, they feed me. Everyday. Usually twice, sometimes more. Sometimes I eat during the night but they don’t know about that. Anyway, they always pull food from the magic box in the kitchen that constantly refills itself. It’s like they’re gods of food. So I put the words together and got “Fod.” Easy enough, right?
I will use it in a sentence:
I pawed at the door and asked if I could go outside, but Fod said no.
I stepped into the fridge and started chewing on the sweet potato bag, but Fod said no.
I started peeing on the jacket Fod left on the couch, but Fod screamed no.
Man, the more I write, the more these Fods are starting to sound like jerks. I’d better go. I think it’s time for dinner.