Rudy Meets (Cuppa) Joe

Sometime in these last weeks, Rudy has developed a taste for coffee.

It helps me think.

It helps me think.

“It’s chewy, strong, with just a hint of maple syrup—exactly the way I like it,” he says.

By “exactly the way I like it,” Rudy means he likes it the way I like it. That’s because he’s been drinking my coffee.



“That’s bad, Rudy!” I said, the first time it happened.



“But it tastes so good,” he reasoned.

“No, I’m telling you–that’s bad!

“Mmmm good.”

So it went.

I mopped up the mess around the bed where I had brought a full cup to have with my early morning read. Half had ended up on the pillow; the other half, I assumed, was in Rudy. Since then, I’ve kept the morning cup closely guarded.

And all has seemed well.

I can barely get up...

I can barely get up…

Then, a few days ago, I left my desk to answer the phone. When I returned, my cup was empty and blats of coffee were spattered all over the desktop, stopping just short of my laptop.

“Hey, Rudy!” I observed.

Rudy yawned, surprising since he had just consumed the equivalent of a half bathtub of caffeine, relative to his size.

Am I boring you??

Am I boring you??

“That was bad!”

He hadn’t been caught in the act, of course, but there was major circumstantial evidence. As before, I followed PC protocol—scold the behavior, not the perp. And I spoke softly, albeit firmly. His eyes got wide, the whites showed a little, and then his lip trembled.

“Caffeeeeine,” he whined. “Puh-leeeeeeeease.”

I neeeeeed it!

I neeeeeed it.

I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re going to drink coffee, you could at least put in some of the hard work,” I said heartlessly. “Like the next time the blog is due, be a little proactive.”

“Blah, blah, blah, put it into your own words”–that’s generally the extent of Rudy’s help. Then he rechecks his dog bowl for the bazillionth time and falls asleep with his head on the ball.


Writing is hard.

You’re the English major. You’re the so-called ‘freelance writer.’ You’re the one with the business cards,” I’ve heard him grumble when he doesn’t think I’m listening.

Beady eyes

I’m hep to you.

It’s hard when he’s right, but there it is.

Give me Joe. Now.

Give. Me. Joe. Now.

I’ll probably continue to share when I least expect it.

I dream of coffee...

I dream of coffee…

This entry was posted in A Desk with a View, Rudy* and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to Rudy Meets (Cuppa) Joe

  1. DPG says:

    Well, clearly, Rudy* has learned to live the good life: morning coffee, afternoon tennis, and a big fluffy pillow at night. (Quick! Hide the apple brownies!!!) :-}

  2. Maude says:

    I absolutely LOVE Rudy and his/your voice! This is looking like a book to me. He’s a star, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.

  3. Rebecca K. Gibson says:

    wait, that last reply sounds like Rudy. Who’s writing this??Who’s who?

  4. peter tuttle says:

    See if you you can fool him with decaf.

  5. Laurel says:

    mmmm…. sounds like he’s been hangin’ with Keller. You know that boy can’t resist a good cup of tea (with milk, please).

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