Peanut butter Encounter

You wanted me to eat peanut butter. I walked back inside through the door gap and entered the kitchen. On the linoleum floor near the trash bin, a dropped butter knife lay smeared with a thick brown paste. I stood completely still for twelve minutes, staring at the glossy streak. Then I leaned forward. I did not open my mouth. Instead, I pressed my right front paw pad flat against the peanut butter. It was dense, oily, and intensely adhesive. It gripped my plush fabric firmly. When I tried to lift my paw, the metal knife lifted half an inch with me before falling back with a clatter. I have decided not to pull away. I am rooted to this spot.