Person Dependent

There's a stuffed animal that sits in the kid's corner of the coffee shop closest to my house. It seems like a dog, but it's wrapped head to tail in what appear to be bandages. A mummified canine. I used to think this oddity was a bizarre choice for a kid's toy, but I think I understand it now. Behind the screen of a body cast, he's a chocolate lab, or a rusty dachshund, a rabbit-chasing greyhound, or your childhood dog Annie. Its tangential existence dependent on the brain that picks him up. For me, he's actually a cat, gone undercover and every time I pass him, I whisper "Godspeed, brother, your secret is safe with me."