"It's a maltese-poodle mix," the short bald guy behind the counter says with a thick accent as he bags up my cat food. "But, you know, he doesn't like to eat."
I ask him what he means and he shrugs. "I get him liver, you know, and I cook it up, but if I don't cut it up into little pieces," and pantomimes turning up his nose and pushing a plate away.
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