During a household clear-out, Mikhail set a cardboard box in the middle of the room. Pai, the black French bulldog, inspected it immediately: he peered inside, walked around it, and sat beside it like a museum guard entrusted with the most valuable object.
“It’s empty,” Mikhail explained.
Pai gave him a look of professional patience. Humans were confusing a lack of contents with a lack of purpose again. If a box was empty, its space was clearly reserved for someone important. Did this really need explaining?
Dilyara clarified the rules.
“We’re only keeping things that bring us joy.”
Mikhail silently pointed at Pai. Pai nodded approvingly: at last, the committee had sensible criteria.
Then he climbed into the box. Now it brought joy, kept an important specialist occupied, and could no longer be considered unnecessary. Three useful functions in a single sitting. Even the folded blanket beside it looked impressed.
Mikhail was about to ask where the unwanted things should go, but Pai had already reached his conclusions. The apartment had been successfully sorted. The box was staying. So was the blanket. The humans would be retained: one knew where to point, and the other made reasonable rules.