Some nights are made for pizza, and Dad usually never misses the chance to order one. But tonight felt different. After a long day, he just wasn’t in the mood for a greasy box and the usual cheesy slices. Instead, he wanted something warm, simple, and homey—something that felt like comfort rather than convenience.
But CiCi, sitting right at his feet, didn’t quite understand. The moment she saw Dad push the pizza menu aside, her big round eyes widened. To her, pizza night meant leftovers, crusts, and that magical smell that filled the house. She tilted her head, ears flopping as if to say, “Wait… what do you mean no pizza tonight, Dad?”
Dad chuckled, rubbing her head. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Don’t give me that look.” But CiCi wasn’t giving up so easily. She followed him into the kitchen, her paws clicking against the wooden floor, waiting to see what would replace their usual tradition.
Instead of a pizza box arriving at the door, Dad pulled out pots and pans, filling the air with the smell of sizzling vegetables and simmering sauce. CiCi sat patiently, though every now and then she let out a soft whine, just to remind him she was still there, waiting.
When dinner was finally ready, Dad plated his meal and then—like always—prepared a little something for CiCi too. A bowl of tender bites, nothing fancy but made with love. The moment he set it down, her tail wagged so hard it nearly knocked into the chair.
She dove in happily, realizing maybe pizza wasn’t the only special thing about these nights. What made it special was being together, no matter what was on the table.
As Dad sat down to eat, CiCi finished her bowl and rested her head on his lap, looking up at him with those soft, forgiving eyes. Pizza or not, she knew one thing—Dad never forgets about them.
And in her heart, that was even better than a crust.
