"PJ! I thought I told you to wax these floors!" Pete growled up the stairs to his son's bedroom, ears pinned low and eyes narrow. "Lousy, good for nothin' layabout." He shook his head, waddling off to the living room for his evening shows and a cold beer. "What do I give that runt a room for?" After fishing a beer out of the fridge and cracking it open with a satisfying hiss, Pete collapsed into his recliner with a low sigh, reaching a clawed paw out for the remote.