Sushi

“Ursus diabeticus,” someone had written on his dinner bowl. Okay, so he had an appetite, he liked something a little different every now and then. Was that such a sin, especially when he had his own personal gaggle of so-called buddies goading him on?

The same thing happened every time they visited. Nunzio always swore he would go easy, but he always binged. His tummy was too delicate for this nonsense and he knew it. And they knew it. He should have learned by now that those penguins were never up to any good.

“Don’t you want a break from those sticks of soy?” those oily little creatures had wheedled. “How about a little sushi and maybe some light wine? Oh! You can’t drink wine? We’re always forgetting that, aren’t we? Well how about a little something different to eat? Our treat!”

Of course, sushi — real fish sushi — was exorbitant anymore, and they sure weren’t treating him to that. They kept that for themselves, the stingy little sons of birds. Nunzio hadn’t had fish in so long, he’d gotten over wanting any. He wanted treats. But aside from LoLa CoLa®, Fallifurton Foods wouldn’t let him near anything sweet or creamy (his grumpy caretakers were tired of cleaning up the mess). The penguins got around that easily enough; they stopped off at a public school on their way up.

Ursus diabeticus indeed.