09/08/2026
After the birthday-party disaster, Mom turned the house into a maximum-security facility.
Fence reinforced. Gate padlocked. Garage locked. Screen door latched. Chicken wire buried underneath. Security cameras covering every possible exit.
Mom stood there proudly.
“You are NOT getting out again.”
Dad was given one instruction:
“Do not open an exterior door unless you know exactly where Zeus is.”
Dad nodded like he had just been entrusted with nuclear codes.
For two days, I behaved perfectly.
No digging. No checking the gate. No inspecting the garage.
Mom finally relaxed.
“I think he learned.”
Oh, Mom.
I wasn’t planning an escape.
I was waiting for transportation.
Saturday afternoon, groceries arrived.
The delivery driver carried several bags toward the house.
Dad called from the kitchen,
“WHERE’S ZEUS?”
Mom looked behind her.
I was lying peacefully in the hallway.
“Right here.”
Perfect angel.
The driver went back to his van for two cases of water.
Mom turned away.
I calmly stood up, walked outside, climbed into the open side door of the delivery van…
and sat down.
No sprinting.
No tunneling.
No fence climbing.
Mom built Alcatraz.
I ordered an Uber.
The driver came back, shut the door and drove away.
Meanwhile, Mom finished putting the groceries away.
“Zeus?”
Nothing.
She checked the backyard.
Dad checked upstairs.
Mom checked the basement.
Dad opened the refrigerator.
Mom stared at him.
“WHY WOULD HE BE IN THE FRIDGE?”
“At this point, I’m eliminating possibilities.”
Mom pulled up the security footage.
There I was.
Walking casually toward the van.
Looking back at the house.
Climbing inside.
Then sitting down like Uber Pet had finally arrived.
Mom stared at the screen.
“He GOT INTO THE VAN?”
Dad leaned closer.
“Well… technically the security worked.”
Mom turned toward him.
“Do not help.”
Thank you, counsel.
A few minutes later, my transportation stopped across the street.
The van door opened.
I stepped out.
And apparently fate had excellent customer service.
Graduation party.
Huge tent.
Catered food.
Music.
Photo backdrop.
A giant CONGRATS GRAD sign.
I had arrived directly at my destination without even knowing I had one.
Five stars.
A woman near the entrance saw me.
“Oh! Is he part of the party?”
Finally.
Someone asking the correct question.
I walked straight past her.
Then I noticed the graduate posing for photographs.
Cap.
Gown.
Sash.
Diploma folder.
Very impressive.
I had no idea what he had accomplished, but judging by the buffet, education clearly paid well.
I headed toward the food.
Before I reached it, someone handed me a piece of chicken.
HANDLED TO ME.
Important legal distinction.
Then another guest gave me a piece.
Interesting.
Unlike my previous events, these people apparently understood hospitality.
Within minutes, I had become extremely popular.
People were petting me.
Kids were taking pictures.
One auntie called me “handsome.”
Correct.
Then the graduate came over and crouched beside me for a photo.
He placed his diploma folder on the grass.
That was his mistake.
I picked it up.
Not stole.
Picked up.
There’s nuance.
Someone immediately shouted,
“THE DOG HAS HIS DIPLOMA!”
Everybody turned.
I stood there holding it proudly.
Honestly, it suited me.
The photographer started laughing.
“WAIT! DON’T MOVE!”
Finally, professional direction I could follow.
FLASH.
FLASH.
FLASH.
Then somebody slipped the graduate’s sash around me.
Another person balanced the cap between my ears.
Mom arrived at exactly this moment.
She stopped dead.
There I was.
Graduation cap.
Sash.
Diploma folder.
Surrounded by people taking pictures.
Mom just stared.
I stared back.
She had spent three days preventing an escape.
I had somehow acquired a degree.
Dad arrived a few seconds later.
He looked at me.
Looked at Mom.
Looked back at me.
“So… did he pass?”
Mom didn’t answer.
The graduate was laughing so hard he could barely speak.
Someone shouted,
“GET HIM IN THE FAMILY PHOTO!”
Mom said,
“No.”
Everyone else said,
“YES!”
Democracy won.
Five minutes later, I was sitting in the middle of a graduation portrait beside people I had never met.
The photographer adjusted my cap.
The graduate held his diploma.
I sat upright.
FLASH.
I came for groceries.
I left educated.
Then the food came out.
Not buffet scraps.
A PLATE.
Someone actually made me a little plate with chicken.
Mom looked horrified.
“You’re rewarding him!”
The graduate shrugged.
“He made the party better.”
Thank you.
Finally, an authority figure with common sense.
Mom eventually marched me home.
Not because I had caused chaos.
That was the humiliating part.
For once, everyone wanted me to stay.
Back inside, Mom locked the door and looked at me.
“You realize you kidnapped yourself?”
Excuse me.
I arranged transportation.
Later that evening, the doorbell rang.
Mom opened it.
The graduate was standing there holding something.
“We thought Zeus should have this.”
He handed Mom a graduation photo.
There I was beside the graduate.
Cap crooked.
Sash around my neck.
Looking directly at the camera.
Across the bottom, someone had written:
ZEUS — CLASS OF 2026
Mom stared at it.
Then at me.
Then back at the picture.
Dad walked past, saw it and said,
“Are we framing that?”
Mom walked away.
We framed it.
And apparently Mom has now banned grocery delivery too.
Which seems excessive.
But that’s fine.
Because yesterday I saw something new parked down the street.
A food truck.
Interesting.
P.S. Enjoy my graduation photo. I’d like to thank Uber Pet and the caterer. Now, does this qualify me for a higher treat bracket?
