Daisy, I say, let’s address your food bowl. I sit myself down next to her. I am nervous about it. O food bowl, I begin, down on the floor. I like to tap you with my paw. Daisy raises her substantial eyebrows. You don’t like it? I say. I am prepared for Daisy to complain about the way I am filling her food bowl with significance and claiming it as my own. On the contrary, says Daisy, I’m impressed! Your address to the bowl is a brave acknowledgement of its emptiness. I consider the bowl. It is overflowing with fishy nuggets. Is this Daisy’s plan to get hold of some chicken? Not of food, adds Daisy, noting my suspicion. Of meaning.