When she couldn’t walk anymore, I sat on her lap and she stroked my ears. She never hit me. Her son thinks he owns me now. He smells bad.
Pat Tompkins writes from California.
702
by Pat Tompkins
by Pat Tompkins
When she couldn’t walk anymore, I sat on her lap and she stroked my ears. She never hit me. Her son thinks he owns me now. He smells bad.
Pat Tompkins writes from California.