from see you in hell—suckersCatherine Paquette
The cat is here. Everything is wrong. Worse, in fact—there is an I-can-no-longer- breathe-through-my-nose sort of problem. As snot weeps onto feline fur, I imagine chopped onion. Bleary eyes red. This is not the sort of love I had in mind. In terms of good or bad, this is very bad. We play mouse at inappropriate distances, and then—back into that door-closed-room! This is no way to live; this is hell.
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