Thumper Martin the Third

I grew up with a cat. We were just cat people, and my mother had always responded with disdain at any mention of a dog. Still, this old girl lived to be nearly 18, and eventually just ran away to spare us the inconvenience of mourning her. Maybe she’s still kickin’ somewhere…

She was a sourpuss, and would occasionally allow me to stroke her back once or twice before she started growling under her breath. Still… I miss her. She was much more refined than this nasty mutt we now love.
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