Kitsy Boo hated his name. "Kitsyyyyyyyyyyy," his owner, Marguerite, would call. "Boooooooooooooo!" Every time the shaky old voice called for him, the other neighborhood animals would laugh. "Kitsy ... [+]
"Can I get you anything?" Granny Marion asked from the kitchen. "I'm afraid I don't have much here.""I'm alright," I called back to her, tugging at the neck of my varsity jumper. I'd realised on the drive over that I'd forgotten to take the tags out.She shuffled into the living room a few minutes later. Her knees shook as she slid each foot over the carpet: the material, once a deep blue, was worn lighter along a specific route, from the kitchen to the sofa to the television, then out towards the stairs, where the bannister was still wrapped in green tinsel, though Christmas had long been and
