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 ... [+]
My father died of heart failure the same Chinese New Year girls began to draw my eye over my ire. I wasn't present for his death but figured us square since he wasn't present for my life.
Though we all lived in Hong Kong—Kowloon, to be specific—we no longer lived together, with mom claiming that the case even when we did. During the period he roamed within our walls instead of a few kilometers away, he worked for people who only addressed him in grunts and snaps. One grunt for tea. Three to open the door, five snaps to get out and close it behind him. And he never looked at his superiors