I'm pretty sure that no one asked me about bringing a kid into my house. Mom says she will be my baby sister. I didn't want a sister, I didn't ask for a sister.
Mom thought it might keep me from being so lonely.
I'm not lonely. I'm stoic, I'm just fine with having the whole couch to myself.
I'm fine howling when she leaves the house and will continue to do so forever.
I'm fine taking up half the bed at night.
I'm fine with overseeing the yard and whining in my car seat.
I'm fine with every toy in its proper place and not spread out like some hurricane came through the house.
This was my look after our first morning walk together.
Mom said with that chipper voice of hers: It will be fun! We will be happy!
Honestly, do I look happy?
The chewing, pooping machine kept trying to distract me by trying to run up and grab my tail.
She did not chew on me and she was actually pretty respectful after I gave her low throated growl.
Mom didn't interfere, I give her that.
Mom calls her Hannah Belle.
I call her Hannibal Lecter. Though I do admit she isn't a serial murderer. She hasn't even been able to murder a toy yet. I can murder stuffies in seconds.
Maybe I should teach her a thing or two.
In fact, today I let her walk right next to me for a long time.
Perhaps I'll give it a few more days.
Charlie
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